I wanted to make a show about OCD because I knew how much easier my 20s would have been if I had
seen just one story featuring a protagonist who struggled with intrusive, catastrophic thoughts, like I did.
In my late teens, I began having frequent anxiety attacks. They were often sparked by a sudden fear that
I had left my stove on and burned down my flat. Around the same time, I developed an intense fear of
being exposed to an incurable blood-borne virus… and then I began worrying that I was going to be put in
jail for accidentally breaking a minor law. Catastrophic events were lurking around every corner, hijacking
my mind and making it impossible to be present.
In my 20s, I attempted to alleviate my near-constant anxiety by repeatedly texting my roommates and
asking them to make sure the stove was off. I made my friends inspect nonexistent cuts on my feet,
asking if they thought I had contracted hepatitis C the night before while dancing in bare feet at a
wedding. I begged my Dad to tell me if neglecting to claim a £20 tip on my tax return could land me in jail.
By the time I was 29, it felt as though I had narrowly escaped death and life imprisonment hundreds of
times. I was perpetually exhausted. And my friends were getting annoyed.
In my early 30s, I was diagnosed with OCD — I was introduced to the concepts of intrusive thoughts,
reassurance-seeking, and the “OCD spiral” of repetitive thought. I kept my diagnosis quiet and I
committed to regular therapy. I cut back on alcohol. I ran half marathons. I overworked myself and I
overbooked myself. I stayed away from intimacy altogether. I avoided all potential triggers. I tried very
hard to minimize threats and control my environment so that I could feel safe.
It didn’t work. The more control I had, the harder it was to cope with any type of uncertainty. I stopped
sleeping. I became paralyzed by decisions. I did occasionally feel safe, but I never felt free.
At the end of 2022 I made a series of well-thought-out decisions that completely disrupted my life. I left
NYC and moved to England to pursue an MSc in Creative Arts & Mental Health. While studying, I began
to write UnTethered.
I am now 35. Occasionally, my OCD makes an appearance and completely derails me, but most days, I
do not think about my OCD at all. I strongly believe that this reduction in symptoms can, in large part, be
attributed to a somewhat radical acceptance of who I am — a process that, if I am honest, was initiated
through the writing of UnTethered.
I wanted to make a show about OCD because I knew how much easier my 20s would have been if I had
seen just one story featuring a protagonist who struggled with intrusive, catastrophic thoughts, like I did. If
I had a better understanding of what OCD looked like, perhaps it wouldn’t have taken me 13 years to
receive a diagnosis. Perhaps I could have spent less energy trying to prevent unlikely disasters, and more
energy reframing my entire constellation of fears as symptoms of OCD. If making this show could help
just one person, it was worth it.
I realized that if UnTethered was going to give an accurate depiction of OCD, it needed to be specific. To
truthfully illustrate my immense distress, I needed to expose my actual fears. I also needed to balance
this exhibition of mental torment with a dose of comedic absurdity. (For as long as I can remember, I’ve
used humor to process pain.)
In writing this play, I unintentionally created a situation where I was required to show up as my most
potent, pathetic, ridiculous, embarrassing, vulnerable, intense, and extremely flawed self. It was incredibly
uncomfortable. It was also astonishingly liberating.
Because here is the thing — I believe most of us, to some extent, dilute ourselves in an attempt to be
more palatable — we minimize our needs for fear of being “needy” — we harbor a deep fear of being “too
much”. This is especially true for those of us who identify as women. It is ingrained into our psyche that in
order to succeed, we must contort ourselves to fit into a pre-approved mold. The insidious pressure to
tone yourself down so that others can remain comfortable is ubiquitous.
Well, it just so happens that I prefer things that are potent. I have no interest in diluting myself for
someone else’s comfort — especially when the things that I am the most attracted to are challenging,
dynamic and bold.
UnTethered gave me the opportunity to celebrate the most concentrated version of myself. This play gave
me permission to show up exactly as I am, knowing that despite all of my intensity and complexity, I am
remarkably deserving of acceptance and love.
Tue 25 March at 9pm
Tickets £8 - £12
