What I Learned In OCD Treatment

By Courtney Psenicka

I walked into the large group room, filled with about 10-12 people, and awkwardly took a seat in the corner hoping to blend into the background. “I’m Collin,” one of them said immediately, lightening my mood. As I replied with my name, everyone started introducing themselves one by one. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had never done a group therapy session before, and I had never been through any type of treatment program. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be there—but deep down, I knew I had to be. I knew this was the step I had to take to get my life back.

I vividly remember the first thing we talked about in that group: values. We discussed how they shape who we are and how we show up in the world. As we went around the room, identifying what was most important to each of us, something became clear: everyone in that room was a genuinely good person. I remember thinking how good it was to be surrounded by people whose values mattered so much to them—and how deeply OCD had latched onto each of our values. It was inescapable, but at the same time, it was a reminder that we weren’t our diagnosis. We were more than that. And we wanted more than that.

As we wrapped up that first day, one kid stood up to say goodbye. It was his last day in the program. After 20 weeks starting in a residential facility, he was leaving to move into his own apartment, something he hadn’t been able to do for years because his OCD had taken such a toll on his life. He smiled and said, “This program works.” He told us how it had given him his life back, how he was now able to do things he hadn’t even imagined he could do again. And as he said it, I remember thinking, I wish that was me.

I wanted so badly for there to be a magic pill, something that would get me to the other side, that could “cure” me. But here’s the thing about treatment—whether it’s for OCD, anxiety, depression, or addiction: it takes time & work. There’s no easy way out. There’s no quick fix. It takes dedication, day in and day out. And while it’s not a linear process, I’ve come to realize that if you want it, you can have it.

So here I am now, getting ready to sit in the center of the room and share how treatment has affected me. And I figured I’d take this newsletter as an opportunity to figure it out.

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One thing about OCD treatment is that you never really feel better during it. In Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP) therapy, the goal is to intentionally trigger anxiety in order to give you the chance to resist compulsive behaviors and observe how that anxiety naturally decreases over time. So, as soon as one exposure becomes easier, they introduce a more challenging one to keep the anxiety going. It’s a never-ending cycle, but in a productive way.

OCD even tries to sabotage your treatment by making you question whether you really have it, or by making you feel “weird” when you notice the anxiety lessening. Throughout treatment, I had multiple moments where I thought, “This isn’t working for me.” I came in with the expectation that I’d feel better every single day. So, on the days I didn’t—or when things felt harder—I assumed I was failing. But here’s the thing: with OCD treatment, you don’t always “feel” better on a daily basis. Instead, what you start to notice is that things in your life are getting easier.

You suddenly find yourself doing things you hadn’t been able to do before because of anxiety. And even though the anxiety is still there, it no longer controls your actions. Over time, you realize that you’re not reacting the way you used to, and eventually, you barely notice the anxiety at all.

One of my biggest takeaways from treatment has been understanding that getting better doesn’t mean you won’t have bad days. In fact, OCD will likely always be a part of you. You’ll always have that tendency to overthink or to be overly cautious—our brains are wired that way. But the difference is, treatment gives you a heightened awareness of your behaviors and how to stop feeding into the cycle OCD wants to suck you into. It teaches you to say, “Yeah, OCD, that could happen, but I’m not going to engage with that thought.”

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Acceptance was another huge struggle for me throughout treatment. How was I supposed to accept the disturbing thoughts that OCD was constantly throwing at me? For the longest time, I fought against them—I pushed them away, wrestled with them, tried to outsmart them. But intrusive thoughts are relentless. The harder you push back, the harder they push forward. It’s exhausting. The same thing happened with the anxiety. When it came, I would do everything I could to make it go away. I tried to avoid it, to control it, but the truth is, the key to really overcoming anxiety and intrusive thoughts is letting them be there. You don’t have to agree with them. In fact, you can hate them. But if you keep fighting them, they will never go away.

Acceptance didn’t come easily, and it still takes practice every day. But when I finally started accepting that I have OCD, that I have these thoughts and these feelings—that’s when healing truly began. It also meant accepting that I might not be doing the exposures perfectly, or even correctly. I had become obsessed with the idea of “getting better” to the point where I constantly worried I was doing it wrong. But when I let go of that need for perfection and just focused on doing the work—without questioning if it was right or wrong—that’s when things started to shift. That’s when I was finally able to say, “This is working.”

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One thing that really struck me during treatment is that the content of our obsessions doesn’t matter. It’s easy to get caught up in the thought, “I wish I had any other obsession or subtype, because this one is just so distressing.” But that’s exactly why OCD has latched onto it. If it didn’t cause you distress, it wouldn’t be an obsession. The content of the thought is connected to your deepest values—it's something that matters to you on a core level.

For example, whether you have Contamination OCD or Harm OCD, it would likely affect you the same way. You’d value not getting sick (or not getting others sick) just as much as someone with Harm OCD values protecting others from potential harm. That’s why, at its core, treatment is the same for everyone. Yes, the exposures are tailored to your specific fear, but the goal is universal: to sit with the anxiety that the exposure causes and allow it to be there.

This is why if you don’t treat the core theme of OCD—doubt—by learning to live with uncertainty, OCD will just find new ways to show up in other obsessions. You have to learn how to sit with the doubt and get comfortable with allowing yourself to feel anxious without needing all the answers.

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Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I’ll be in the center of the room, sharing what I’ve learned and offering any “words of wisdom” I can. Afterward, I’ll go home and enjoy the holidays with my family—something I may not have been able to do if I hadn’t taken the leap to enter this treatment program. So, what am I going to say to the group? Well, I think it will be something like this:

"Four months ago, I was on the edge of being non-functional. I was struggling to drive. I couldn’t even use a fork around my family without feeling immense anxiety. I couldn’t leave a pen unclicked or a soda can open and out. I couldn’t leave a knife on the counter to dry. I couldn’t watch the news or read about crime on Facebook without spiraling. If a scary movie came on, I had to turn it off immediately. I couldn’t trust myself to be alone with my daughter, and honestly, I didn’t even want to be alone myself. OCD had taken everything I loved away from me. It stole time with my daughter, the one thing I love more than anything in this world.

But then, I made the choice to do something different. I chose to trust this program, to have blind faith that it could work for me. I faced my fears head-on. I trusted the therapists here, and I jumped into the unknown without knowing what would happen when I landed. I did the hard work—even on the days it felt unbearable. I put myself in anxiety-provoking situations so I could learn to sit with the discomfort. I worked on accepting my condition and my thoughts. Not every day was easier—some days were harder—but over time, I’ve seen that I can handle hard things. I can take anxiety with me and still live according to my values, regardless of what OCD tries to tell me.

Four months of hard work has given me my life back. Now, I’m moving forward, knowing that I did everything I could to get better. ERP is 80% effective, but I believe it could be 100% effective if everyone was truly willing to put in the hard work. You can’t resist it, you can’t white-knuckle your way through. But you can get better. You just have to be willing to jump.”

With Love and Gratitude,

The Mindful Mom

Court