Why OCD isn’t about control - it’s about safety
When most people think about obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), they picture someone who needs everything “just right”: perfectly clean, symmetrical, or under strict control. It’s often misunderstood as a personality quirk. “I’m so OCD about my desk,” someone might say.

But for those who live with OCD, it’s not about wanting things to be perfect. It’s about needing to feel safe.
OCD is a response to chaos, not a desire for control
OCD doesn’t arise because someone craves control for its own sake. It emerges when the nervous system doesn’t feel safe, when the world feels too unpredictable, too overwhelming, or too emotionally unsafe to navigate without some kind of internal anchor.
That anchor becomes the ritual: checking the stove five times, arranging objects in a certain order, silently repeating phrases or counting in your head. These compulsions aren’t irrational; they are protective behaviours. The mind and body are trying to create some order in a world that feels anything but safe.
In my case, this need for order began in early childhood.
My childhood: An emotional warzone
From the age of four, my home life unravelled. My brother’s severe autism meant constant appointments, paperwork, and stress. My parents were in a perpetual fight, with each other, with the healthcare system, and sometimes with their own limits.
Our house became a minefield of chaos: scattered therapy tools, piles of documents, trampled toys, unfinished to-do lists, and constant noise from the TV and my brother’s distressed vocalisations. My mother struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts. Her anger, often explosive, left me walking on eggshells. There was never space for my emotions, let alone support for them. I didn't have space to be a child; I was self-sufficient, doing my best not to make things worse.
My existence was riddled with fear of adding a burden to my family's immense challenges. I needed safety, and I found it in the only place I could: my rituals.
I found peace in order. Comfort in precision. Relief, however fleeting, in the idea that if I arranged things just so, I might be OK. If I ensured all the lights were off or on at the right times, nothing bad would happen. If I avoided certain colours, obtained the right number of marbles, or arranged my pillows the “correct” way, I could breathe.
OCD gave me the illusion of safety, and at the time, it was the best I had.
The roots of OCD often begin in emotional distress
Many people develop OCD in the aftermath of emotional trauma or prolonged stress. It’s not that they suddenly become “controlling” or perfectionistic; it’s that they don’t feel safe, and their nervous system is trying to compensate. Compulsions become survival tools.
This is why it’s so important to approach OCD with compassion, not just cognitive tools or exposure therapy, but with emotional understanding.
Telling someone with OCD to stop their compulsions is like telling someone in a tornado shelter to come out while the wind is still howling. The storm might be over, but their body hasn’t caught up yet. The behaviour may look irrational from the outside, but from the inside, it feels necessary. Until we address what the compulsions are trying to protect, healing remains out of reach.
Healing isn’t about thought-stopping; it’s about safety-restoring
Real healing begins when we shift the focus from “getting rid of the OCD” to helping the nervous system feel safe again.
Therapy can help, especially approaches that work with both cognitive patterns and emotional regulation (like Exposure and Response Prevention, somatic work, and parts work). But it’s not just about challenging intrusive thoughts. It’s about helping the body unlearn that it’s constantly under threat.
It’s about gently teaching the nervous system that it doesn’t need to rely on rituals to feel OK.
For me, healing began when I started to develop safety in my environment, in my body, and compassion for the adaptations I’d created to survive. That shift didn’t happen overnight. It took time, therapy, and most importantly, emotional safety.
And with safety came space. Space for emotions, for uncertainty, for healing. Space for me.
If you live with OCD, or love someone who does, it’s time we reframe the conversation. OCD isn’t a character flaw, a need to control, or a funny quirk. It’s often a response to a life that hasn’t felt safe.
Let’s stop asking “Why are you so obsessive?” and start asking, “When did you stop feeling safe?”
Because healing isn’t about control, it’s about compassion.
If you need support, please don't hesitate to reach out to a professional.
