Thoughts on Being an OCD Therapist During a Pandemic

Image by mohamed Hassan from Pixabay

When I first began to prepare my practice for the possibility of a pandemic, I failed to imagine the potential impact on my own emotional well-being.

In February, I heard the murmurs. On the fringes of my OCD support group some members were talking about their “novel coronavirus” fears. I chalked it up to OCD playing its tricks. Surely we had nothing to fear from this faraway virus. In early March, I shared with patients my plan to go virtual if the virus made it necessary to close my office. I never imagined I’d actually be doing it, but the American Psychological Association had recommended that psychologists have a plan. I’m a rule follower and it seemed prudent, so I made a plan. Just over a week later, I saw my last patient in the office and was fully a telehealth provider by the next day. Five months later, I’m still providing OCD and anxiety disorder treatment from a little corner in my home.

“So, what’s the big deal?” one might wonder. Indeed, I am lucky – blessed even. I’m in a career where I can work from home, as long as I have a secure internet connection and a private space. And, hey, research demonstrates that OCD treatment via telehealth can be very successful. I’m luckier still that I already did some of my work via secure video, seeing patients who didn’t have an OCD/anxiety disorder specialist in their corner of the world (actually, not the world – just their corner of the state I’m licensed in, but I digress). I didn’t have to make the switch to telehealth overnight without previous experience or training. Great, right? Grab the morning coffee and head to the office in the corner. No commute.

Sure, there’s the adjustment to the new working setting and the unintended consequences of that shift (can everyone say “chronic pain from poor ergonomics?”). That part, I’m dealing with. The unexpected part, the part I think the mental health provider community is going to be dealing with for an unforeseen amount of time, is the unprecendented demand – and the long term toll on our well-being. You see, here’s what happened: my state went into shelter-at-home. Most of my patients stayed in treatment; a few decided to take a break and wait things out. There were crickets – silence – where there used to be new referrals. My free support group went virtual and saw better attendance than ever – with the same faithful attendees. We fumbled through this together. Many of my OCD patients seemed better prepared than most to deal with the newly-named COVID-19, their skills at coping with uncertainty being an asset. All in all, it was relatively quiet, minus the shifting and adjustment. It was actually eerily quiet – for a bit. Maybe I should’ve taken note of what happens before a tsunami – the drawback of water from the shore before the deluge.

An Emotional Toll

It started with patients who were on an “as-needed only” basis requesting to come back in for regular sessions. The stress of the ongoing isolation and the unknowns taxing their coping skills (as I write this, on a weekend morning, yet another of these has called asking to come back). Then those who’d taken a break mid-treatment during the shutdown wanted to return. And then came the new referrals, people who I’d never seen before, calling and pleading for help. Struggles with their mental health that had been manageable before were overwhelming them now. It continued until my practice was bursting at the seams, until I just could not fit anyone anywhere else.

My support group went similarly. In non-COVID times, one or two new inquiries in a month was a lot. I began to see one a week, then a few a week, then eight in four days. I couldn’t keep up with screening the new referrals. I wondered if the group and its community feel could withstand the constant flow of new attendees. I started to feel burned out.

I’m normally known as the therapist who connects people with therapists (“Call Dr. Angie. She’ll be able to help you find someone good.”). I don’t like to hear that a person in distress has been unable to find a mental health professional who can see them. I listen to them. I find out their needs and I take it upon myself to find at least a few therapists in my network who are open and ready for their call. In recent weeks, I grew weary of the constant need. I took a step I’ve never taken before in my nearly two-and-a-half decades in private practice. A week ago, I changed my voice recording: “I am unable to return calls from new referrals.” It kind of devastated me to do that. The group followed on its heels two days ago. Now a message about my group reads, “This group is currently not accepting new members. Please check back in the future.

Image by 愚木混株 Cdd20 from Pixabay

It feels like I’ve been in a shipwreck. People all around me are drowning – or at least feel they are. They see me as the stronger swimmer – the one who can bring them to safety. They reach out with their hands. Their voices beseech me to help them. But there are endless numbers of them. I can’t see them all, but I can hear them. What they don’t realize is that on top of reaching out and pulling person after person to safety, I’m in the water, too. And I’m swimming and dog paddling as best as I can – and I’m getting exhausted. But, still, they call out. I want to help them all. I don’t want to watch anyone drown. But if I keep going, I may drown myself. I feel beyond torn. What choice do I make? Save one more? Rest, so I can help more in the future? And if I do rest, how long will I be haunted by the sounds of drowning voices, pleading to be rescued?

Looking After Our Mental Health Providers

I’ve come to believe that my experience is not at all unusual among my colleagues. I frequently see shared experiences of being “exhausted” and “burnt out.” Our practices are brimming with need. Many of those who come to see us have reduced or, increasingly, limited ability to pay us. We are in this field to help. It flows through our veins like our lifeblood. We respond to those who are struggling. But now we are struggling, too.

In the past, a mental health professional experiencing exhaustion, overwhelm, or burnout would pull back, take care of themself, perhaps even see a mental health provider. But now our fellow mental health providers are coping with the same situation. We’re all in this pandemic together. We are all being called upon to do more. We’ve been asked to see first responders who are coping with the distress of caring for the ill. I’d venture to say that we are the forgotten first responders, the ones for whom the flow of the affected is not letting up. Not now. Not in the foreseeable future. And I am fearful of what may become of mental health if our professionals stay on the current path, veering ever-closer to mass burnout.

