From the outside, my husband and I seem like any other couple. We argue, take our children to soccer games, do yard work together on the weekends. The usual. What’s unusual about us is that my husband lives with obsessive-compulsive disorder, and while we manage it, together, friends we’ve known for years know that it’s a struggle.
For my husband, it started with the things we usually associate with OCD: an aversion to germs, needing everything to be in order, and a tendency towards perfection. He’d organize a box of legos by size, shape, and color, forgetting that they were meant to be used for building, and any disturbances to his arrangement would cause him intense, overwhelming anxiety. Though he learned to manage that impulse over the years, the disorder manifested itself in different, unexpected ways, ways we don’t often see in TV or movie representations of people who struggle with OCD. In his teens, he started having terrible thoughts about apocalyptic catastrophes (often called “intrusive thoughts”), and worse, started to believe that they might happen if he kept thinking about them.


