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When the Best OCD Management Tools Fail (and What to Do About It)

Admission: Despite all the training and tools I’ve accumulated to manage clinical OCD over the years, the demons still run over me in spectacular ways on occasion. Yesterday was one of those days.

Mood Music:

Things I’ve learned about OCD management:

  • Practice mindfulness through meditation
  • Push back thought distortions — the kind associated with something like impostor syndrome.
  • Take walks
  • Prayer (as part of that first one)

Sometimes, though, my passions run so hot that I flat-out forget to pick up those tools.

In recent weeks, my work has involved producing a lot of written guidance for businesses trying to maintain security as workforces go remote. I’ve taken the task close to heart because it’s one small way I can do my part to get society through this, aside from the physical distancing. Also: It’s my job.

But when my OCD runs hot, my patience grows threadbare. I want to get content out quickly. It’s the old newsman in me. Which can be at odds with another truth: When dealing with technological guidance, the more painfully rigorous the process, the better.

Yesterday, I realized that my obsessive-compulsive nature was trying to circumvent that process, and I suspect it made life difficult for a couple of my colleagues. To them, I apologize.

The good news: I caught myself, with gentle pushback from a couple people. Now I’m going to step back a little today and pick those tools back up.

This isn’t meant as a public self-flaying exercise. It’s a message for everyone working through these times with OCD, anxiety, depression and other mental disorders:

  • You’re not alone.
  • You’re not stupid or weak.
  • Health management of any kind is a titanic task in times like these.
  • Yes, past generations have weathered trying times (The Great Depression and WWII come to mind), but individuals who did great things along the way still failed from time to time.
  • Beating ourselves up — something I excel at — is worse than useless.

When we have bad moments, let’s take a breath, step back, dust off and get back to work.

That’s what I’m going to do.

But first, a nap. That’s a good OCD management tool, too.

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Packing for #RSAC 2016: An OCD Case Study

At the end of the week, I’ll be packing for five days in San Francisco, where I’ll write about the goings-on at RSA Conference 2016. When you have OCD, packing a suitcase is as ritualistic as the compulsive hand washing you’ve heard about.

Mood music:

Before I had the OCD under control, packing was an all-day affair. I’d line up all my clothes and accessories in order of the days I planned to wear them. I would undergo a similar ritual when gathering toiletries. I’d pack extra for fear that I’d be without something on the second-to-last day of the trip.

Today I do things a lot differently. I still keep track of what I stuff into the suitcase to ensure I have enough for each day, but I only look over my cargo twice. It takes less time to do than when I used to look things over 5 to 10 times.

I save space in my suitcase because I don’t stuff it with cigars and cigarettes anymore. While I carry my vaping pipes, they take up less space. I also used to stuff books in to have something to read during downtime. I don’t do that anymore, because those books always sit unread. I’ll still have a supply of Starbucks Via packets in case I can’t find my preferred coffee in the airport.

Last year I walked around San Francisco in my big, heavy boots. This year I’m being smart about it and going with the sandals that slip on and off effortlessly.

One year I forgot to grab my Prozac bottle on the way out of the hotel and only realized my mistake after getting through the airport TSA line. Now I just pack the exact number of pills I need for the trip. The rest of the bottle stays home.

Packing the laptop bag has gotten easier, too. I used to cram five notebooks and a handful of pens in there. Now it’s one pen and no notebooks. At this stage of my career, I’m pretty good at storing notes in my head. I don’t let then sit in my head for too long, either. I usually write up the talks and demos within 10 minutes of seeing them. Some talks I write up while I’m watching.

I still worry about having enough power cords, though, so I pack every cord I own. But I don’t lay them all out on the table to count them multiple times. I just stuff everything into the bag.

I’ve also gotten bolder about when to go to the airport. I used to get to the airport three hours before the flight because I worried about unexpected problems and wanted time to fix them. I’ve scaled that back to two hours during recent travel. So far, it’s working out fine.

I may not travel the lightest I can, but when you have OCD and learn how to simplify packing, it’s a victory.

Safe travels, all!

Suitcases and Briefcase

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When Life and Death Dance on Eggshells

I mentioned yesterday that my father is bedridden and that things aren’t looking good. I’ve lost count of how many times in the last four years we’ve gathered as a family, thinking he was at the end.

Each time he’s bounced back, like some unseen force keeps pulling him back for a few more rounds.

Mood music:

When I visited him last Sunday, he was too tired to talk much. He just wanted to sleep. I’ve seen him that way many times, but this time I got the sense that it’s getting harder for him to perk up. He’s said many times that he doesn’t want to live like this and be a burden to others.

But he keeps hanging on.

He wants to make sure his affairs are in order and that he leaves his family with the tools to survive, specifically, financial tools. Part of me feels like he should be allowed to leave, to be free of his broken body once and for all. Part of me respects him for being such a survivor, even when life doesn’t seem worth surviving.

I know that how this ends will be up to God. We can hope for things all we like, but God makes the final call.

It’s hard as hell for us mortals to sit around and accept that. We want to do something, to make some kind of plan and see it through, whether it’s family wanting to know the full path ahead or my father wanting to maintain some control, to run the timetable and tie up loose ends.

Although we know how little control we have, we continue to cling to our hopes and impulses. It’s an uncomfortable place to be. It will sort itself out, because it always does. I’m just praying for the strength to do what God wants of me.

