Personal Journal About Living With OCD: Small Ways I Lessen the Pain.
Some mornings, I wake up already feeling the weight of OCD. Before I even get out of bed, my brain whispers, “Did you check the door last night? What if you didn’t? What if something happens?”
It’s a tough way to start the day, but I’ve been learning to meet those thoughts differently. Instead of immediately running to check, I take a breath. I look out my window, notice the morning light spilling in, and remind myself: “That’s just OCD talking. I’m safe.” It doesn’t erase the thought, but it softens the panic. And that’s progress.
Finding Calm in the Little Things
My mornings have become a sacred part of how I cope. I brew a cup of coffee and let the smell fill the kitchen. That first sip is grounding—it reminds me that I’m here, in this moment, not lost in what-ifs. Sometimes I’ll sit quietly with my journal, writing down whatever thoughts are buzzing in my head. Putting them on paper makes them feel less heavy, like I’ve set them down instead of carrying them all day.
Delaying the Urge
OCD thrives on urgency. It screams, “Do it now or something bad will happen!” For a long time, I believed it every single time. Now, I’ve been practicing delaying my compulsions—just a little.
If I feel the urge to check the stove, I’ll tell myself, “Okay, in one minute.” Sometimes I still give in, but even waiting sixty seconds shows me that I can resist. And over time, those pauses get longer. It’s a slow, quiet victory, but one I’m proud of.
Moving My Body
By afternoon, OCD usually has me mentally exhausted. That’s when I remind myself to move. Not in a punishing way, but gently. A walk around the block, stretching on my living room floor, or even putting on music and dancing in my kitchen—it shakes off some of the tension.
Movement reminds me that I’m more than the thoughts in my head. I’m in my body, alive, present. And sometimes, that’s enough to quiet the noise for a while.
Evening Rituals
Nights can be tricky. OCD loves to sneak in when I’m tired. The “did I lock the door?” thoughts come back, stronger than ever. I’ve found that creating soothing evening rituals helps me.
I dim the lights, make a cup of herbal tea, and read a few pages of a book instead of scrolling on my phone. This signals to my mind that it’s time to rest, not spiral. Some nights are easier than others, but even small steps toward calm make a difference.
Choosing Self-Compassion
Maybe the biggest shift I’ve made is in how I talk to myself. For years, I was harsh: “Why can’t you just stop? What’s wrong with you?” Now, I practice softer words: “This is hard, but I’m doing my best today.”
That change didn’t happen overnight, but it’s been life-changing. Self-compassion doesn’t make OCD disappear, but it makes carrying it less painful.
Reaching Out
I used to think I had to handle all of this alone. But opening up—to a trusted friend, to my therapist, even here in writing—has lifted so much weight off my shoulders. Talking about OCD doesn’t make me weak; it makes me human.
Sharing my struggle has shown me that I’m not broken, I’m not alone—and that’s something OCD can’t take away from me.
Final Thoughts
Living with OCD is not easy. Some days feel heavy, messy, and exhausting. But by breathing deeply, delaying compulsions, moving my body, creating calming routines, and speaking to myself with kindness, I’ve learned to lessen the pain.
It’s not about being perfect. It’s about small wins, gentle progress, and remembering that I am not my OCD. I am more than my intrusive thoughts. I am more than my rituals.
And every time I choose compassion over criticism, every time I create a moment of peace for myself, I take back a little piece of freedom.
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