My ERP Therapy Story

You ever have a thought that stops you in your tracks? A thought so disturbing, so out of nowhere, that it makes you question everything about yourself? That’s how it started for me. A week after my grandfather passed away, I was lying in bed, thinking about him, when suddenly a thought hit me: What if I’m not a good person? What if I never get to see him again? My chest tightened, and my stomach dropped. More thoughts followed. What if I don’t go to heaven? What if he can see everything I’ve ever done? My entire body filled with fear, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know it then, but I was having my first panic attack. Desperate for relief, I grabbed my phone and played random YouTube videos until I passed out from exhaustion. From that night on, I became terrified of being alone with my thoughts. I had no idea why this was happening to me, but I knew one thing—bedtime would never feel the same again. For a while, I found ways to avoid the thoughts, but then a new one hit me like a truck. I was scrolling through the news when I saw an article about a father who had hurt his kids. My first thought was, That’s horrible. But then, my brain twisted it into something that made my blood run cold: What if I could do something like that? My stomach dropped. Why did I just think that? What does that mean about me? Am I dangerous? I tried to push it away, but the fear only grew. Being alone with my daughter became unbearable. I still took care of her, but I no longer trusted myself. I made up excuses so I wouldn’t have to be alone with her, and when my husband went to work, I spent the day in silent panic. My usual phone calls to my parents, once full of joy, became desperate cries for reassurance, though I couldn’t bring myself to tell them why. Eventually, I told my husband I was struggling with anxiety. He didn’t fully understand but suggested I work out to clear my mind. I remember getting on the treadmill and breaking down in tears, unable to run, unable to escape my thoughts. That night, I called my godfather, terrified of what he would say. But instead of judging me, he told me I needed to tell my husband everything. With all the courage I had, I did just that. My husband was confused but supportive, and soon after, I flew home to Illinois to be with my family. For the first time in weeks, I slept. But the relief didn’t last long. When my mom mentioned going back to work, I panicked. That’s when I finally told her everything. Wanting to help, she told me to pray, so I did—over and over. But instead of bringing peace, prayer became another compulsion, something I had to do to "fix" my thoughts. I was still drowning, desperate for answers, so I did what anyone would do—I Googled. Why am I having these thoughts? The results were unsettling. I kept reading, more and more terrified, thinking I might be going crazy. But then, I saw something that gave me a sense of relief: This sounds like OCD. I stared at the screen. That couldn’t be right. My brother has OCD, and his is about germs—this wasn’t the same. But the more I read, the more it started to click. That’s when I found NOCD. I made an appointment for the next day, and when I met my therapist, she told me she couldn’t officially diagnose me yet because we hadn’t finished all the assessments, but she was confident that I had OCD. At first, I didn’t believe her. OCD isn’t just about handwashing or being neat—it’s about intrusive thoughts that feel so real they shake you to your core. Therapy was terrifying at first. I had to sit with my worst fears instead of running from them. But the more I faced them, the weaker they became. After 11 weeks, I finally felt like myself again. One day, my entire family had to go back to work, leaving me alone with my daughter for the first time in months. The thoughts came: What if you hurt her while no one’s here? But instead of panicking, I used the non-engagement responses I’d learned in therapy. I would respond to the thought with something like, Maybe I could. Maybe I couldn’t. And then I would move on with my day. That was the moment I knew I was getting better. Looking back, I realized I had been experiencing OCD my entire life. As a child, I constantly worried about my parents dying, about being left alone. I used to wonder, What happens when people leave? Do they still exist if I can’t see them?These fears weren’t new—they were just amplified by my postpartum OCD. I’m proud to say that I’ve been in remission for over a year now. While OCD sometimes resurfaces with different themes, it doesn’t control my life. It doesn’t stop me from living fully, from enjoying my time with my daughter, or from embracing the things I love. The road to recovery hasn’t been easy, but I’ve learned that it is possible to take back your life, even when OCD tries to tell you otherwise. ♥️

