A few years ago, I began to notice that I was hearing similar messages from different people I knew. My harp teacher, my yoga instructors, my grief counselors, my cancer support community, my voice teacher, and my clergy were all expressing the same ideas — so I decided maybe it was time to start listening!
It started when I was talking with my new OCD therapist. She asked me to tell her a goal I’d like to have for my work with her. My answer was quick and desperate: “My goal is to not have OCD.”
In other words, I wanted to not have intrusive thoughts, the anxiety they cause, and the resulting urges to perform compulsions to try to make the discomfort go away.
After all, I’d been fighting against OCD for years, the better part of my life. I’d worked with many different therapists, but never felt like I made much progress. Worse, I held beliefs about myself that I was worthless, broken, and sick.
My therapist looked at me kindly, and gently asked if I thought my goal was realistic. We both laughed as I admitted that it wasn’t. I’d been begging my therapists all along to wave some kind of a magic wand, or cast a spell over me, or even perform brain surgery on me, to give me some relief from my thoughts and feelings.
After some discussion, I settled on the idea, albeit seemingly impossible at the time, that I would aim to accept that I might feel discomfort at times, and that I wanted to live my life in a meaningful way nonetheless.
This was a new idea to me. I’d always focused on trying to get away from the uncomfortable feelings I had, to push away the intrusive thoughts that came at me so often, to “fix” whatever was “broken” about me. I longed to go about my life feeling safe and at ease, to not face constant struggle. I had a firm belief that there was definitely something wrong with me and that I must be approaching my challenges in the wrong way — that I was weak and incapable of handling difficult feelings and events in my life.
Shortly after that therapy session, I attended a Tu B’Shvat seder with a visiting rabbi. As we moved through the ritual meal, we also learned together. She re-interpreted the 23rd Psalm from a traditional translation into: “I will not fear, because my cup overflows with all that I need, inside of me, to deal with the hard things that happen in my life.”
A lightbulb went off in my head when I heard these words. This was exactly what I’d been discussing with my therapist that day!
I ended up writing a song called “Kosi R’vaya,” my cup overflows, about this idea that we have the capacity to deal with the hard things in our life.
In the weeks and months following that appointment with my new therapist, I kept hearing the messages that I most needed, from all parts of my life. They were all variations on the following: I matter. I have worth. I’m not broken, I’m human. I can develop resilience and handle tough things in my life. Compassion — toward others and myself — is crucial.
These messages came into my life at a time when I was becoming more and more involved in Jewish spirituality — mostly Jewish mindfulness meditation and Tikkun Middot, the study of Jewish ethical traits.
It has been so helpful to realize that the skills I’ve been learning in my OCD therapy echo Jewish teachings and beliefs.
That day in my therapist’s office, when we talked about living my life according to what is important to me while also feeling a range of emotions, was a perfect description of Jewish mindfulness and Tikkun Middot. In other words: striving to be present in the moment, to engage in my experience as it is right now, and to decide on my next actions based on my values.
I now lean heavily on my Judaism to remind myself why I do the hard work in OCD treatment.
OCD recovery is hard and uncomfortable. It takes strength and courage to willingly face my fears and lean into the uncertainty of life. Because it can feel so distressing, it’s helpful to ask myself why I do it — to remind myself of what’s important to me in my life. Remembering this can motivate me to choose to act according to my values.
I’ve come to understand that life is challenging. Difficult things happen. Intrusive thoughts come into our heads. What matters is how we choose to respond to them.
One of my favorite Jewish stories tells that after the tablets that G-d gave to Moses were broken, the Israelites were instructed to put the broken pieces into the Mishkan next to the whole tablets and carry them together as they wandered in the desert.
I love this teaching that even though we might feel broken sometimes, we are all created B’tzelem Elohim, in the image of G-d, and therefore we all have a spark of holiness in us. For me, this means that even the seemingly broken parts cannot be forgotten or set aside. Our load may seem heavier as we carry those extra, broken “tablets.” But there is important wisdom within the brokenness, too.
This work of looking at my values and choosing to do hard things inspired me to write a song called “Running Towards My Values.” It’s another example of how by using music and Jewish mindfulness and values, I feel empowered to face the challenges in my life while growing into a better version of myself.
At The Well uplifts many approaches to Jewish practice. Our community draws on ancient Jewish wisdom, sometimes adapting longstanding practices to more deeply support the well-being of women and nonbinary people. See this article’s sources below. We believe Torah (sacred teachings) are always unfolding to help answer the needs of the present moment.
Annie is a Jewish Educator in St. Louis who teaches Hebrew, B'Mitzvah prep, music, and 8th grade Tikkun Olam. She is navigating life with OCD with the help of Judaism, music, and her supportive communities. She loves to sing, compose songs, play the guitar and the harp, and perform in a Klezmer band, Shakshuka!
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