Over my seventeen years of living, I've been a dedicated cheerleader, curious physics connoisseur, growing fashion designer and more. These labels paint who I am, and to become all those things, I first had to learn. I love the wisdom in learning, the empathy in understanding, and the creativity in digging deep. I love throwing around “Did you know?”, “it’s because,” and starting tangents that start with God knows what words. It’s exhilarating when answers come easy, but I love most when learning demands your all, when understanding ideas threatens your peace, and the depth of knowledge eats at your soul. I learned this through the most difficult lesson of all: understanding my older sister.
Naomi was born just two years before me; we shared our first homes, first schools—first everything. She was the first to recognize my eagerness to learn. After my school days were over, she’d teach me what she learned in hers, from writing the alphabet in cursive to advanced algebra. Together we danced to my keyboard’s demo songs and sang to Beyonce, but these experiences would eventually exist only in my memories as her demeanor toward me grew to reflect only discomfort.
She went from leaning into my hugs to needing to be at least three feet apart. When I was just twelve years old, she cut me off completely. I tried everything to keep her attention, but she wouldn’t budge. Whenever I tried explaining this to others, everyone—even adults—would assure me this behavior would pass, but I knew that wasn’t true. Real answers came only when my mom took me to therapy, where she was asked a question I wished I’d pondered before.
The therapist inquired, “Does anyone in the family have a history of mental illness?” To which my mom replied, “Well, my first daughter was once diagnosed with OCD—.” I immediately froze in my seat. I salvaged my brain for everything I knew about those three letters. Obsessive. Compulsive. Disorder.
Just knowing of her disorder allowed me to blame her actions on it; it shielded me from having to interrogate where and why I fit in. I was satisfied with my surface-level understanding. I didn’t go the extra mile as I had for everything else I’d learned in my life. The possibility of learning I triggered her disorder was too much to bear, and the possibility of understanding we’d never speak again would break me.
I refused to go deeper until I noticed myself mirroring my sister’s behaviors—crying when my mom reorganized my dresser, and feeling like I couldn’t breathe around boys who liked me unrequitedly. While I had little control, my actions had consequences too. When I saw my past hurt mirrored on others, I knew I had to begin researching the disorder that terrified me. I found a site listing obsessions, or “intrusive thoughts.” These included fears of contamination, illegal activity, and even immorality. I learned that these fears had no real basis and that compulsions, like my sister’s avoiding, were just ways to cope with these fears. The more I learned, the more I empathized with my sister’s behaviors and controlled my own.
While OCD may never allow me to truly understand my sister aside from her disorder, I’ve learned a much greater lesson about myself. I learned that I am strong enough to handle the answers I desire, and am more than capable of obtaining them. I learned that I am more than capable of digging deeper, regardless of how frightening it may be. I’ve learned that knowledge can never break me, but my ability to learn constantly is instead my greatest strength in navigating this world. Because I am a learner, an understander, a knowledge-witholder, I will be able to take whatever lessons life throws at me, whether that’s organic chemistry or microsociology. As long as I continue to learn, I know I am fulfilling my life’s purpose.