Apparently, My Knee Has Declared War on My OCD

Yucky scar

I have fought my OCD for years. And when I say fought, I mean FOUGHT. I have straightened things that were already straight, rearranged things that were perfectly fine exactly where they were, and lined things up so precisely that I’m pretty sure a ruler would have been impressed. Crooked pictures? Absolutely not. Uneven labels? Call the authorities. Something sitting just slightly askew? My brain would not rest until it had been corrected. For years, I managed to keep this particular battle somewhat under control. Then I had knee replacement surgery, and apparently my new knee has decided it would like to join the fight, and it is firmly on the side of “Girl, you're going to have to let some things go.”

There are things I simply can't do the way I used to. I can't bend down low enough to get into the bathtub comfortably. I can't sit on the floor. I can't kneel to pray. And for someone who has spent a lifetime believing that everything has a proper place, a proper position, and preferably a proper angle, this has been quite the adjustment. My knee has basically become the boss of my body, and apparently it has very little patience for my need to have everything perfectly organized.

Today, I was working on my craft shelving unit. I decided to put labels on the drawers because, naturally, if you're going to have craft supplies, you need to know exactly where everything belongs. I was happily labeling away until I got to the drawers near the bottom. And there they were: crooked. Not horribly crooked. Not even noticeably crooked to a normal human being. But crooked enough that my OCD immediately sounded the alarm. Normally, I would have gotten down on the floor, adjusted myself into whatever position was necessary, squinted one eye, tilted my head, moved the label approximately 1/16 of an inch, stepped back, looked at it again, and repeated the process until it was perfectly straight. But there was one small problem: my knee said no.

I couldn't get down there. I couldn't sit on the floor. I couldn't contort myself into the human pretzel position required to make those little labels perfectly straight. So I stood there looking at them, and they looked back at me. Crooked. I could almost hear my OCD whispering, “You're really going to leave that like that?” And for perhaps the first time in my life, I thought, “Yep. I might.” Now, let's be clear. This is not some miraculous transformation where I've suddenly become the woman who can walk past a crooked picture and sleep peacefully that night. I'm not there yet. There is still a tiny voice in my head that wants to fix everything from the crooked throw pillow to the picture frame that's approximately one millimeter off center.

But I've decided to see how long I can let those labels stay crooked. Maybe an hour. Maybe a day. Maybe until Jesus comes back. I'm kidding. Probably. The truth is, living with OCD can be exhausting. For those of us who struggle with it, the things that seem insignificant to everyone else can feel incredibly significant to us. Someone else may look at a crooked label and see a crooked label. We may look at it and feel like our entire brain has just been handed a fire alarm. That's why I'm learning that sometimes the victory isn't making everything perfect. Sometimes the victory is leaving it imperfect. Sometimes winning means walking away. Sometimes it means resisting that overwhelming urge to fix, straighten, organize, check, or redo something one more time.

And sometimes, apparently, winning means having a knee replacement that physically prevents you from getting down there to straighten the stupid label. Who knew my orthopedic surgeon would become part of my OCD treatment plan? I'm learning something important through all of this: I don't have to be controlled by the need for everything to be just right. I can be uncomfortable and still be okay. I can look at something crooked and remind myself that crooked doesn't mean catastrophic. I can leave something unfinished or imperfect and allow my mind to discover that the world doesn't actually end.

Maybe that's what I'm going to call this season: The Season of Letting the Label Be Crooked. It may not sound very profound, but for someone like me, it actually is. If you struggle with OCD, anxiety, perfectionism, or that relentless little voice that tells you something simply must be fixed before you can relax, I want you to know you're not alone. I understand the frustration. I understand how something seemingly insignificant can become a very big deal inside your head, and I'm learning right alongside you.

Today, my labels aren't perfectly straight. My knee won't let me fix them. My OCD really doesn't like that. But you know what? We're all going to survive. And maybe tomorrow I'll look at those crooked labels and laugh instead of reaching for a ruler. Or maybe I'll eventually figure out some creative way to fix them without bending my knee. After all, I'm still me. I'm just learning that sometimes a little crooked is okay, and maybe that's a lesson I needed long before I ever had knee replacement surgery.

Learning to Bend Without Breaking

 

I’ve never been one to love change. In fact, I’d rank it right up there with root canals and long lines at the DMV. Somewhere along the way, I decided that routine equals peace. My coffee mug goes in the same cabinet, my socks have their own drawer, and my favorite chair has a perfectly molded dent that fits me like an old friend. Why mess with perfection?

 

But life doesn’t consult our comfort zones before it starts rearranging things. One day you’re cruising along, windows down, music playing, and the next day—boom!—the map changes. Jobs end, kids move away, health shifts, friends drift. The seasons of life seem to come faster now, and I can’t find the pause button.

 

I used to think if everything stayed the same, I’d finally feel secure. But honestly, if nothing ever changed, we’d probably get bored out of our minds. Can you imagine living the same day on repeat forever? Even Groundhog Day had to end eventually.

 

Still, it’s strange how easy it is to find security in stability. Maybe it’s because when things are predictable, we feel like we’re in control. But the truth is, that’s just an illusion. Change reminds us—sometimes painfully—that we’re not running the show. And maybe that’s the point.

 

Growth doesn’t come from sitting still. It comes from those uncomfortable, stretching seasons that make us want to hide under the covers and wait it out. Every time life has shifted under my feet, I’ve learned something new about myself—and about God. He doesn’t just allow change; He uses it to shape us.

 

When I look back, the times I’ve grown the most were never the easy ones. They were the times I had to let go of what was and trust that something better was coming, even if it didn’t feel that way. It’s funny how we cling so tightly to what’s familiar, even when God’s trying to hand us something new.

 

So these days, I’m learning to bend a little. To roll with the punches. To laugh at the unexpected and find peace in the unknown. It’s not always easy—some days I’m more creaky oak than flexible willow—but I’m trying.

 

Because underneath all the shifting sands of life, one thing never changes: God’s faithfulness. When everything around me feels uncertain, He remains steady. That’s where true stability lives—not in my routines, not in the things I can control, but in the unchanging hands that hold it all together.

 

And maybe that’s what growing older (and hopefully wiser) is really about: learning to trust the One who never changes, even when everything else does.

 

Dear Lord, thank You for walking with me through every season of change. When life feels uncertain and the ground beneath me shifts, remind me that You are my anchor and my peace. Help me to loosen my grip on what was and open my heart to what You are doing now. Teach me to find joy in new beginnings, courage in unfamiliar places, and faith that You are working all things for my good. Even as the world changes around me, let my trust that You remain unshakable. Amen.

 

"Of old You laid the foundation of the earth,

and the heavens are the work of Your hands.

They will perish, but You will remain; they will all wear out like a garment.You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away, but You are the same, and Your years have no end." Psalm 102:25–27