My heart races for two reasons: one, because it can’t always keep rhythm (damn tachycardia), and two, because my mind insists it’s about to stop. I’m open about my heart condition and my mental health, but I rarely talk about how the two gang up on me.

Today in therapy, I spent the usual 15–20 minutes circling the topic I knew I needed to address. Maybe one day I’ll get straight to the point, but not today. It’s hard to admit when OCD is in the driver’s seat. It feels like failure, like I’ve lost control. But as a previous therapist said, “What you resist persists.” So, I started talking.

First, I recapped my recent cardiac appointment and its not-so-great results. Then, I proudly announced my renewed gym plan, Monday, Wednesday, Friday mornings. Perfect. Predictable. Manageable.

Then I had to confess, last Friday I didn’t feel well, so I skipped. I promised myself I’d make it up Saturday or Sunday. Except I couldn’t. I go Monday, Wednesday, Friday not Saturday, not Sunday. If I went off-script, surely I’d injure myself, exhaust myself, maybe even ruin everything. And then, to top it off, the gym was closed this Monday for the holiday. How could I possibly go Wednesday if I hadn’t gone Monday? Clearly, the whole week was ruined. Not only is my heart failing but I am too. My heart was doomed. Why bother?

I know none of this is rational. These thoughts aren’t truly mine, they’re symptoms. Intrusive thoughts brought to you by OCD.

OCD is a master of manufacturing catastrophes out of nothing. In therapy, I can roll my eyes at the absurdity, but at home it’s harder. I can label the thoughts as silly, but acting against them is another story. Fear, even unreasonable fear, has teeth.

So my therapist and I played “What if.”

“What if you planned to go Thursday instead of Wednesday?”

Then I’d have to go Friday too, which is impossible, two days in a row? I’ll croak!

“What if you could go two days in a row?”

Then I’d be exhausted all weekend.

“What if you weren’t?”

Then it would hit me Monday and ruin the week.

Round and round we went, until finally:

“What if everything turned out okay?”

“What if you worked out three days a week…any three?”

“What if you allowed flexibility without neglect?”

That one hit home. I felt lighter. I could feel my posture change. I am stronger than OCD, I reminded myself. Then my therapist asked, “So, how does Saturday sound now?”

Stubborn as ever, I told him the truth: “I still don’t like it… but I think I could try.”

And I want to try. Because OCD doesn’t just push me to color-code my sock drawer, it can slide into dangerous territory, like keeping me from taking care of my heart. And that’s when I have to remind my brain who’s boss.

So this week I have homework, go to the gym on a day that isn’t Monday, Wednesday, or Friday…just once in the next two weeks. Doesn’t matter if it’s in place of a regular day or in addition, I just have to do it. While exposure therapy is probably the most effective treatment (in my experience) for OCD, that doesn’t make it easy. Still, I believe in doing my homework. So I will do the only thing I ask my students to do…try. You don’t have to be right, you don’t have to be perfect, just try. Here goes nothing.