I do not have answers; just thoughts about the direction we might go in. I know that I cannot help every single person in need right now. If I’m to go on to help more people, I’m going to have to step back and do what is necessary to build my own emotional strength back up. A mental health provider is ethically bound to step back when they see their own emotional health suffering. We must be in a good place to help our patients get to a better one than they are in.

To my fellow mental health providers: I see you out there. I know your level of caring and dedication. I know the need out there calls to you. The need will far outlast the physical distancing measures. Just remember that you are needed in as healthy a place as you can be in. It’s not a case of “better to give compromised mental health services than no services at all.”

It’s been suggested that the medical community look at this pandemic as a marathon, not a sprint. I suggest mental health providers look at it as something else – a relay race, perhaps. None of us can marathon forever, but maybe, just maybe, if we can keep passing the baton to one another, and give each other a break – even reach out to one another for reprieve and support – we can go the distance. For sure, we will have stories to tell, and regrets of what we could not do, but the work we do is far too important for us all to burn out at once. Obviously, I wrote this because I am struggling. Now to take my own advice.

13 thoughts on “Thoughts on Being an OCD Therapist During a Pandemic

  1. Hi Angie: This is Paul writing… The 58-year-old guy who has been in treatment for 30 years. My heart breaks for you and all healthcare workers suffering from exhaustion and burn out. All I can do is give you my layperson’s opinion, and you know all of this already. But perhaps hearing it from someone else will help you more easily accept the reality of life during COVID-19. My first statement is obvious and you have already said it: you can’t care for those you love (family/friends) as well as your patients unless you are healthy. Therefore your own health has to be priority #1. Period. Full Stop. If you burn out then the number of people you can help will decline, which is exactly the opposite of what you are striving for. In my humble opinion you must keep your PERSPECTIVE, and ACCEPT that there are limits to how much you can do. You can look for ways to work SMARTER, but it’s clear from your post that you are already working WAY too hard. It also sounds to me like you are being way too hard on yourself. Beating yourself up will just take more precious energy out of you. You need to take some advice that I have no doubt you share with your patients: BE GENTLE WITH YOURSELF! BE KIND TO YOURSELF!

    (Paragraph 1 of 3)

  2. (Paragraph 2)

    I look at COVID-19 not just as a pandemic. We are at WAR here. The enemy just happens to be a virus. Assuming the statistics are reasonably correct, roughly 160,000 people have died from COVID-19 in the USA. That is far more than the number of US soldiers who died in WW1 (116,000). And it is quickly approaching TRIPLE the number of soldiers we lost in Vietnam (58,000). In war time we obviously have far more casualties (and there are many different types of casualties of course) than we do in peacetime. That is the brutal reality of war. No matter how hard EVERYONE works there is going to be far more suffering now than there was pre-COVID-19. There is simply no way around that. It is the harsh reality of “life“.

  3. (Paragraph 3)

    So please, keep the following words/phrases in mind as you strive to help as many as you can: Your Own Health Must be Priority #1, Acceptance, Perspective, Be Kind to Yourself. Bottom line (for all of us) is: Do Your Best and Let the Rest Go. That’s all any of us can do! We have to let go of the things that we can’t control.

    Blessings, and Take Care of You! -Paul

  4. Much going through my head, but it’s all about me. Of course the reason I like to read your blog is it helps me understand my ocd. First, Good writing. Very captivating. Second, I hope you find a way to find the right groove where you can help the maximum number of people and still keep sane. I suspect more likely you’ll wind up hanging on the edge of burn-out for far too long. Now about me. Your post reminds me that for what ever reason, my ocd is not debilitating. It’s present in my need to check stats and news sites dozens of times a day, but there’s no fear there. More it’s just confirming that what I thought was going to happen actually happened. The lockdown (the actual act of locking down) has been a high point in my life. I’m sheltered with my wife and kids and I’m really enjoying their company. My hobbies take me to remote forested areas to run and bike and hike. Suddenly, I’m not comparing myself to everyone else’s active social life. I’ve got a license to be alone. I’ve seen some pretty extreme cases of anxiety over the past couple of months. I’m thankful I’m not there. I always thought I would be when the pandemic finally hit.

    1. Hi Jeff. As always, I appreciate your feedback. It means a lot to me. I do need to write more about OCD in general. On a personal note, my son feels a lot like you do about the locking down. He feels less compelled to compare or explain himself to people and much more like one of the crowd now than an outlier. All my best, Angie

  5. After reading Paul’s comment, I have nothing to add, Angie. He said it all very well. I’m keeping you in my thoughts as we all try to do the best we can during these difficult times…..please take care of yourself.

  6. Hi Angie, I am a psychologist as well and I really appreciate that you shared your experience. I read your blog religiously and just realized I was reading the last three months worth- all great stuff- this afternoon because I fell so far behind with keeping up with what I enjoy and how I stay connected. I am not sure of the answer, but it is helpful to have you acknowledge the issue and articulate it so well.

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