I am pleased to announce that production of Book 3’s audiobook is going smoothly. Though I don’t have as much time as I used to, I am making steady progress. It should definitely be out by the end of the year, and my hopeful target window is August. Another project I’m slowly working on is a “box collection” of The Warriors of Bhrea where all the books are in one ebook, along with bonus short stories (some of which you’ve seen if you’re subscribed to my newsletter!)
I’ve also got many more book ideas, and the current focus is a standalone fantasy called The World Jumper. It’s about people who can teleport around the world and even to other worlds, but the core of the story is actually about confronting and healing wounds.
Unfortunately, progress on any other project has stalled as I try to balance working on the audiobooks with parenting a toddler. And, as the title of this post suggests, there have been other factors hindering me.
I wanted to share a bit about my experience the past couple years, how mental health has affected my ability to write the stories I want to write, as well as my ability to manage all that life throws at me.
I have always had OCD tendencies. I remember as a kid hearing the common phrase “don’t step on the crack, or you’ll break your mother’s back!” For me, I took it seriously. I often avoided stepping on any cracks, because there was some fear in my brain that if I did, I actually would cause severe back injury in my mom. My brain still prefers to step over sidewalk cracks. It never turned into a severe compulsion for me, but there was always that small fear and avoidance.
When I was in my early 20s, I had an extended period where I suffered intensely uncomfortable images and sensations triggered by scenes of violence in movies—especially related to the neck. I’ve never had neck trauma of that kind, but for whatever reason, my brain latched onto an intense fear of violent neck injuries. It took a long time for those gruesome intrusive thoughts to fade away. There are several other instances of my brain obsessing about something very unwanted throughout my young adult years. However, I had never considered them as a mental illness.
After my son was born, I had natural motherly anxieties. Is my child breathing? What if I drop him? Is he eating enough? My family can attest to the fears and anxieties that I harped on them about. Thankfully, that also did not develop into severe obsessions—but the stresses of motherhood did trigger other obsessions. Just before and during my pregnancy, I reverted to my Catholic faith. My faith dearly matters to me, and as I experienced the natural stresses of motherhood, my brain started to latch onto an intense fear of displeasing God and that I was not in right relationship with Him. My mind couldn’t stop running over all my past sins (and there were many) and whether I had properly repented of them and confessed them. I’d confess the same sins over and over, or mine through my memory trying to find every little thing I’ve ever done in order to gain a feeling of being spiritually clean. But, it could never be achieved, not for long. I’d miss out on receiving communion or punish myself in other ways out of fear that I had grievously sinned and couldn’t be forgiven. Eventually, I learned about scrupulosity and how it affects many faithful people and even nonreligious people. I learned some ways to manage it, but there would come waves of intense anxiety, doubts, and fears about sinning that would feel almost unbearable.
Some of these fears came up while I was writing and editing the final book in The Warriors of Bhrea. Doubts pestered me constantly—was I writing this scene the right way? Or a sinful way? Did I commit a heresy by not portraying God completely correctly? If I wrote certain characters making certain choices, was I sinning? Was I scandalizing readers by portraying certain things in certain ways? It didn’t stop at the final book. I scoured over the previous books, making sure there was nothing directly sinful in them. For example, I removed any instance of taking the Lord’s name in vain. I mined through my social media as well, deleting any posts that ignited these fears of sinning. I told the new priest at my parish with intense embarrassment that I had old copies of my books with the Lord’s name in vain—only to be greatly surprised that he didn’t care and wouldn’t judge me. In fact, in some ways it made me feel worse. Why was I so obsessed with this? No one had pointed out to me great moral errors in my books—even those who were faithful Catholics. No one else seemed nearly as worried as I was about all this. So what was wrong with me?