If I figure out how to do that, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, any prayers for my father are appreciated.

silhouette of a man kneeling in prayer

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When the Worry Machine Takes You to Dark Places

My father and aunt aren’t doing well. Dad is bedridden, a series of strokes and heart attacks having taken their toll. My aunt is in the hospital unable to do anything more than utter a stray word after having her own stroke.

And so continues a sick game, where we try guessing how much longer they’ll be with us, who will go first, etc. That’s the game I’m playing anyway. When you’re like me and you can’t help but worry about what’s out of your control, these mental exercises take over.

Mood music:

I’ve seen many relatives and friends deal with critical health issues, and I’m no stranger to death. Each time, I played the game of what-ifs, worries about my always busy schedule and what I might have to cancel.

This time, I’m a week out from traveling to San Francisco for RSA Conference — one of the biggest events of the year for my industry — and I’m worrying about whether or not I’ll get there.

It’s a hell of a thing, worrying about that when two lives hang in the balance. It’s a human thought process, but I feel selfish all the same.

I wouldn’t have the life I have today if not for my father. He made sure I learned the value of hard work, sent me to college, helped out when Erin and I bought our home and has helped out during more than a couple financial squeezes.

My aunt helped me deal with some of the more traumatic events of my early life. When my parents were divorcing, she and my grandmother took me on trips to the New Hampshire mountains. When my father worked late, I could usually go to the house down the street where she and my grandmother lived, where I could watch TV, do homework and have dinner. That house was an oasis when I needed it.

They gave and they gave. I’m trying to give back and want to do so freely and fearlessly. But I can’t stop worrying about how their condition might impact my carefully made plans.

I know I’m not the only one who does this. I’ve talked to others who have had to deal with situations like this, and they all experience such thoughts. It just doesn’t make me feel any better. Writing about it is my way of keeping myself honest so I can move on and make the right choices.

If it helps some of you see that you’re not alone in getting swallowed up by this monster, so much the better.

Road sign: Rough Road 20 Miles per Hour

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Curse You, 403: Forbidden Error!

UPDATE: We believe we have fixed the setting issues behind the problem. But if you encounter an error message, please let us know. Thanks!

For months, my OCD has been triggered by a vexing, mysterious problem: Some of my readers keep getting “403: Forbidden” errors when trying to read posts. I’ve looked high and low for the cause and solution, to no avail.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/QD0D7IuriWQ

What probably infuriates me most is that I can access the posts just fine. If it failed for me, too, at least there’d be a little less mystery.

Instead, I’m left to wonder why the blog opens for some people and not others. I have noticed that the folks who get 403 messages are trying to open posts from an iPhone or iPad and usually get through from their desktop computers.

Also read “Depressed Web Servers and Other Amusing 404 Pages“

But there are some who get locked out from any mobile device, and some who can get through on those Apple devices.

Typically, my OCD is triggered by things I can’t control. In this case, however, it’s something that probably can be controlled. It’s pinpointing the issue that’s the problem.

In response, I’ve done what any typical OCD head would do: wasting hours and days exploring every line of code and every URL for clues.

I’ll continue to investigate the problem. If anyone wants to do some investigating of their own, I’ll gladly accept the help.

If there’s any silver lining, it’s that the error messages are killing me much more than they are killing you.

Storm Trooper 403 Error Message

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A Benevolent Dictatorship

My kids learned a new term this weekend: benevolent dictatorship. It’s Erin’s way of describing the way of the household. We’re the parents, we make the rules and the boys don’t get to move the goal posts around. For the sake of Erin’s sanity and my own OCD management, it’s become necessary that the children understand this.

Mood music:

Kids will be kids. Our boys leave their dirty clothes all over the floor and Lego pieces are in just about every room waiting to be stepped on. They have the uncanny ability to sweep the kitchen floor without catching a single speck of dirt and the living room furniture is always at some weird angle. They don’t do this stuff to be mean. Any parent will tell you similar stories.

But my OCD is rubbed raw these days as I adjust to a new job and the resulting changes it brings to the family dynamic. I come home and pick up all the messes they make. I can’t help myself. Seeing chaos in the form of messy rooms makes my mind chaotic, which brings on a craving for order that makes me run myself ragged.

It’s not good for me and it’s not good for Erin, who then ends up having to take care of three kids instead of two, as I revert to an angst-filled teenager in my moments of OCD overdrive.

So we had a family meeting this weekend and laid down the law. We increased their chores lists and told them their allowance will get docked every time they protest having to pull their weight. But we softened the blow by giving them both a raise. All in all, they took it well. They even seemed eager to get on with it. But we know the blowback is inevitable. They are just kids, after all.

I’ve never been particularly good at enforcing the rules. I don’t like to yell at the children, and I often choose the path of least shouting as a result. But I do it at my peril.

Lately, I’m realizing that I can’t be the passive parent anymore, because it leads to me cleaning up every bit of destruction in the kids’ wake and they don’t learn the value of being on the hook for certain responsibilities. If I let them be irresponsible, I’m doing them more of a disservice then when I have to raise my voice. And I’m learning that the yelling isn’t necessarily a disservice.

That’s become part of my education in OCD management: learning how to be a hard-ass without being an asshole.

If I can master it, I’ll be in better mental health. Erin will be in better mental health. And the kids will grow up to be men who have the discipline and thick skin to make their dreams come true.

Or so I hope.

Duncan, Sean, Bill