Reassurance-seeking can be so subtle that you might not even realize you’re doing it. It may look like needing approval, validation, or confirmation. And in many cases there’s nothing wrong with wanting reassurance. It can feel good! The trouble is when you constantly seek it to cope with the uncomfortable feelings caused by obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).
Let me explain.
OCD and reassurance-seeking: My experience
When you have OCD, reassurance seeking can be a compulsion that provides temporary relief from the obsessive thoughts you have. Temporary relief. That’s because this behavior inadvertently reinforces the idea that you can’t tolerate hard emotions.
As a therapist and someone who also lives with OCD, I know the distress intolerance the disorder can cause. This is a term that describes the fear that you’re unable to handle the anxiety and other scary or difficult feelings you have. You may go to great lengths to avoid these feelings—and your attempts could leave you in a tailspin of avoidance.
I remember that as a child—before I understood what reassurance seeking was—I learned to be very sneaky about how I would ask for it. I knew that people found it annoying, or at least I sensed their frustration. I got very good at hiding the intent of my questions, or adding what I call filler words—like asking “right?” after something I said. I could just be asking someone’s opinion, which seemed harmless enough, except that I was really asking because I couldn’t trust my own opinions. I was doubtful, and needed the certainty of an answer. I was looking to be reassured.
I would say things such as, “Do you ever think about [insert any possible phenomenon]?” This was my way of relieving my anxiety whenever I thought of something that made me uncomfortable. If they said “no” then I almost always began a spiral of what can only be called excessive reframing of the thought—a feeble attempt at gaining some form of clarity, rewording my questions in various ways until I received an answer that soothed me.
This behavior waxed and waned throughout the years. At its worst, I could become relentless in my pursuit of it. I might ask a question over and over just to feel minuscule periods of relief. I might ask multiple people, hoping each one could provide another level of validation and security.
It felt like I needed someone—often my mother, who was my “safe person”—to remind me of who I was and that I wasn’t the things my thoughts told me that I was. I couldn’t trust my own brain. It didn’t feel reliable enough.
Even though my reassurance seeking provided momentary peace, the feelings leading up to it would be tortuous. I was so ashamed, and embarrassed by whatever the thought was that I felt I needed validation for. It could be something as simple as, “Did I touch that pill bottle and then touch my cup?” My fear was that if I had, I may have inadvertently poisoned myself and now I was going to die. Or it could be something more complex, like, “Did I tell the full truth? What if I left out something really important? What if I am a liar? Am I bad?”
Thoughts of becoming a sociopathic liar swirled about for endless hours in my head, as I tried to come up with creative ways to ask whether I had posed my question just right. At the same time, I was aware that I could come across as very awkward, or even appear to be unhinged.
Even when I would fight the urge to seek reassurance, I usually gave in to the urge hours or even days later, exhausted and feeling broken. The word “maybe” seemed to haunt me. I disliked the term so much. It was like a dagger piercing through the very core of my existence.
Did I touch a table that my mom had just cleaned with a chemical before I hugged my grandma? If I did, would she get sick and possibly die? How could I ever feel certain? If she died, it would be my fault. I would ask, “Is that table wet?” and my mother might say “maybe,” which did little to ease my conscience. I needed more. I needed to know.
This sequence of events often led to the same end: me breaking down and crying and babbling on and on about why I needed to know what chemical she used and if I could have possibly come into contact with it.
How can you tell if you’re engaging in reassurance-seeking?
If you have OCD, you may be all too familiar with what I am describing—and might have become extraordinarily creative at trying to get relief from this tormenting disorder. It’s a coping mechanism you can develop early on, and you may not even recognize it as reassurance seeking.
That’s why it’s so important to work alongside a trained OCD professional who can support you and provide accountability. The goal of OCD treatment is in large part to lean into the hard feelings of anxiety and distress—to see that you can tolerate them, as difficult as they are, and that they will pass.
It takes some time, practice, consistency, and lots of discomfort. But it is possible. You can learn to accept uncertainty, and let go of the need to feel in control of everything, especially your emotions.
Here are some questions you can ask yourself to figure out whether your OCD has you stuck in the cycle of compulsive reassurance seeking.
- Do you feel a sense of urgency that you need to know this thing right now?
- Do you check in with people frequently? Maybe you ask if they’re angry at you. Or you might constantly ask for their opinions—relying on them more than your own?
- Do you avoid certain situations or experiences because you know it will make you feel uneasy—that you’ll need to ask others for validation? Does it feel like if you can just steer clear of something altogether, you’ll save yourself the hassle and embarrassment of what will follow?
- Do you need reassurance that you’re not crazy or weird, or that your fears are unfounded?
- If someone doesn’t answer you in a way that feels reassuring, are you unable to let it go?
What can you do to stop this cycle?
By recognizing what reassurance looks like, you can work with an OCD therapist to learn ways to not engage in it. You may start by gently challenging yourself to resist the compulsion and gradually stop it altogether. Remind yourself that these feelings will pass—they always do—and that you don’t need to “do” anything to make them go away. This process teaches you to trust yourself more, and helps you to accept doubt and uncertainty in the long-term.
Let people you trust in on your plan to stop gaining reassurance—and to not accommodate your compulsions. This part might feel especially hard. But you’ll learn that you can tolerate it, and gain confidence in who you are, and that you can trust yourself, even when you feel uncertain. And ultimately that’s what can help you break free from the cycle of OCD and constantly needing reassurance.
