OCD, St. Ignatius of Loyola, and Lucy Pevensie

What Ignatius of Loyola and Lucy Pevensie can teach us about Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

10 years ago, a few months before my 14^th birthday, seemingly out of nowhere, I developed severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. And when I say out of nowhere, I mean out of nowhere. You see, I had always been a conscientious and sensitive child, but I had never been a paranoid child. I was always bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wildly optimistic, the textbook definition of an ENFP, and seldom worried about anything. Until one morning I woke up and was utterly convinced that something innocuous was a grave sin. My parents were able to talk me out of that one, but the relief didn’t last long---the next morning I had discovered a new “sin.” And it didn’t stop. It kept getting worse. Much to my chagrin at the time, my very wise parents took me to therapy, where I was quickly diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder. What I was experiencing was a subset of OCD called Religious/Moral OCD, but it is known colloquially as scrupulosity.

10 years later, with support from angelically patient family and friends, therapy, medication, stellar priests, and advice from the saints, I am extremely glad to report that I am much healthier than I once was. It is something I will always have to be aware of and take the necessary steps to keep myself healthy, but I have gotten pretty good at riding out the storms, unpleasurable as they may be. But you see, Jesus never does leave his little children in their graves all alone, and even my favorite children’s book protagonist provides me with advice for the hard days --- “I mustn’t think about it, I must just do it.”

The above quote is said by Lucy Pevensie, in C.S. Lewis’s second Narnian chronicle (publication order) Prince Caspian. Allow me to set the scene for you. Lucy, the youngest of the four Pevensie children, has just awoken in the middle of the night to the “voice she loved best” calling her name. When she follows the voice, she realizes it belongs to none other than Aslan, the Great Lion, the Son of the Emperor-across-the-Sea, the High King above all high kings (the Christ figure in these stories.) What’s more, all of Narnia has been waiting for his return for 13,000 years. And Lucy has just found him. The catch? Lucy’s older siblings are all asleep, and she must go wake them and tell them that she has seen Aslan—and they didn’t believe her when she saw Aslan earlier in the day:

“If you go back to the others now, and wake them up; and tell them you have seen me again; and that you must all get up at once and follow me—what will happen? There is only one way of finding out."

"Do you mean that is what you want me to do?" gasped Lucy.

"Yes, little one," said Aslan.

"Will the others see you too?" asked Lucy.

"Certainly not at first," said Aslan. "Later on, it depends."

"But they won't believe me!" said Lucy.

"It doesn't matter," said Aslan.

Lucy is none-too-pleased with this mission. As Lewis explains well, “it is a terrible thing to have to wake four people, all older than yourself and all very tired, for the purpose of telling them something they probably won't believe and making them do something they certainly won't like.” But after a tender moment with Aslan (which we will circle back to), she makes up her mind: “I mustn’t think about it, I must just do it.”

Out of all of Lucy’s lines, this is perhaps my favorite, and it is surprisingly similar to therapy tactics for dealing with OCD. Overcoming OCD is all about doing the opposite of what your anxiety is telling you to do, even if that means you can’t think too much about the action. For example, if OCD is telling you that you ought to check for the third time that you locked your front door, your job is to disobey. Get in your car and drive away. You mustn’t think about it, you must just do it. In regard to scrupulosity, St. Ignatius of Loyola summed this up quite nicely in his phrase “age quod agis” or “do what you are doing.” In other words, you should not interrupt your regular activities to attend to your scruples, no matter how insistent they are. If you are watching a movie with your family and you suddenly feel the compulsive need to pray a rosary, do not stop watching the movie with your family. Do what you are doing. Don’t think about it, just do it. Even if your legs tremble and your heart is trying to leap out of your chest. The only way to the other side of OCD is through it.

Sound scary? That’s because it is. But the good thing is, like Lucy, none of us are in it alone. Let’s turn back to her moment with Aslan, before she leaves to wake her siblings:

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Lucy. "And I was so pleased at finding you again. And I thought you'd let me stay. And I thought you'd come roaring in and frighten all the enemies away—like last time. And now everything is going to be horrid."

"It is hard for you, little one," said Aslan. "But things never happen the same way twice. It has been hard for us all in Narnia before now."

Lucy buried her head in his mane to hide from his face. But there must have been magic in his mane. She could feel lion-strength going into her. Quite suddenly she sat up.

"I'm sorry, Aslan," she said. "I'm ready now."

"Now you are a lioness," said Aslan.

Did you catch it? Did you catch the Divine Tenderness? The reason we have for hope? Lucy, frustrated, confused, and a little despairing, complains and buries her face in Aslan’s mane. And he waits. He waits for her heart to calm. He waits for her to be ready. He is patient. He doesn’t scold her for being scared---he calls her through the fear. “It is hard for you, little one.” He knows. He sees. He feels the weight of fear, of anxiety, of uncertainty. And he lets us bury our faces in his mane, or, as it were, to curl up in the safety of His most Sacred Heart. It is with newfound strength, lion-strength, that Lucy can get up and say, “I mustn’t think about it, I must just do it.”

The same is true for us, dear friends. Our Lord is not frightened by your fear. He is in no rush. He is waiting for you, until you are ready. He is waiting with you, giving you His lion-strength. Even if the cross you carry isn’t scrupulosity. It could be any number of things. It doesn’t scare Him. He is not repulsed by your weakness. He is drawn to it.

As queen of Narnia, Lucy earns the title of “The Valiant.” The little girl who was scared of grasshoppers is the same girl who rides into battle beside her brothers. She is the same girl who adventures into the dark upstairs of a strange magician’s house to save her friends. Small, valiant little Lucy reminds us that bravery does not rely on the absence of fear. It just means doing the scary thing anyway.

It's hard to think of yourself as brave when all of the things that scare you are irrational, but in some way, I think braving irrationalities is the most valiant thing a person can do --- there is no way to reason them into being less scary. Reason has no say in the domain of the irrational. And so, like Lucy and St. Ignatius, sometimes the bravest thing we can do is what we are doing, to not think about it and just do it. Our patient, merciful Lord will be there every step of the way, breathing lion-strength into our trembling, anxious hearts.

Further Up and Further In,

Judith ♡