This is a guest-written post by Sean Thoreby. Sean describes himself as a regular guy living with depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Sean was raised in Bellevue and graduated from the University of Washington. He is an optometrist practicing in Seattle. Sean is an advocate for improving awareness about mental illness, particularly for men, who are known to seek treatment at lower rates than women. Sean’s blog is Brave Enough All Along and his advocacy on Instagram is at @adeepandquietmind.
I am not fit to be a father
Tears streamed down my face as I sat on the floor against the wall of my unborn daughter’s bedroom. My wife was five months pregnant, and the two of us were so excited that we already had her room ready to go. Along with excitement, something else was building inside me: crippling fear.
My mind was racing. I am not fit to be a father. I am too lazy and scatter-brained to take care of a young child. I often feel overwhelmed from doing tasks that are much easier than being a dad. What makes me think I am capable of this?!
I thought to myself, What if the baby gets injured and it’s my fault? What if something were to happen to my wife or me? She’d be left without a parent. What if… What if… What if…
First steps toward healing
This was the day my worries and lack of confidence boiled over. Even though I was upstairs all alone, I felt completely embarrassed and emasculated. What kind of man lets things rattle him this bad? I felt like a coward. I felt hopeless.
The thing is, this was definitely not the first time I’d felt overwhelmed. I had felt bad about myself frequently over the previous several years, and it is not difficult to think of times, even during childhood, when my anxiety and lack of self-esteem prevented me from living the way I wanted.
After this breakdown, I was willing to admit – for the first time – that the way I was feeling was not normal. It was not healthy. And for the first time in my life I told someone about what I had been feeling inside. I had taken my first baby steps towards healing.
Since that day in 2017, a whole lot has transpired for me. I am a regular 33 year-old dad, I have a supportive wife, and I take care of people’s vision and eye health for my job. My beautiful daughter, whose impending birth had helped me become aware of my mental illness, was born September 2017. In 2019 daughter #2 came along. The two of them light up a room with their round-the-clock singing and giggling.
Professional treatment
What kinds of professional help have I received for my mental health? I’ve seen four different therapists and a psychiatrist, been involved in group therapy, taken medication that helped, taken medication that didn’t help, and experienced a misdiagnosis. I have had days where I felt I would never have symptoms again and days when I felt I was back at square one.
Mental illness can be so devastating because of what it takes away from you – basic, immeasurable things that so many of us take for granted.
I suffer from depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder. These two villains have mercilessly plundered and pillaged their way through my life. As a dad with two toddlers, my most crushing losses are the precious moments I would have had with my girls if I didn’t have mental illness – moments that I was physically at, but not mentally present for, and I can never go back and recapture them.
A source of happiness became a trigger for anxiety
Mental illness can deprive you of joy in a variety of ways. It can transform a source of happiness and passion into a trigger that brings waves of anxiety. That was my experience with watching sports.
I have always been an enormous sports nut, chiefly loyal to the Seattle Mariners and Washington Huskies. I follow several sports closely. Being a sports fanatic is one of the things my friends would say defines who I am. If I had some leisure time, there was nothing I enjoyed more than going to a baseball game or watching my teams play on TV.
As time passed, and my undiagnosed OCD became stronger, it started to feel wrong to miss certain games – or even portions of games. A true fan just wouldn’t miss a single pitch, my brain said. I could acknowledge intellectually that missing portions of games is a completely normal and unavoidable part of watching sports. I didn’t want it to bother me, but it did. It ate away at me.
Going to a baseball game became incredibly stressful because at some point I was going to need to pee or buy garlic fries for my family – and I was going to miss something! It gave me constant anxiety. I worried about the parts of the game I was inevitably going to miss, and I worried about quickly catching up on my phone after my pitstop ended. I was also terrified that my friends or family at the game with me would notice my discomfort. I felt that someone knowing what was going on in my head would only bring me confused looks and a straitjacket.
My favorite thing had turned into something that was sort of fun at times, but mostly was just scary – like driving a car on the freeway for the first time.
With fatherhood comes a huge sacrifice of spare time, which meant following my favorite sports teams got harder. I figured the DVR was my new best friend, and I used it often to record games. I won’t miss any action, and I’ll get to skip all the commercials so I’ll save time too! I ended up being very wrong. My obsession with not missing anything led to a very frequent use of the 15-second rewind and pause buttons. Watching a game on the DVR usually ended up taking even longer than before. Who knows how many extra hours I could have back if I didn’t feel that compulsive need for the “full experience”?
There is no shame in mental illness
I have been dedicated to treatment for my conditions and am doing better today than I was four years ago. However, some days are still a battle. In fact, my lowest point arrived during the fall of 2020. That was the catalyst for finally getting the proper diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive disorder.
Obsessive-compulsive disorder is a type of anxiety disorder in which the sufferer uncontrollably responds to anxiety by repeating a mental or physical ritual in an effort to get rid of the anxiety. It often takes many years before a diagnosis is made. The gold standard of treatment is a specialized type of therapy called Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP), which I started three months ago. It is very challenging and I have many hurdles remaining to get where I want to be, but it has already taught me how to accept the twists and turns of life – and how to enjoy sports again!
Over the past four years I have made tremendous improvements with my self-image, learned how to communicate more effectively, and learned to be compassionate towards myself. I have learned a lot about the importance of mental health. My depression now feels like an occasional breezy day rather than a hurricane. I am resilient now.
I share my story here – and plan to continue sharing more of my story in the future – because it should not be as scary as it is for people to ask for or find help. There is no shame in mental illness. Those of you who need help and haven’t gotten it will probably benefit from it more than you’d believe.
Telling someone about how you are feeling inside can save your life, or give you back the life you once had.