You don’t need anyone to approve of you.

She emphatically said to me in her calm, raspy voice while staring me dead in my frantic eyes. She picked up on the fact that I’d been struggling. She needn’t spend more than a few afternoons over tea with me to register my fear. “Have you ever actually seen your fear?” she continued. My jaw was on the floor.

In her 81 years of life, she’s been around the block a time or ten, and the assuredness and wisdom that only age and hardship can afford seeps from her every word. She spoke of her days frequenting the Albert Ellis Institute in Manhattan, and learning how to harness the dialogue unfolding in her life to reduce if not expunge her fear. She said to part ways with the ‘shoulds.’ She said it would take time. That we can’t turn the boat completely around mid-current. It would take practice. “You don’t need anyone to approve of you.”

I sat with her words and after weeks of introspection came to the following, a script of sorts, to revisit when I begin believing that the human condition and the lives we lead should be any other way than they are.

Nothing is wrong with you. You keep fantasizing about all the issues and making mountains out of everything you feel and experience because you have no tolerance for discomfort. You rely on other people to accept you, affirm you, and make you feel like you’re enough. If you fulfill all the criteria of a manageable mood, a prestigious job, an enviable marriage, a healthy body, impeccable coping skills and neat even days with no unknowns, then everything will be as you feel it should. Everything will be as you feel it must.

But the world isn’t waiting for you to thrive. Its inhabitants aren’t here to solve your problems. And until you have faith in yourself, and give yourself the approval you are desperately waiting for someone or something else to give you, you will always come up short. No amount of money, scoops of ice cream, promotions, or criticism free days will ever be enough to numb your dis-ease until you decide I approve of me, as I am. Every single part.

Every good thing. Every doubt. Every loathsome emotion. Every intrusive thought. Every poor excuse and bad behavior. Every misstep. Every embarrassment. Every shame ridden sentiment. Every sideways glance from someone you care entirely too much about. Every time you divulged too much. Every embarrassingly long social media spiral. Every argument. Every debilitating low mood. Every strand of your DNA. Every component of your mental disorder. Every bill left to pay. Every cluttered corner. Every messy room. And ribbon of cellulite. And gray hair. And eye brow untweezed. And dysfunctional family encounter. And drunken outburst. And argument. And misspoken word. And longing. And comparison you assigned too much weight to. And topic that steals your mind and heart away from the glorious albeit imperfect present.

I realize now that I have thought all along that getting approval was the goal and reassurance from others would keep me safe but being on the other side of a need for approval is where the freedom lies. You don’t need anyone to approve of you.

When I was around eight years old, I sat in the office of my elementary school counselor's office and he told me I was trying to force adult files into my child-sized filing cabinet. While it wasn't a technical explanation or diagnosis, it gave me a greater understanding of what was happening in my head. I could not sort through complicated concepts without obsessing over their implications. I was fixated on nightmarish topics of harm, violence, and imprudence seemingly all the time. Why should an eight year old be burdened with this material, I often wondered. I cried, and cried often. I was longing to make it through the day unimpeded by what was happening in the confines of my mind, but somehow the fear always overcame me. Fear of what could happen to me, what could happen to loved ones, fear of what harm people are capable of. Eventually they called it OCD. Who would have thought?

Pure obsessional OCD is rather obscure, marked by intrusive imagery and mental obsessions not accompanied by the physical compulsions that shape the understanding most have of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. While the content matter of the thought patterns may vary from person to person, recurring topics of harm, religious blasphemy, loss of control, impropriety, sexuality, and anything that the person finds reprehensible, dirty, or “bad” are common. Like a record on a loop, it plays on and on, anxiety growing with each rotation. The doubt is pervasive. Doubting one's character, intentions, goodness, and worthiness are common. A cloud of irrational fears mercilessly feasts on your vulnerabilities. The song just keeps playing.

Research shows that pure O is so anxiety provoking because individuals who have the condition are among the least likely to act on the thoughts they experience. These individuals are gentle and kind, which is why the subject matter of intrusions is so repugnant and bothersome. Externally, there are few indicators of Pure Obsessional OCD; it's quite invisible. My mother always tells me I look like I am immersed in thought, my brow furrowed in concern. As a society, we rely on what people reveal about their conditions, and thus much goes undisclosed. I think people rarely talk about Pure O because it is embarrassing and stigmatized. There is a level of shame and guilt associated with having thoughts of this kind. Therapists call it thought-reality fusion, or believing these fleeting thoughts mean you will do something bad, act out, hurt another person. Rest assured, it is an anxiety disorder and not a matter of impulse control. While I cannot speak for all, the way I find solace from the intrusions is with a healthy dose of distraction, physical activity, repetitive mantras, and cognitive behavioral therapy. From experience, I have seen that the worst habit is engaging with or trying to suppress the thoughts; suppression does not readily happen. Tell yourself not to think of something and believe me, it is sure to be the only thing on your mind.

Sometimes I feel as if I burden those closest to me because I crave reassurance to explain away the dissonance in my mind. I ask if "everything is ok" and I ask them often, embarrassingly often. Sometimes they enable me and answer, yes, that "everything is ok". They see how desperately I need them to say just that. Other times they force me to rely on myself, to embrace the discomfort, to reside with what frightens me most, which in the long run is more helpful. Regardless, I've come to realize that nothing is ever really ok, and that in and of itself, is well, ok.

To Prepare Savory Pie Crust Cookies:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
Prepare one batch of your favorite pie crust. Store-bought works just fine as well. Roll out your crust to roughly 1/4 inch thick. Using your favorite cookie cutters, cut out desired shapes and sizes. Place on a greased cookie sheet.
Meanwhile, combine 1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, 1/4 cup fresh chopped parsley, salt and pepper to taste.
Brush your pie crust cutouts with egg wash. (I typically beat one egg and combine with 2 tablespoons of water.)
Gently press cheese and parsley mixture onto each cookie until generously covered. Bake for 12 minutes or until crisp and golden.
Serve with a dipping bowl of marinara sauce.