Living With OCD as the Pandemic Wanes

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I started outlining this post in June 2020. I know, I know, we make plans and God laughs; if that’s the case, God has been indulging himself in a two-year standup set of his favorite Old Testament routines, such as the Book of Job and the 10 plagues of Exodus. I think we can agree: There’s nothing more insufferable than a divine comedian who laughs at his own jokes.

This post was also supposed to be titled something like “OCD After COVID," which doesn’t apply to our current circumstances because, as I need to emphasize, COVID is not “over.” There are still serious risks for the elderly and immuno-compromised. We will likely see additional waves over the autumn and winter.

And for most of us, the psychological scars of the pandemic haven’t even begun to heal, because many of the scars are still scabs, and some are still open wounds; because what else is there to do in the eight-minute gap between your Zoom Zumba class and your uncle’s tele-funeral but chew on your wounds like a dog that slipped out of its safety cone?

But strict quarantine is indeed over. The pandemic has become endemic. When the (alleged) oldest man in America with the (actual) worst job in America shakes off the virus twice in two weeks, that’s a good sign. It is time for all of us—cautiously, deliberately, and responsibly—to begin to transition back to something like normalcy. For most people, this will be a profound relief.

Unless you have an anxiety disorder, in which case this period of transition, marked by adjustment and uncertainty, may feel even more oppressive than the worst days of quarantine—as the threat of the virus is diminished yet not totally gone, different experts advise different levels of caution, and a sudden resurgence seems frighteningly possible.

For OCD sufferers, quarantine was miserable, yet safe

Quarantine was more than a trigger for OCD sufferers; it was, perversely, a vindication of our symptoms. Suddenly, everyone had to wash their hands every time they touched a doorknob. Everyone was online all day, refreshing the same websites over and over, hoping for good news while dreading some new unforeseen global disaster. Many of the social and environmental OCD triggers that come from everyday interaction with the outside world were suddenly no longer an issue; at the same time, sufferers could apply their prior experience with social isolation to manage the challenges of quarantine. OCD was quid pro quo.

Although quarantine was miserable, that misery was consistent, reliable, and certain. There was no need to worry about your appearance or pick out a nice outfit; there was no one to impress or disappoint, so no social anxiety. Your coping strategies—a break or a nap or a hot shower—were always right there whenever you needed them. There were no waiting rooms or traffic jams or interminable meetings; no car crashes or sudden thunderstorms or other unpredictable misfortunes. Compared to everyday life, quarantine was perversely safe.

Uncertainty is the issue here. OCD thrives in uncertainty. OCD sufferers don’t usually repeat actions that they know are always helpful, but ones that are only helpful sometimes, or that might be helpful in some abstract way in the future. Intermittent reinforcement encourages the repetition of such protective and reassurance-seeking behaviors, which soon become inescapable, compulsive rituals. Trying out something new always carries some risk of negative consequences. The no-risk, low-cost repetition of an OCD ritual always seems easier and safer in the moment, even as those marginal costs compound over time, and eventually threaten to consume your life.

It’s totally normal to be stressed out during times of change, even if that transition is ultimately a positive one. Routine is comfortable and rituals are reassuring, especially if you struggle with OCD.

Copyright, Fletcher Wortmann, 2022.

Please credit the original author, Fletcher Wortmann, and PsychologyToday.com