When obsession shakes certainties and challenges beliefs

What happens when questions of belief are subject to obsessive behaviours? The impact of OCD on key life moments.

Paula Duncan

Paula Duncan is a PhD candidate at the University of Aberdeen, researching OCD and faith.

A close-up of a complex clock mechanism featuring small statues within it.

The Millennium clock tower.

National Museum of Scotland.

I’m eleven years old and I’ve been given a New Testament in our school assembly. This is the first time I’ve owned a copy of the Bible. So far, I’ve only heard it read to me in school or the few times I’ve gone to church with my family. I flick through it that evening, taken by the table at the front that directs you to different verses that speak to how you might be feeling. I find myself reading Revelation. The imagery frightens me. The tone, the threat, the fear, and the condemnation… would this be me if I didn’t believe in the right way? If I didn’t believe enough? I’m terrified of this book, these words, terrified of God, even. Mostly, I’m terrified by my own doubt and uncertainty about all things religious, despite wanting to believe. What if God isn’t real? What if God is and I just don’t believe enough? God will know I’m not sure. I tell myself not to think about it. If I’m to avoid thinking about it, I can never read the Bible again. I accept this as a rule.

I’m twelve years old and I’m standing in the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh, listening to one of Bach’s minor key concertos playing from the Millennium Clock. To me, it looks like it depicts some sort of hellscape straight from the book of Revelation. Death, suffering, and evil are everywhere in this model with its eerie red glow at the bottom. It brings up all the thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid – “you don’t believe enough” and “this is what hell looks like.” I tell myself to forget about it. If I’m to forget about it, I need to make sure that I never talk about it and don’t tell anyone how afraid of it I am. Talking about it makes it real, I think. I accept this, too, as a rule.

I’m thirteen years old and I’m sitting in a church trying to concentrate on the service. I can’t because I keep having the thought that I don’t believe enough. I’m worrying about what the reading might be – I’m still too scared to read the Bible and I can’t prevent myself from hearing it in this space. I’m afraid of thinking that I don’t believe enough, and that God will know because this is God’s church after all. I tell myself that I do not belong in this place if I cannot control my thoughts. If I can’t do that, I can never go to church again. This too, becomes a rule.

I’m fourteen years old and I’ve started praying every evening. I’m not sure what prompted this, but I also know that I must do it correctly. If I pray and forget to conclude with “amen”, then it seems obvious that God will continue to listen to my thoughts as if I’ve forgotten to hang up the phone. I try to keep my thoughts corralled and pure when I pray. If I don’t end my prayer, God will hear all my worst thoughts – the ones I am ashamed of, the ones that scare me, the ones that fill me with doubt. I tell myself that I can no longer run that risk. If I’m to prevent this, I shouldn’t pray. Another rule.

I was scared to say these things aloud – to voice my fears or doubts in case they somehow became worse if I acknowledged them.

I’m now in my late twenties, and I have been diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and I’m slowly unlearning the rules I’ve created for myself over the years. Each of them, in their own way, was designed to keep me safe from harm, safe from thinking about something that frightened me, or acknowledging difficult emotions like doubt and uncertainty.

It has been a long road to reach that diagnosis. OCD is regularly misunderstood and presented as punchline of jokes – “I’m so OCD!” is one that I’ve heard far too many times when someone simply means that they’re organised. The problem with these jokes is that it disguises the reality and makes it that bit harder for people to recognise what it is they’re really dealing with. OCD-UK, a charity to whom I owe a great deal, describe OCD as follows: “Obsessions are very distressing and result in a person carrying out repetitive behaviours or rituals in order to prevent a perceived harm and/or worry that preceding obsessions have focused their attention on.”

Obsessions could cover virtually any topic, and everyone will experience compulsions in slightly different ways. I didn’t recognise that I was living with OCD because almost all of my compulsions were mental rituals or avoidance behaviour. I would try and avoid thinking about things, check whether thoughts upset me, avoid reading the Bible… Layers and layers of compulsive behaviour in response to frightening intrusive thoughts that became associated with faith. I was scared to say these things aloud – to voice my fears or doubts in case they somehow became worse if I acknowledged them. I now know to call this “magical thinking” but I still find it difficult at times to accept that I cannot cause something to happen simply by saying it.

