Searching for Relief
It was a dark and desperate moment when I opened my web browser and typed “problems in relationships when you have OCD.” I was ready to break up with my boyfriend because I could think of no other way to relieve my anxiety. As much as I tried to stop them, I felt totally out of control of my thoughts, both about my partner and our relationship. They suffocated me, to the point that I no longer enjoyed any of our time together.
To my pleasant surprise, Google generated a number of relevant websites for my search on relationship problems related to OCD. And not just a handful — over 50,000,000 websites.
Thank the universe, I thought.
I opened the first website and skimmed it. And then the next and the next. It felt like I was reading articles about myself. I felt seen.
In between articles, I took a screenshot of my Google search and sent it to my boyfriend. “Look,” I typed. “It’s a thing,” I added.
Discovering Relationship OCD
What puzzled me (and still does) is that I had known about my diagnosis of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder for years. And, somehow, it never occurred to me that any of my problems in relationships might be related to OCD. I had seen patterns in my behavior within relationships, surely. But I never saw the similarities between relationship-based thoughts and compulsions and all the other thoughts and compulsions I had identified over the years.
Finally, I had a framework for my struggles. There was a word for “problems in relationships when you have OCD,” and that word (or acronym, rather) was “ROCD.” Which is also known as “Relationship Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.” And, as it turned out, other people had it, too. I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t just the label that helped, though. It was that I finally understood.
Seeing Thoughts Through a New Lens
I understood why my fantasy was shattered when our first kiss wasn’t perfect. I thought it meant there was something “wrong” with the budding relationship. A relationship won’t work if I don’t like kissing him.
Now, it made sense why his early proclamations of love felt impossible to return. Why can’t I say “I love you?” to him and know that I mean it.
I saw why his questions about kids’ names sent me spiraling into a panic. Is he expecting me to commit to having babies with him?
I understood that his need for verbal affirmation felt like a heavy weight that threatened to crush me. If I tell him he’s the best partner and that I’m so lucky to have him, will that be a big fat lie?
I saw all of my obsessive thoughts around his attractiveness, his personality, his social life, his job, his family. Do I like that he is introverted? Methodical? Not close to his family?
I understood how the more he told me he loved me, the more I questioned whether I really loved him. This is not how I imagined I would feel in love. Something must be wrong.
It finally made sense why I bristled during conversations around future plans. What if we’re not still together then? I don’t know if I can admit to being together then.
And I saw why my persistent desire for alone time made me uneasy. Does that mean we’re not a good fit?
Giving the Relationship a Chance
We both read and researched and talked and went to therapy. We learned a LOT about ROCD.
And, granted, it wasn’t all me, as much as he thought it was. Even I thought all the problems were solely mine at the time. The reality was that the closer he pulled me toward him, the more forcefully I pushed him away. And the more forcefully I pushed him away, the more desperately he tried to pull me toward him again. It was the perfect storm of opposing attachment styles, past relationship trauma, and a whole lot of ROCD.
So, I still couldn’t shake the uncertainty. As it turns out, knowing about something is quite a lot different than changing it. Especially when human behavior is involved. The brain is a powerful thing. Challenges don’t go away as soon as you identify them.
So, we found an idea. I think it was on an ROCD Reddit thread? Someone suggested committing to a limited, reasonable amount of time. Doing so would, supposedly, make certain one thing about the relationship. It would take the daily decision-making out of the equation (e.g., I don’t like that thing he just did; should we break up?). It would give the relationship a chance.
We agreed.
“What do you think is a reasonable timeframe?” he asked. “How about a year?”
“A year?!” I tried not to sound too incredulous. “I can do three months,” I said.
