Kyleigh Leist
Marketing Director
When I tell people I have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD), one of the first things they often say is something along the lines of, “Oh, so you’re super clean?” or, “You must love organizing!” And while cleanliness and order can be part of it for some, OCD is so much more complicated than that. It’s not just about cleaning—although, for many, it can be. It’s about control, anxiety, and this unrelenting need to feel like things are just right. But if I had to describe it in one word, it would be exhausting. I’ve lived with OCD since I was diagnosed at 19 years old, but truthfully, I’ve probably had it for much longer. It’s like carrying this invisible weight around every day that no one can see.
OCD isn’t just being overly clean or organized—it’s making sure that the picture frame on the wall is straight, even when everyone else thinks it looks fine. It’s obsessing over the TV volume, ensuring it’s always on an even number. If it’s not, you feel this overwhelming sense of unease. You can’t focus until it’s fixed. Some people might think it’s quirky or laughable, but for those of us who live with it, it’s like having a relentless alarm going off in your brain that only stops when you complete these rituals, even if they seem irrational.
For me, one of my earliest signs of OCD was feeling the need to touch things evenly. For example, if I touched one side of my face, I had to touch the other side in the exact same way. If I didn’t, it would feel wrong. I couldn’t move on until it was “balanced.” It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t experience it. The best way I can describe it is that there’s this gnawing discomfort that only goes away when everything feels “right,” but the feeling of “right” is fleeting and often unreachable.
Pause
(Stops writing to make sure the door is locked. Even though I know I locked it before I sat down, I can’t help but double-check. My brain won’t let me move on until I’m absolutely sure.)
Back to writing...
One of the most frustrating things about OCD is that, logically, I know when something doesn’t need to be fixed. I know the door is locked. I know the picture frame is straight enough. But logic doesn’t always matter. The anxiety is louder than reason. There’s this constant internal battle between what I know and what I feel. I can’t count how many times I’ve walked away from something, only to be pulled back to fix it because my brain won’t let it go.
It’s like my mind is a broken record, repeating the same concerns over and over. Did I turn the stove off? Did I lock the door? Is that volume even? Even when I try to let it go, my brain nags at me until I finally give in. It’s not just an annoying habit—it’s a compulsion that demands to be fulfilled.
When I was younger, I didn’t know what OCD was. I just thought I was weird. I would check the lock on the front door five, six, even seven times before I could leave the house. I would rearrange things on my desk until they were perfectly aligned, even though I knew it didn’t really matter. My friends didn’t get it—they’d laugh, or worse, get frustrated with me. I didn’t get it either. I just knew that if I didn’t do these things, I’d feel this wave of anxiety crash over me. It wasn’t until I was 19 that I got the diagnosis, and while it was a relief to have a name for what I was experiencing, it didn’t make the rituals any easier to manage.
Some days are better than others. There are times when my OCD is more manageable, when I can push through the compulsions and ignore the urges. But then there are days when it feels all-consuming, when it’s impossible to focus on anything else because my brain is screaming at me to fix something that no one else even notices. Those days are the hardest because it feels like I’m trapped in my own head, unable to escape.
Pause
(Distracted by the picture frame on the wall. I have to get up to straighten it. Again. Even though I know it’s already straight enough, I can’t concentrate until I fix it.)
Back to writing...
OCD is often portrayed in the media as a quirky trait or an exaggerated joke, but in reality, it’s far from funny. It’s draining. It impacts my daily life in ways most people don’t realize. It’s not just about being clean or organized—it’s about being in a constant state of worry that something isn’t right. It’s checking and re-checking, doing things over and over because there’s this fear that if I don’t, something bad will happen, or I’ll be stuck with this unbearable feeling of incompleteness.
One of the things that people with OCD often struggle with is the idea of “perfection.” Not in the sense of wanting everything to be flawless, but in the sense that there’s a right way to do things, and if it’s not done that way, it’s all wrong. For me, this shows up in small ways that can quickly become overwhelming. For example, when I’m typing, if I make a typo, I don’t just delete the word—I have to delete the whole sentence and start over. It’s not enough to just fix the mistake. The entire thing feels tainted, and I have to reset. It’s exhausting and time-consuming, but it’s the only way I can move on.
People might say, “Just don’t do it,” or “Why don’t you just ignore it?” But it’s not that simple. Ignoring it feels like trying to hold your breath underwater when your lungs are screaming for air. Eventually, you have to come up for air, and in the same way, I have to give in to the compulsion. It’s the only way to make the anxiety stop. But the relief is temporary, and soon enough, the cycle starts all over again.
Pause
(Gets up to check the lock on the door. Again.)
Back to writing...
Living with OCD means constantly managing these rituals and routines, trying to find a balance between what I know and what my brain tells me I must do. It’s tiring, and some days I wish I could just turn it off. But that’s not how it works. OCD is always there, lingering in the background, ready to pounce whenever it feels like I’m not paying enough attention.
But here’s the thing: OCD doesn’t define me. It’s a part of me, yes, but it’s not all of me. I’ve learned ways to cope, ways to manage the compulsions, even if it’s just for a little while. I’ve learned that it’s okay to not have everything perfect all the time. It’s okay to leave the picture frame slightly crooked, or the TV volume on an odd number, even if it feels uncomfortable. It’s a work in progress, but I’m getting there.
For anyone who thinks OCD is just about being clean or neat, I hope this gives you a little more insight into what it’s really like. It’s not glamorous or quirky—it’s hard. But it’s also something I’m learning to live with, one day at a time.
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