Whenever one fear seemed conquered, more would pop up in its place. They would always attack the things most dear to me—my integrity, my marriage, my parenting, my relationship with God. Some days all I could do was browse my phone or watch TV because it was too difficult to be present with my family. I’d be playing with my son or reading books to him, or I’d be having a conversation with my husband, but my mind would be far away. It terrified me how well I could mimic normal interactions while my mind would be hurdling down a spiral of shame and fear. I’d run to the sacrament of confession time and time again, fearing I had to confess the horrible thoughts running through my brain.
Finally, after much prayer and attempting to surrender my struggles to God, some clarity started to shine through the dark clouds of confusion and dread. Something was wrong, deeply wrong, and it wasn’t the state of my soul. In my obsessive research of my problems and worries, a certain acronym kept popping up: OCD. One of my favorite scrupulosity resources spoke as if scrupulosity and OCD were the same thing. I’d never thought of it before that way. I’d always envisioned OCD as someone washing their hands excessively or checking the door was locked am excessive amount of times (I’d only check two or three times, which is of course perfectly reasonable). My impression was that the compulsions would all be external—and I didn’t do all these strange behaviors.
…Right?
As if going to confession almost every week and listing off every little fault and feared sin wasn’t unusual and destructive behavior. As if waiting for thirty minutes in the narthex with my rambunctious son until my church’s priest wasn’t busy to anxiously ask him a question I already knew the answer to wasn’t unhealthy. As if sitting in the church pews with my eyes fixed firmly on the floor or squeezed shut to avoid seeing people and statues that triggered awful thoughts wasn’t abnormal. As if ruminating for hours each day about my past choices and whether my intrusive thoughts were sinful wasn’t spiritually harmful.
It took months, many tears, and gentle encouragement from the Lord to come to terms that I had a disorder in my brain. It wasn’t that I was displeasing God or permanently disqualified from His love, it was OCD.
Even with that knowledge, it took even more time to start learning how to help myself. The answer wasn’t to avoid all these things that triggered doubts, unwanted thoughts, and anxiety—the answer was to embrace them and do the things I wanted to do even if I was dealing with strong negative thoughts and feelings. Easier said than done! It is a work in progress, and I’m happy to say that I’ve felt very optimistic as I’ve started treatment with a therapist experienced in treating OCD. I’ve already experienced some improvement simply by knowing I have a disorder and the obsessions aren’t me. They are like a mischievous little monkey in my brain flinging poo, trying to get a reaction out of me and do a compulsion.
Some days are worse than others. Some days, I feel normal and well-regulated, able to throw off with ease the odd thoughts, feelings, or impulses when they intrude in my mind. I confidently lift my head and look up at the world around me, appreciating the beauty of people and God’s creation. Other days, despite knowing errant thoughts and worries are just OCD, it’s so hard to shake them off. It’s hard to shift my focus to wholesome, productive tasks (like writing). The thoughts stick around, berating me and beating me down until I feel overwhelmed. It’s those times that I’m so thankful for my family and friends who support me and never degrade me for having a difficult moment. They truly are a gift from God.
Right now, writing still feels like a daunting and exhausting task. I hope that with time and by practicing the new skills I learn in therapy, that I can get my mojo back. I have so many projects I’m excited to work on, and I refuse to let mental illness steal my peace and creativity.
If my experience in any way sounds similar to yours, please know that you aren’t alone. Whatever worries and obsessions occupy your brain, they aren’t you, they are a mental illness. It can be very scary to talk about such a thing and admit there could be a malfunction in your brain, but please, please, PLEASE seek help. You don’t have to live in the terrifying world OCD fabricates—it can get better with help. Below are some websites with resources for seeking treatment. Don’t hesitate, and don’t let the OCD gremlin tell you that your situation doesn’t count or that you are somehow unique and can’t be helped. You can be helped, and you owe it to yourself and the people around you to get better.
International OCD Foundation (has lots of resources to select from there)
What Are Intrusive Thoughts?
NOCD (Online Treatment Resource)
OCD and Anxiety (YouTube Channel)
Scrupulous Anonymous (for religious sufferers of OCD)
Brain Lock: Free Yourself from Obsessive-Compulsive Behavior (book, ebook, and audiobook versions available)
