When obsession shakes certainties and challenges beliefs

What happens when questions of belief are subject to obsessive behaviours? The impact of OCD on key life moments.

Paula Duncan

Paula Duncan is a PhD candidate at the University of Aberdeen, researching OCD and faith.

A close-up of a complex clock mechanism featuring small statues within it.

The Millennium clock tower.

National Museum of Scotland.

I’m eleven years old and I’ve been given a New Testament in our school assembly. This is the first time I’ve owned a copy of the Bible. So far, I’ve only heard it read to me in school or the few times I’ve gone to church with my family. I flick through it that evening, taken by the table at the front that directs you to different verses that speak to how you might be feeling. I find myself reading Revelation. The imagery frightens me. The tone, the threat, the fear, and the condemnation… would this be me if I didn’t believe in the right way? If I didn’t believe enough? I’m terrified of this book, these words, terrified of God, even. Mostly, I’m terrified by my own doubt and uncertainty about all things religious, despite wanting to believe. What if God isn’t real? What if God is and I just don’t believe enough? God will know I’m not sure. I tell myself not to think about it. If I’m to avoid thinking about it, I can never read the Bible again. I accept this as a rule.

I’m twelve years old and I’m standing in the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh, listening to one of Bach’s minor key concertos playing from the Millennium Clock. To me, it looks like it depicts some sort of hellscape straight from the book of Revelation. Death, suffering, and evil are everywhere in this model with its eerie red glow at the bottom. It brings up all the thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid – “you don’t believe enough” and “this is what hell looks like.” I tell myself to forget about it. If I’m to forget about it, I need to make sure that I never talk about it and don’t tell anyone how afraid of it I am. Talking about it makes it real, I think. I accept this, too, as a rule.

I’m thirteen years old and I’m sitting in a church trying to concentrate on the service. I can’t because I keep having the thought that I don’t believe enough. I’m worrying about what the reading might be – I’m still too scared to read the Bible and I can’t prevent myself from hearing it in this space. I’m afraid of thinking that I don’t believe enough, and that God will know because this is God’s church after all. I tell myself that I do not belong in this place if I cannot control my thoughts. If I can’t do that, I can never go to church again. This too, becomes a rule.

I’m fourteen years old and I’ve started praying every evening. I’m not sure what prompted this, but I also know that I must do it correctly. If I pray and forget to conclude with “amen”, then it seems obvious that God will continue to listen to my thoughts as if I’ve forgotten to hang up the phone. I try to keep my thoughts corralled and pure when I pray. If I don’t end my prayer, God will hear all my worst thoughts – the ones I am ashamed of, the ones that scare me, the ones that fill me with doubt. I tell myself that I can no longer run that risk. If I’m to prevent this, I shouldn’t pray. Another rule.

I was scared to say these things aloud – to voice my fears or doubts in case they somehow became worse if I acknowledged them.

I’m now in my late twenties, and I have been diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and I’m slowly unlearning the rules I’ve created for myself over the years. Each of them, in their own way, was designed to keep me safe from harm, safe from thinking about something that frightened me, or acknowledging difficult emotions like doubt and uncertainty.

It has been a long road to reach that diagnosis. OCD is regularly misunderstood and presented as punchline of jokes – “I’m so OCD!” is one that I’ve heard far too many times when someone simply means that they’re organised. The problem with these jokes is that it disguises the reality and makes it that bit harder for people to recognise what it is they’re really dealing with. OCD-UK, a charity to whom I owe a great deal, describe OCD as follows: “Obsessions are very distressing and result in a person carrying out repetitive behaviours or rituals in order to prevent a perceived harm and/or worry that preceding obsessions have focused their attention on.”

Obsessions could cover virtually any topic, and everyone will experience compulsions in slightly different ways. I didn’t recognise that I was living with OCD because almost all of my compulsions were mental rituals or avoidance behaviour. I would try and avoid thinking about things, check whether thoughts upset me, avoid reading the Bible… Layers and layers of compulsive behaviour in response to frightening intrusive thoughts that became associated with faith. I was scared to say these things aloud – to voice my fears or doubts in case they somehow became worse if I acknowledged them. I now know to call this “magical thinking” but I still find it difficult at times to accept that I cannot cause something to happen simply by saying it.

It can be particularly difficult for people with OCD to cope with uncertainty. I can see why anxiety and doubt about the existence of God has been hard for me to tolerate. I also know that I can never achieve absolute certainty and part of learning to live with OCD is learning to accept that and make choices despite it. Last year I attended the International OCD Foundation (IOCDF) Faith and OCD conference and was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people there. So many people with the same worries and doubts as me, and many more who had found that OCD impacted them in different ways.

But it was hard for a doctor to diagnose me until I could find the words to articulate what I was experiencing. It wasn’t until I started reading books about other people’s experiences with OCD that I started to recognise my own thought patterns, my own fears and doubts in other people’s words. Author and video creator John Green shares a very powerful video titled “What OCD is like (for me)” where he shares what his experience of having OCD and says:

“I can say what it is like more than what it is.”

This gives me a little more courage to tell people what living with OCD can be like and represent some of the diverse experiences of the condition. For someone who was too frightened to open a Bible, I think it’s a little ironic that I am now a theologian. My doctoral research project is focusing on faith and OCD, and in particular, how it might affect someone’s relationship with God. I hope to make use of some of my own experience along the way – examining my fear of not being sure enough, my worries that my intrusive thoughts would somehow offend God… I hope that by sharing this, I can raise a little more awareness of an experience that so many of us try to keep secret or just aren’t ready to speak about.

