I love going home and spending time with my family.
There’s something ceremonial about the way every night ends: all of us sitting on the couch watching some rom-com my dad had to put on, even though we’re talking over the entire thing and it may as well just be playing in the background. Eating ice cream, always followed by pretzels. Taking naps with the dogs I fostered during COVID and then conveniently made my parents adopt.
I genuinely love being there.
And yet, I can’t help but notice that almost as soon as I bring my stuff upstairs to my room—sorry, I mean Zoey’s room now—my anxious mind seems to get louder.
The rumination starts looping.
I worry about my parents’ health. I worry about my dogs’ health. I notice sensations in my body that I probably wouldn’t have given a second thought anywhere else.
Recently, after walking the dogs, I accidentally smacked my head against the wall. Later, in the shower, a thought appeared:
What if I was unconscious afterward and somehow didn’t realize it?
And suddenly my brain had a very important assignment.
Should I Google the symptoms of a head injury? Should I look up signs that I need medical attention? Should I check how I’m feeling? Should I keep checking?
Probably, my anxious brain told me.
I almost did.
But then I noticed what was actually happening.
The problem wasn’t necessarily my head. The problem was that my thoughts were telling me I might collapse in the shower, and my attention had immediately turned inward, scanning my body for evidence.
Later that night, my brain found something new.
How do I know if I put this Band-Aid around my finger too tightly? What if I lose circulation while I’m sleeping?
A perfectly normal Tuesday night in an OCD brain.
Then I looked at the mirror in my childhood bedroom.
On it was one of our first Presently mirror decals:
My thoughts are passing clouds.
So I reminded myself: My thoughts are passing clouds.
And then again: My thoughts are passing clouds.
Not because repeating those words could prove that nothing bad was going to happen. Not because they could give me the certainty my OCD wanted.
But because I didn’t have to treat every thought my brain produced like an instruction.
I could have the thought and keep going.
Even as I write this, part of my brain is saying, Maybe don’t write that. What if something happens an hour from now?
Point taken, brain.
I’m writing it anyway.
Why Can Going Home Trigger Anxiety?
When I think about it, it actually makes a lot of sense that going back to my childhood home can bring up old anxiety.
This is the house where so much of mine accumulated.
This is the bedroom where I would sit crying before bed because I felt sick to my stomach over some tiny detail from my day as a middle schooler—something that suddenly felt important enough to require a dramatic confession to my parents.
At the time, I didn’t know what rumination was.
I didn’t know what compulsions were.
I definitely didn’t know that the overwhelming urge to resolve something before I could relax was part of a larger pattern.
I just knew that I felt anxious, and that my brain kept telling me I needed to do something about it.
Years later, I can walk into the same room as an adult and feel some of those familiar thought patterns come rushing back.
Your Brain Remembers More Than You Think
Certain places can become associated with certain versions of ourselves.
A childhood bedroom isn’t just four walls. It can hold years of memories, habits, relationships, fears, and routines.
So even when I’m going home because I want to be there, my brain can slip surprisingly easily into old patterns.
The surroundings are familiar.
The people are familiar.
And sometimes, the anxiety is familiar too.
That doesn’t mean I’ve gone backward.
It doesn’t mean everything I’ve learned in therapy disappeared somewhere on the drive home.
It just means an old environment can bring old mental habits closer to the surface.
The difference now is that I recognize them.
An OCD Flare-Up Doesn't Mean You Have to Avoid Going Home
I could decide that because my OCD and anxiety tend to get louder when I visit my childhood home, I shouldn’t go there as often.
But I don’t want anxiety making that decision for me.
I want the couch and the rom-coms.
I want ice cream followed by pretzels.
I want naps with the dogs.
I want time with my parents.
So I keep going home.
And if my brain brings some old thoughts along for the weekend, they can come too.
I don’t have to solve every one of them.
I don’t have to Google every question.
I don’t have to figure out with absolute certainty whether something is wrong.
Sometimes I can notice the thought, feel the discomfort of not answering it, and go back downstairs.
Because the goal isn’t to make sure I never feel anxious in my childhood home again.
It’s to keep living my life there even when I do.
And sometimes that means looking at the words on my mirror and remembering:
My thoughts are passing clouds.
Feel like you could use a reminder?
Sometimes we know the perspective that helps—we just need something to bring us back to it when our thoughts get loud.
Take our quiz to find the reminder that feels right for you.
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