Hi Everyone, I wanted to share my OCD miracle, which I have kept private until the past couple of weeks. I have had severe OCD since 2001, months after my mother died of cancer and right after 9/11. I saw OCD therapists and did ERP for 23 years, along with trying almost every medication for OCD. Starting in 2021, my OCD became severely crippling. I went to three residential treatment programs for many months between 2021 and 2023, tried Ketamine therapy many times, did TMS many times, among other treatments. My father listened to an iOCDF webinar that covered brain procedures for OCD in 2022 and after some research, I connected with the OCD team at Butler Hospital in Providence, Rhode Island, which is affiliated with Brown University. After multiple visits to Providence and many interviews, and after extensive coordination between my OCD therapists, my psychiatrist and the Brown team, I was scheduled for an anterior capsultonomy (using Laser interstitial thermal therapy (LITT)) in late 2023 with a renowned neurosurgeon in Providence affiliated with Brown. The weeks before my surgery were my lowest points with OCD. Many days I was doing compulsions (mental and otherwise) for over 10 hours per day. I was a partner at a large international law firm and was not able to work and took several medical leaves post 2021. The surgery felt like my last hope. Because no treatments had worked to date, and because my OCD was so severe, I figured I would fall in the 30% of patients who do not significantly improve post surgery. Miraculously, I have not had an OCD episode or spent time doing compulsions since my surgery in 2023. My OCD went from a 9 or 10 to almost a 0. The surgery cured me, and I did believe OCD could be cured. I believe only two institutions in the US (U of Chicago and Brown/Butler) do the surgery in this manner (it is not DBS). I am passionate about helping people with OCD and I hope to assist in making this procedure more accessible. While brain surgery sounds incredibly scary and intense, my nose job (not cosmetic) when I was 15 was much more difficult. While I was in Providence for many meetings and tests for a week before the surgery, I was home the next night after staying at the hospital overnight. I felt no pain at any point and there were just small cuts on my head that healed in weeks. I had no side effects other than fatigue and apathy for a couple of months (for example, I slept until 2 PM many days). It was an absolute miracle. I read many posts in this group about brain surgery for OCD and it is very misunderstood. While this post is anonymous (just worried about employers, etc, given the stigma around mental health and this surgery), it would be my pleasure to speak to anyone who has any questions. I can also introduce you to my treatment team. OCD ruined my life for decades and I am so sorry you are all dealing with it. I am here for you. Thank you for reading!

December 14, 2024, marked two years since my first ERP therapy session with my NOCD therapist, Mixi. And October 2024 marked a year of being free from OCD. It was not an easy journey, confronting my fears face to face. Exposing myself to the images and thoughts my brain kept throwing at me, accepting that I might be the worst mother, that my daughter wouldn’t love me, and that I deserved to be considered a bad person. It was challenging having to say, “Yes, I am those things,” feeling the desire to run, but realizing the thoughts followed me. At the start of my therapy, I remember feeling like I couldn’t do this anymore. Life felt unbearable, and I felt so weak. I longed for a time before the OCD, before the flare-ups, before the anxiety, the daily panic attacks. I thought I’d never be myself again. But I now know that ERP saved my life. The first couple of sessions were tough. I wasn’t fully present. I lied to my therapist about what my actual thoughts were, fearing judgment. I pretended that the exposures were working, but when the sessions ended, I went back to not sleeping, constantly overwhelmed by fear and anxiety. But my therapist never judged me. She made me feel safe to be honest with her. She understood OCD and never faltered in supporting me, even when I admitted I had been lying and still continued my compulsions. My biggest milestone in therapy was being 100% transparent with my therapist. That was when real change began. At first, I started small—simply reading the words that terrified me: "bad mom," "hated," "unloved." Then, I worked on listening to those words while doing dishes—not completely stopping my rumination, but noticing it. Just 15 minutes, my therapist said. It wasn’t easy. At one point, I found myself thinking, “Will I ever feel like myself again?” But I kept pushing through. Slowly, I built tolerance and moved to face-to-face exposures—sitting alone with my daughter, leaning into the thought that my siblings might die, reading articles about my worst fears, and calling myself the things I feared. Each session was challenging, but with time, the thoughts started to lose their grip. By my eleventh session, I started to realize: OCD was here, and it wasn’t going away, but I could keep living my life despite it. I didn’t need to wait for it to be quiet or go away to move on. Slowly, it began to quiet down, and I started to feel like myself again. In fact, I am not my old self anymore—I’m a better version. OCD hasn’t completely disappeared, but it’s quieter now. Most of the time, it doesn’t speak, and when it does, I know how to handle it. The last session with my therapist was emotional. I cried because I was finishing therapy. I remember how, in the beginning, I cried because I thought it was just starting—because I was overwhelmed and terrified. But at the end, I cried because I was sad it was ending. It felt like I had come so far, and part of me wasn’t ready to say goodbye, even though I had already learned so much. It was a bittersweet moment, but I knew I was walking away stronger, equipped with the tools to handle OCD on my own. If I could change anything about my journey, it would be being open and honest from the beginning. It was the key to finding true healing. The transparency, the honesty—it opened the door to lasting change. I’m no longer that person who was stuck in constant panic. I’m someone who has fought and survived, and while OCD still appears from time to time, I know it doesn’t define me. I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments. Have you started therapy, is something holding you back? Is there something you want to know about ERP therapy? I'll be live in the app answering each and every one today from 6-7pm EST. Please drop them below!