Why I Started This Blog

Why I’m Starting This Blog: My OCD Story, From Silence to Strength

For a long time, I didn’t know there was a name for what I was going through. I didn’t know that the endless loops of thoughts running through my head, or the constant, invisible rules I had to follow just to get through the day, were part of something real—something recognized, something treatable. I just knew that something was wrong, and that I couldn’t tell anyone.

When I entered high school, I expected the usual things: homework, new friends, stress about grades, maybe a club or two. What I didn’t expect was that my mind would start to turn against me—or rather, that I would finally become aware of just how much it already had. The first two years of high school were not marked by social milestones or academic triumphs. They were marked by rituals. Counting. Checking. Obsessing. Hiding.

This blog is the beginning of something I’ve needed for a long time—a space to reflect, to connect, and to transform something painful into something meaningful.

The Quiet Chaos No One Saw

From the outside, I seemed fine to my teachers and friends. I turned in assignments, I said “I’m good” when people asked how I was doing, and I even managed to show up to a few school events and pretend I was just like everyone else. But internally, I was exhausted. I fell into a deep depression, couldn’t get out of bed, and started rarely going to class. Everything I did felt governed by an invisible rulebook I didn’t write but felt forced to follow.

I would check locks and doors over and over, not because I truly believed they were open, but because the anxiety that came if I didn’t was unbearable. I’d reread text messages five, ten, fifteen times before sending them, fearing I had said something “wrong” that would hurt someone or make them hate me. I prayed compulsively, not out of faith, but out of fear. What if I didn’t say the exact right words in the exact right order? Would something terrible happen?

There were moments when I would look around and wonder: Is anyone else living like this? Is anyone else this tired just from trying to be? No one ever seemed to be. Everyone else seemed to float through life while I fought just to get through a regular Tuesday. But I never told anyone. I was scared I wouldn’t be taken seriously. I was scared I’d be judged. I was scared I’d be told I was being dramatic, or worse, that this was just who I was.

It wasn’t. I just didn’t have the language yet to say, “I have OCD.”

Finding the Words

Eventually, I reached a point where the pressure cooker I had been living in began to crack. I couldn’t keep doing everything “just right” to quiet the anxiety. I couldn’t live in constant fear. Something had to give—and when it did, I told someone. It was scary and awkward and vulnerable. But it was also the beginning of everything changing.

The first time I heard the term “Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder” used in a way that actually made sense—not in the way people joke about being “so OCD” about their lockers—I felt something unlock in me. This wasn’t a character flaw. This wasn’t a quirk. This was a condition with a name, and more importantly, with treatment. That realization gave me something I hadn’t had in a long time: hope.

I learned that OCD isn’t just about being clean or organized (though it can be). It’s about intrusive thoughts—unwanted, distressing thoughts that stick in your mind and refuse to go away—and the compulsions we use to try to neutralize them. And those compulsions, no matter how strange or irrational they may seem to others, are real to the person experiencing them. They feel urgent. Necessary. Life-or-death.

Understanding what was happening to me didn’t solve everything, but it gave me the first piece of a puzzle I’d been trying to build in the dark.

From Survival to Advocacy

Over time, I started to manage my OCD more effectively. I read, I journaled, I did my best to seek support—even when it was hard. And slowly, I began to see that OCD, while incredibly difficult, was not unbeatable. It was something I could live with, understand, and work through. Not every day is easy, and there are still moments when old compulsions try to creep back in. But I’m no longer silent about it. I’m no longer ashamed.

And that’s what brings me here—to this blog.

I’m not writing this as someone who has all the answers. I’m writing this as someone who knows how much it hurts to feel misunderstood, to feel alone, and to believe there’s no way out. I want this space to be different. I want it to be honest, helpful, and human. A space for other teens—or adults—who are in the middle of the struggle, or just beginning to ask questions about their own mental health.

Starting this blog isn’t just a personal project. It’s a decision. A decision to stop hiding. A decision to turn a hard experience into a source of strength. A decision to contribute to a conversation that still isn’t happening loudly enough in schools, homes, or online.

What You Can Expect Here

So, what will this blog actually look like?

Some posts will be personal—stories, reflections, the ups and downs of managing OCD as a student. Others will be informative—breaking down what OCD really is (and isn’t), how treatment works, and how you can support yourself or someone you love. I’ll also talk about things like stigma, therapy, mental health in academic settings, and how we can advocate for better resources, especially for young people.

And sometimes, I’ll just write about what it’s like to be a high school student trying to balance mental health, academics, and figuring out who you are. Because while OCD is a part of my life, it’s not the whole of who I am.

I’m also using this platform to help raise awareness and funding for OCD research. I’ve created a page to support organizations doing real work in this space.

Why It Matters—To Me and Hopefully to You

Mental illness can be isolating. It can make you feel like you’re the only person in the world dealing with what you’re going through. But you’re not. I wasn’t. It just took me a long time to figure that out.

I think about how different my high school experience might have been if I had found something like this blog when I was a freshman. If I had read the words of someone a little older saying, “I’ve been there. I still am. And it gets better.”

That’s who I want to be for someone else.

This isn’t just about OCD. It’s about creating a culture where we take mental health seriously. Where students don’t feel like they have to choose between success and sanity. Where asking for help is seen as a sign of strength, not weakness. Where we replace stigma with empathy and silence with conversation.

I don’t have all the answers—but I’m ready to ask better questions. I’m ready to listen. I’m ready to share.

Thank you for being here, for reading, and for giving me the chance to turn my story into something more than just my own. I hope it speaks to you, encourages you, or even just makes you feel a little less alone.

This is just the beginning.

— Madelyn H