Changing Your Language

This is a photo of my lovely home in LeDroit Park. It's quite cute, no? Little round window, quaint Victorian style, yellow. I mean, who doesn't want a yellow house?

But... for a while now, it's been a thorn in my side. A still not finished, unpacked, or Elizabeth-fied thorn. I know, I know, I should just shut up: I'm 28 and I own a house in DC, which was a great deal in my perfect neighborhood. I'm privileged enough enough to even be able to have a home, owned or rented or whatever. I get it--but try telling my OCD that. It's been screaming at me because things aren't organized, there are boxes on top of the dining room table instead of place settings, and I have no idea where my cameras have gone... My OCD brain has been saying over and over again that this is my worst nightmare, absolute chaos, supposed to be different!!! Gah!!! it says, loudly, all the time.

So...I've been anxious, naggy (the boy has done most of the repairs cause he's awesomely spatial like that), and on constant cognitive thinking overdrive. I mean, I've handled this better than I expected. I haven't set anything on fire or thrown unpacked dishes out in the trash just to get rid of them, for example. So when I went to therapy this weekend, anxious but feeling pretty okay with myself, and my therapist subsequently challenged me, I was not a happy camper:

Me: I mean, of course the house is still bothering me! It should have been done by now!

Her: Should? Hmm, well there aren't really any absolute time-tables. Things take as long as they take. It hasn't even been a year--some people take five!

Me (crossing my arms in defiance): Well, that's great for them... I personally can't live in chaos.

Her: Chaos? That's a strong word. I mean, it hasn't actually been chaos... You're functioning and going to work and living.

Me (getting more defensive): Well, it feels like chaos. It's been my worst nightmare.

Her: Oh my. I think I'm really going to have to challenge you on that. I'm sure you can imagine worse things, hell, even worse things related to the house.

Me (brain loudly whirring-ooo, I got her now!): Well, that might be true... But its certainly been my worst OCD nightmare!

Her (staring at me because we both know she's right): You are really using absolute language--no wonder it feels so large and unmanageable... The truth is THE HOUSE ISN'T HOW YOU WANT IT TO BE. No right or wrong or good or bad just not how you want it.

Me (feeling small and selfish and silly...): um, er, well that's true, I suppose... I mean, it's not NOT true.

Her (laughing): You know, you really have to use different words if you want your brain to think and respond differently... Try not to use the absolutes and see what happens, okay?

And you know what?! It's helping, the tiniest smidge... I mean, changing your entrenched brain patterns takes time, but it has worked to help ease a bit of the panic when the hair in the bathroom makes me worry about the baseboards and that makes me think about the window trim and then the light fixtures and then the cabinets and then... well, you get the idea. Cause if I just don't like it as opposed to it being a WARZONE, that's a lovely thought, no? I mean, I know that changing your thinking helps, I've been doing cognitive-behavioural therapy for eight years now and no longer re-collate my papers anymore or throw out books with wobbly underline... I guess the house is just my last anxiety holdout.

I know I'll always have good and bad days (I have OCD for Christ's sake, acceptance of this is kinda essential to long-term healing), but... maybe with a little rewriting, this'll all be okay...