A few days ago, I was up on my roof deck, soaking in the sun and diving into a book my mom had recommended. It was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon—just me, my book, and some fresh air. But as I started reading, something strange happened. The narrative of the book took an odd turn, and suddenly, my mind went into overdrive, thanks to my existential OCD.
The author was recounting a story about what happened on an island, but he kept switching perspectives. He was trying to tell us what others had told him, claiming he would do his best not to "mess up the details" as he described what happened that night. The way he wrote it all felt so uncertain and shaky, as if he wasn’t entirely sure himself. And that’s when the gears in my mind started turning.
“What if he gets the details wrong? What if this story isn’t accurate? Can I even trust what I’m reading?”
My OCD had found a target, and my mind was locked in.
Then came the passage that truly set me off:
“It’s hard to describe how lovely the island is—was? I’m struggling a little with my tenses here. I’m not sure where I am—the present, or the past? I know where I would be, given half a chance. I’d give anything to be back there right now.”
That paragraph hit me like a tidal wave. My whole body went numb. The confusion over past and present, the uncertainty about reality—it was a direct hit to my existential OCD. I read that passage over and over again, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out what the author was really saying. Was he in the present, or was he lost in the past? The very idea of not knowing where you are in time was enough to send my mind into a spiral.
This is something I’ve faced many times before. The blurred lines between past and present, the feeling that nothing is certain, that the very fabric of reality might slip through your fingers—that’s the kind of existential dread that people with OCD deal with.
And yet, this time, I recognized it for what it was: a trigger. My OCD was trying to take control, throwing me into a fight-or-flight response. But this time, I didn’t let it.
Taking Back Control
In that moment, I stopped. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I’ve been scared by these thoughts before. The shifting tenses in the story weren’t the real problem—my OCD was. Other people, including my mom, had read this book without any issue. So why was I letting it stop me?
I let myself sit with the fear for a moment. Instead of letting anxiety take over, I allowed myself to feel the discomfort, to acknowledge it without letting it control me. And then, I turned the page.
I finished the chapter. And then I read two more.
In the end, I was able to keep going, even though my OCD was pushing me to stop. I chose not to let it take the steering wheel, and that was a victory in itself.
The Best Reminders for Existential OCD
Managing existential OCD means reminding ourselves that we don’t have to solve every unanswerable question. Here are two powerful reminders that help me stay grounded:
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“I am separate from my mind.”
Thoughts are involuntary, and they don’t define who you are or what’s real. You can observe them without being controlled by them. -
“Embrace uncertainty.”
Life is full of unknowns. Instead of trying to control everything or find answers to every existential question, practice accepting the ambiguity. It’s okay not to have everything figured out.
Conclusion
Existential OCD can turn simple things, like reading a book, into an uphill battle. But by recognizing the triggers and allowing ourselves to experience discomfort without giving in to fear, we can slowly take back control. It’s not always easy, but it’s possible. If you’ve ever felt trapped by your OCD, remember: you have the power to keep going, even when the path ahead feels uncertain.
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