Through advocacy and research, I’d like to share a little of, as John Green says, what OCD looks like (for me). I’d like to add my voice – now that I’ve found it – to the discussion in the hopes that someone might read this and recognise what they’re going through. And if that’s you? You’re not alone. There is help and there is hope.

Article

Comment

Economics

Politics

Trust

9 April 2025

5 min read

Tariffs destroy trust so where do we go next?

Blunt weapons cause a mess in markets and lives.

Paul Valler

Paul Valler is an executive coach and mentor. He is a former chair of the London Institute for Contemporary Christianity.

A gold coin with the DOGE dog on it, lies over the face on a $50 bill.

So doge-y.

Kanchanara on Unsplash

‘When America sneezes the rest of the world catches a cold’ quipped economists almost a century ago after the Wall Street crash. A comment that might equally apply to the more than 10 per cent drop in stock markets caused by President Trump’s sudden raised tariffs on imports to the USA. The impact of the American economy on the world is inescapable. It represents almost a quarter of global GDP and the dollar is the leading reserve currency, accounting for around 60 per cent of international foreign exchange reserves. Size is what enables America to bully the rest of the world.

For decades the American trade deficit has been an elephant in the room and Trump is to be applauded for recognising it and addressing the problem. Unfortunately, the way he has gone about it has caused another, bigger problem. Changing the direction of the global economy is like turning a tanker, it cannot be done easily or quickly, but Trump’s style is to attack, like hammering at a nail. Every issue in geopolitics looks like another nail, waiting for him to hammer out a negotiated deal. Full marks for courage, but not for wisdom. The blunt weapon of trade tariffs is designed to bring wealth and power back towards the USA, but blunt weapons often cause a mess, and sure enough a global mess is what we now have. A US/China trade war with higher prices that could end up stoking inflation and a government own goal.

Panic selling of government bonds signalling a loss of confidence following Trump’s dramatic tariff boost is reminiscent of the impact of Liz Truss’ sudden and radical UK tax cuts, which were also driven by an ideology, but ended up as a wrecking ball. Even some of Trump’s backers have warned of an economic nuclear winter. In the long run, Trump has done the world a favour by highlighting a structural issue that needed correction, but his economically violent methods of addressing it look increasingly unwise. If a global depression does happen on the back of all this, then coupled with the rise of autocratic and belligerent leadership, we would face a worrying parallel to what happened in the 1930s when the world eventually slid into war.

Tariffs are like walls, barriers to cooperation and the epitome of economic selfishness. Make America Great Again is selfishness writ large - a society pursuing wealth and power without the cohesive framework of values that are so essential to cooperation and community wellbeing. A psychology of self-centredness that damages relationships at the national level. This is what I find most concerning about Trump’s approach; not just the economics but the long-term legacy of relational damage that could last well beyond his Presidential term.

Our fears reveal just how much we trust in wealth above everything else, and how much the fear of scarcity affects our mental health.

Michael Schluter in his book The Relational Lens defines five principles, or measures, of relational health. They are directness, parity, common purpose, continuity and breadth. Applying those five measures helps us see why Trump’s tariffs are the polar opposite of relational. He introduced these escalating penalties remotely and not in face-to-face negotiations. Exploiting the power of America instead of showing respect for the status and needs of other nations. Tariffs have no common purpose with other countries, only a selfish agenda. There is no continuity with previous trading protocols. And it is all purely financial, with no reference to the broader holistic impact. All in all, a relational disaster.

Despite living in the ‘first world’ we remain gripped with fear of loss. Our fears reveal just how much we trust in wealth above everything else, and how much the fear of scarcity affects our mental health. Markets are not entirely rational; they are driven by algorithms that stem from this psychology of greed and fear. Emotions and trading swing wildly with a herd instinct that often drives behaviour. As Rabbi Jonathan Sachs said:

‘Markets have no moral compass; we have outsourced morality to legislation by the State.’

But the worry now is that the current US administration shows signs of ignoring morality and even riding roughshod over the courts. No wonder people feel afraid.

Where can we find hope in all this turmoil? Is there a better response than gritted teeth and the mantra: ‘this too shall pass’? I think so. There is life beyond the market. Jesus said: ‘life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.’ We can choose to step back and look at all this with the true perspective that money isn’t everything. We can cultivate gratitude for what we do have. We can learn contentment. Yet I feel for those who have experienced financial loss, and don’t want to minimise the reality of hardship. In fact, something important and practical all of us who are privileged can and should do is to be vigilant in watching out for those who are poor and disadvantaged. To look after those with a real need for the basics of life and help them through this tough time when economic disruption could make life even harder. For those with a faith this is part of working out how our faith makes a positive difference where we are.

Perhaps the supreme irony of this crisis is President Trump’s insistence that Americans must trust him. Ironic, because the one thing that his tariff actions seem to have undermined more than anything else is trust. The trust that is essential to the functioning of both markets and civilisation as a whole. Face to face discussions must be the way forward now, to rebuild trust and find more nuanced, mutual approaches to solving America’s trade deficit.

There is one person we can always trust though, and his name is written clearly on the American One Dollar bill. In God we trust. Let’s pray that Trump and his America returns to that imperative and turns back to a more Christ centred philosophy of loving our neighbour as ourselves, reflected in a more bilateral approach to diplomacy and agreement.

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