Ronak and the Feeling That Everything Was Dirty (OCD)

Ronak could never fully explain it. There was just a feeling. Subtle, but persistent. Something about the world around him felt off. Not quite right. Not entirely safe. It was not something he spoke about often, but it lived in his body.

Over time, he noticed a pattern. He preferred distance. Not because he did not like people, but because being too close made something inside him uncomfortable. There was a tightening, an unease, almost like his body was reacting before his mind could understand why. He could not explain it, but he trusted it. So he kept his distance.

One day, as he sat quietly with this feeling, something unexpected surfaced. Not a clear memory, but a sensation. A younger version of himself. Very small, barely three years old. Sitting in a crowded space filled with noise and constant movement. Feet walking around him. Voices overlapping. The space felt tight, suffocating, overwhelming. Too much was happening at once. And in that moment, something inside him decided that this was not safe, not clean, too much. It was not a thought. It was a knowing.

That moment passed, but the feeling stayed. It quietly shaped the way he experienced the world. Closeness began to feel overwhelming. Distance began to feel safe. And without realizing it, he started living his life around that feeling. Not consciously, but instinctively.

As he began to sit more deeply with himself, a question arose. Is all of this really mine. The answer was not immediate, but it opened a door.

He began to notice familiar patterns. Small things. A certain rigidity around cleanliness. A sensitivity to disorder. Not extreme, not obvious, but present. And slowly, a realization formed. Not everything we carry begins with us. Some things are absorbed through the spaces we grow up in, through the people around us, through energies that are never spoken but deeply felt. And sometimes, through generations.

Instead of pushing the feeling away, he chose something different. He went back. Not physically, but inwardly. To that small child sitting in the crowded space. This time, the child was not alone. He walked in, picked him up, and took him somewhere else. Somewhere open, somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. There was air. There was space. And slowly, the child’s body softened.

The feeling did not disappear instantly, but it began to loosen. The intensity reduced. The grip softened. The need to constantly stay guarded started to fade. Not because he forced it, but because something inside finally felt safe enough to release it.

Something shifted after that. The world did not feel as overwhelming. People did not feel as threatening. There was space where there was once tension. He did not feel the need to pull away all the time. For the first time, distance became a choice, not a compulsion.

Nothing outside had really changed. The world was still the same. But his experience of it was different. Lighter. Calmer. More open.

Sometimes, what we call our nature is actually something we learned very early. Sometimes, what feels like truth is just a moment the body never got to process. And sometimes, what we are carrying was never fully ours to begin with.

And when we finally see it, we do not have to fight it. We do not have to fix it. We just have to meet it. And in that meeting, something begins to release, naturally.

HAPPY HEALINGS