From sitcoms to reality TV to social media, the world has a lot to say about what obsessive-compulsive disorder is, how it works, and how it’s treated. Unfortunately, not all of it is accurate. And when it comes to OCD, recognizing it is half the battle. OCD is a disorder that occurs when distressing intrusive thoughts become sticky and difficult to dismiss, causing intense anxiety and a drive to reduce that anxiety with compulsions. This can present in a wide variety of ways, and two people’s OCD may look very different from one another. 

I’m getting ready for work one morning and I have an algorithmically derived playlist on in the background. It’s playing my favourite genre; a mix of songs I love and new ones it thinks I’ll enjoy. When I hear the opening chords of a song I adored in high school, I get first that familiar rush of nostalgia and care and then the crashing horror as I’m reminded of the trial, the verdict - an artist I once loved having done something horrific.

After a bad experience in therapy, deciding to try again matters. It takes openness and resilience to come back to something that didn’t feel good the first time. While therapy can be a powerful and safe place for many, some people have bad experiences and often decide that means therapy isn’t for them. When you’ve been promised an opportunity to heal and instead been met with harm, that reaction makes sense.

Recently, while traveling, I passed a billboard that said, “Pick Jesus or the Easter Bunny. Not both.” I felt my stomach tense for a moment. Not because the message surprised me, but because of what it represents. It reflects the pressure many people grew up with, the expectation to choose the right path, the belief that joy or playfulness somehow competes with spirituality. It reminded me how often people were taught that there is only one acceptable way to exist, celebrate, or belong.

What often sits just beneath that critical voice is something deeper: anxiety. The pressure to get everything “right.” The fear of falling short. The sense that if you’re not perfect, something will go wrong. Let’s take the next step together—learning how to loosen that pressure and begin moving forward, even when things feel uncertain.

Picture this with me for a moment: you catch your reflection in the mirror… and instead of seeing you, your mind immediately starts listing flaws. Too much, not enough, should be better.

Who do you hear when you’re told you’re too much?

Who do you hear when you’re told you’re not enough? 

Is it yourself? Or the voice of those who weren’t able to show up for you

The voice of those who instead of trying to understand you, dismissed you? 

Have you ever caught yourself saying yes when you really meant no? Maybe you notice yourself managing other people’s feelings, apologizing constantly, or avoiding conflict even when something really matters to you. Maybe you leave conversations feeling resentful, exhausted, or like you disappeared somewhere along the way. If this sounds familiar, you may be experiencing the fawn trauma response.

For individuals who have experienced abusive relationships, conversations about boundaries can feel particularly loaded. Advice that sounds straightforward on the surface may overlook the reality that boundaries were not just unclear or underdeveloped, but repeatedly violated, dismissed, or punished.

As a sex therapist, this is one of the most common questions people bring into therapy. It usually comes with a lot of uncertainty and often a quiet fear about what the answer might mean. Is it me, or is it us?

If you’ve watched Bridgerton, you might remember the careful way characters talk around sex. One phrase that stands out is the idea of reaching a “pinnacle.” It’s a euphemism, sure, but it’s also a surprisingly useful one. Because for many people, that pinnacle can feel distant, confusing, or completely unreachable.

n Part 1 of this series, I wrote about depression that shows up when the world feels like it’s on fire. Not the kind of depression that comes from one specific loss, but the kind that settles in when stress, fear, and uncertainty never really let up. What I want to name more directly here is this: for many people, especially marginalized communities, the world feeling “on fire” is not a metaphor. It is personal. It is lived. It is happening to you and the people you love.

OCD knows no bounds when it comes to the topics that it circles, and a common topic across the board is attraction. This shows up in many OCD themes, and is especially true in themes involving relationships, sexuality, and identity. Those with OCD may face intrusive thoughts and doubt regarding whether their attraction to others is appropriate, if they’re really attracted to their partner, or if they can really trust that they know their sexual orientation, even with no true evidence to the contrary. 

Discovering who you are, what makes you feel most like yourself, how you identify, and who you’re attracted to is an exciting, and at times very nerve wracking period of growth and discovery. For many, this period involves uncertainty, vulnerability, and big emotions: all a normal part of figuring out who you are. And for some, OCD can hijack someone’s ability to feel a sense of certainty about themselves or engage with self-discovery.

Romance novels and sexually charged stories are often dismissed as silly, indulgent, or embarrassing. But from a sex therapy and mental health perspective, reading smut can be regulating, empowering, and deeply validating. It can also be a meaningful way to explore desire without pressure, performance, or shame.

At Valid Love, we notice something every January. People come in feeling conflicted.

The New Year is supposed to feel hopeful. Motivating. Clean.

But for many people, it feels heavy, emotional, or quietly overwhelming.

If that is you, we want to say this clearly. Nothing is wrong with you.

Morality is one of those things we’re all taught to consider as we grow up. Be good. Do the right thing. Treat people well. But for folks who live with Morality OCD (also called “moral scrupulosity”), that normal human desire to be a decent person can turn into a relentless internal surveillance system. Instead of guiding someone toward their values, it traps them in fear, self-criticism, and doubt about whether they’re “good enough” at all.

he holiday season can bring magic, comfort, and the soft glow of connection. At the same time, it can stir up memories, tension, and emotional overwhelm, especially for people who carry trauma histories. This time of year tends to magnify everything. The joy feels brighter. The pressure feels heavier. The old wounds feel closer to the surface. For many clients and families I work with, the phrase “family gathering” does not bring up images of laughter and warmth. Instead, it brings a sense of bracing for what might come next.

If you live with ADHD and feel like you are constantly managing other people’s emotions, you are not alone. Many people with ADHD find themselves stuck in codependent relationship patterns without realizing it. You might feel responsible for keeping the peace in your relationships. You might jump into caretaking or people pleasing when someone around you is stressed. You might give more than you get. These are common signs of codependency, and when ADHD is in the mix, these patterns can feel even stronger.

Every year, as the days get shorter and the sky looks a little heavier, many people start to feel a shift in their mood. You might notice you are more tired than usual, or you suddenly feel overwhelmed by things that were fine a month ago. Maybe you feel yourself pulling away from loved ones or sinking into habits that make you feel disconnected. Seasonal depression is common, but a lot of people have a hard time noticing it until they are already deep in it. And if you already live with stress, anxiety, relationship strain, or the emotional load of caring for others, the seasonal shift can feel like someone quietly added more weight to your shoulders.