Childhood, Core Beliefs & Change: reflecting on the development of my OC tendencies
I would describe myself as someone who is highly sensitive, and highly emotional. I would also describe myself as someone who leans towards overcontrol (OC) and who feels lonely a lot of the time.
I struggle with fears of abandonment and rejection (which could partly be due to being adopted as an infant) and am quite sensitive to any responses from my environment that could come off as invalidating, critical or judgmental.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my childhood, and the development of my OC tendencies. I’ve been reflecting on how my environment reinforced my OC tendencies over time, and how I’ve come to view my OC tendencies as parts of myself that are always doing their best to protect me.
Growing up, I learned that being OC lessened my chances of being left alone or abandoned, something I could not tolerate, because I perceived abandonment (real or imagined) as something dangerous, invalidating and life-threatening.
Many of my beliefs tied to OC stem from specific experiences, and the memories are clear inside my head. For instance, I remember needing help during my senior year of high school. It took me months to build up the courage to ask for help.
When I explained to my parents that I wanted to see a social worker for some counselling, my dad said, “You can’t always reach out to others for help, sometimes, you have to solve problems on your own.” I was crushed, and from that moment on, adopted the belief that asking for help was essentially a weakness on my part. And so, after that experience, I became determined to not ask for help for my mental health, even when I needed it.
Other examples of beliefs I internalized include the idea that negative feelings are bad and should not be expressed, that people will like me more and only want to be around me when I show positive emotions, and that nobody will want to spend time with me if I express symptoms of depression. I also think that I should not let others see me cry, and that my mental health struggles are a choice (and if only I tried harder or did better, I wouldn’t struggle so much).
These beliefs are the result of many painful experiences: my high school classmates telling me they didn’t want to be around my negativity, my parents telling me to “smile” and “cheer up” when I was sad or depressed, being told that my “attitude was a choice” and that I needed to be “positive,” and so on. I learned to associate vulnerability and emotional expression with abandonment and invalidation.
These days, with the help of my RO-DBT therapist, I’m working on learning how to be more candid, expressive, and relaxed in my interaction with others. The whole process has felt scary, but I’ve also surprised myself.
Brené Brown, the author of the book “The Gifts of Imperfection” has a famous line about vulnerability that I enjoy. It goes, “Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren’t always comfortable, but they’re never weaknesses.”
I’d like to think that throwing myself into doing RO-DBT is courageous, and I equally hope that RO will help me face the awkward, scary, imperfect, and sometimes silly truths about myself.