A Scrupulosity Success Story

To add to the recent interviews we’ve posted regarding scrupulosity, here is an excerpt from The Imp of the Mind that illistrates successful CBT treatment of scrupulosity:The-Imp-of-the-Mind-9780525945628

 Father Jack, a priest in his late fifties, came to our clinic several years ago for help with inappropriate sexual obsessions that threatened to ruin his professional and personal life. For him, the worst thing he could imagine doing would be to be caught staring at a young woman’s private parts.

     Seeing an attractive young woman walking down the street or talking with a female parishioner one-on-one, the priest would have the thought and urge to stare at her buttocks, breasts, or crotch. Over the years he fought this urge with all his strength but with little success.

     He had been but a teenager when the thoughts began. When he had told his superior about them, he was told they would pass with time, and to be patient. Only they didn’t. It wasn’t that he had trouble maintaining his vow of chastity – that he was sure he could do. Rather, it was the vulgar images that played over and over in his mind and the way he felt compelled or stare at women’s private parts. The very thing he was most afraid of doing – the very thing that seemed most disgusting to him – why was he having these very thoughts and urges?

     No one who saw him performing ceremonies in his church knew the torment going on inside his mind. Although he had taken the vow of chastity, his mind refused to cooperate. Finally he confided to a parishioner about the thoughts and images that were forcing themselves into his mind whenever he saw an attractive female on the streets or in church. He soon regretted this confession. He got a call from his superior, who told him about a complaint he had received from a parishioner and a warning that the father might be a dangerous man. Providentially, the superior had heard of obsessive thoughts like Father Jack’s, and he arranged for him to receive treatment at our clinic.

     Father Jack told me that he had read my book and others about how to deal with obsessions, and he wanted to know if he had understood them correctly: Was it true that the best thing to do was to stop resisting his obsessions, and to put himself in the situations that triggered his obsessions rather than avoid them?

     As Father Jack returned for his weekly, and then biweekly, visits, I was pleased to hear that he was feeling better…he now noticed that he no longer needed to fight the obsessions or to avoid attractive women on the streets of Boston. By letting himself look at whatever he wanted to look at; by letting whatever thoughts came simply pass through his mind; by recognizing the bad thoughts as nothing more than thoughts – he had cured himself of his obsessions.

     Fortunately for Father Jack, simply stopping thought suppression and no longer avoiding places where he would see attractive women were enough to tame his bad thoughts.

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Overcoming “Hit and Run” OCD

melanieThinking you killed someone every time you drive is gut-wrenching. What’s a girl to do? Stop driving, that’s what.

Little did I know that the avoidance of driving was a compulsion that kept my hit-and-run OCD holding strong. And I must admit, I knew what I should have been doing– Exposure and Response Prevention therapy. There’s a reason haunted houses are called haunted houses. Starting ERP may as well be entering a haunted house. And not for the person who enters willingly.

Treatment involves driving. I couldn’t drive. I didn’t want to drive. Every bump, every crevice, every pedestrian, everything led to thinking I killed someone. Why would I willingly get behind a wheel?

Fast forward to me volunteering at a workshop at the International OCD Foundation’s annual OCD conference where I told my story to a room full of strangers. I sat with a psychologist who assigned me homework: create an imaginary script of my worst-case, Stephen King scenario and listen to it on a loop daily for 45 minutes. He said I’d be driving by the end of the summer. Yeah, we’ll see.

But I had committed to the homework in front of an audience of 100 people. Whether they knew it or not, their presence helped hold me accountable.

A psychologist from Texas approached me afterwards with the thick, southern accent that I love. “Just drive an inch,” he drawled.

An inch. An inch I could do. An inch was reasonable. I’ve never been so excited about a unit of measurement.

His drawl stayed with me all the way back to my hometown.

I started doing my daily Stephen King homework. Over and over I listened to myself saying that I accidentally killed someone, that I was going to jail, that I’d never be able to get over this. I’ll spare you the nitty-gritty. Some days, anxiety would spike. Some days, I’d listen to it with my cats on my lap and wonder whether their comforting purrs would be considered cheating. Other days I’d zone out and want to go to sleep. Eventually I got so fed up with having to sit there for 45 minutes, that I decided it was time to drive that inch. Take that, Stephen King!

My husband welcomed his impromptu role as my exposure coach as he drove us to an empty parking lot. I got out of the car and headed towards the driver’s seat. A seat I hadn’t sat behind in months.

It felt foreign to be behind the wheel. Driving doesn’t feel natural to me. Shouldn’t we all just be riding horses?

The engine was on. I just had to shift it into drive. Drive that inch. Remember the drawl.

And I did. I drove that inch. The inch led to two. The two led to three. Before I knew it, I drove a complete lap around the parking lot. At a snail’s pace, mind you, but I was driving.

We practiced daily around that parking lot until I felt like it was time to venture onto a backstreet and into, you guessed it, another empty parking lot. Then the day came where I found myself merging onto one of the main roads. My husband would purposely keep his head down and focus on his phone, “I can’t tell if you hit anyone, I’m not paying attention!” I wasn’t supposed to check. I wasn’t supposed to replay situations in my head. And I didn’t, despite every cell in my body wanting to rebel. The anxiety really did subside. This treatment thing was legit.

This could only mean one thing. It was time to drive solo. Return to being the lone ranger.

I didn’t want to. The rebellion thing was happening again. And riding a horse just wasn’t feasible.

Two steps forward and one step back is a cliché for a reason. I had days where I didn’t want to drive anymore. I’ve felt discouraged. It’s felt pointless. I wanted out of the haunted house. But I kept getting behind the wheel. It hasn’t gotten progressively easier like it did when my husband was in the car with me. But I’m on a scarier floor of the haunted house. There are masked actors with chainsaws on this floor. I have to remember that they are masked, that their chainsaws are props. And until the day I find the light switch, I’ll keep driving that inch.

Melanie also makes informative videos about OCD. Visit her youtube channel here. 

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