It can be particularly difficult for people with OCD to cope with uncertainty. I can see why anxiety and doubt about the existence of God has been hard for me to tolerate. I also know that I can never achieve absolute certainty and part of learning to live with OCD is learning to accept that and make choices despite it. Last year I attended the International OCD Foundation (IOCDF) Faith and OCD conference and was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people there. So many people with the same worries and doubts as me, and many more who had found that OCD impacted them in different ways.

But it was hard for a doctor to diagnose me until I could find the words to articulate what I was experiencing. It wasn’t until I started reading books about other people’s experiences with OCD that I started to recognise my own thought patterns, my own fears and doubts in other people’s words. Author and video creator John Green shares a very powerful video titled “What OCD is like (for me)” where he shares what his experience of having OCD and says:

“I can say what it is like more than what it is.”

This gives me a little more courage to tell people what living with OCD can be like and represent some of the diverse experiences of the condition. For someone who was too frightened to open a Bible, I think it’s a little ironic that I am now a theologian. My doctoral research project is focusing on faith and OCD, and in particular, how it might affect someone’s relationship with God. I hope to make use of some of my own experience along the way – examining my fear of not being sure enough, my worries that my intrusive thoughts would somehow offend God… I hope that by sharing this, I can raise a little more awareness of an experience that so many of us try to keep secret or just aren’t ready to speak about.

Through advocacy and research, I’d like to share a little of, as John Green says, what OCD looks like (for me). I’d like to add my voice – now that I’ve found it – to the discussion in the hopes that someone might read this and recognise what they’re going through. And if that’s you? You’re not alone. There is help and there is hope.

Article

Belief

Culture

Film & TV

4 April 2025

4 min read

Hollywood’s streaming hope, here’s why

Today’s darker world of turmoil has viewers seeking solace.

Nathan Betts

Nathan is a speaker and writer on topics related to faith, life and God. He lives near Seattle, Washington. His writing is featured frequently in The Seattle Times. nathanbetts.com

An actor dressed in an ancient Middle Eastern way is filmed by a large camera.

Filming The Chosen.

Angel Studios.

Whatever you think of Christianity, just skimming the streaming options on Amazon or Netflix tells you that Christianity is by no means in decline; if anything, as one recent article in The Economist reads, it “is having a moment.”

Amazon Prime’s House of David, Netflix’s Mary, and the series The Chosen are a few of the streaming options mentioned in The Economist article titled “Christian entertainment has risen”, which also notes the approximate 280 million people viewership worldwide of The Chosen.

Sure, not all of these shows are the highest in production quality and they don’t necessarily garner great reviews across the board. House of David, the article cites, has been described as “wooden and cheap-looking, humourless and dull.” Negative comments have been shared about other Christian films as well ranging back to Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ.

Yet, with all the mixed reviews of the various Christian streaming options available today, I could not help but wonder exactly why has there been such an uptick in Christian films and shows.

There are two reasons hinted at in the article that stood out to me. The first thought revolves around the need for faith. The second is hope.

At one point, the writer observes that the surge in biblical films is not necessarily a sign that Hollywood has now seen the light as much as it is indicative of the fact “that the world right now feels very dark.” People are searching for some light. The head of the Wonder Project, the independent studio that made House of David, adds: “Today people want to watch things that ‘restore faith’”.

Personally speaking, I have lowered my intake of news over the last year primarily because I found that it either gets me down or increases my anxiety levels. The decision to tune out news outlets felt like the wise choice in limiting the ambient angst in my life. As I have shared this with friends, I have found that I am not alone in this; not by a long shot.

Yet, with all the gloomy news we see around us, I’ve come to believe that even in our age of cynicism and scepticism, we still want to trust in others, our friends, our spouse, our leaders, and dare I say, God.

The common thread among the surge of Christian television shows and films is that they present a world we want to live in. They are telling stories that involve redemptive endings; massive themes are covered, ranging from temptation and forgiveness, humility over pride, healing of wounds, and perhaps greatest of all, life after death. I wonder if one of the reasons we are attracted to these shows is the fact that they carry narratives that speak to the very core of who we are, who we struggle to be, yet who we want to become. They present a world of pain, struggle, turmoil, and darkness that also includes healing, strength, peace, and light. In a word, they fill us with faith.

The Economist writer adds that “in a saturated streaming market, these films and shows are offering that most of Christian values—hope—to their makers.” Speaking now as a person living in America where the daily news cycle consistently offers us some type of disaster to digest, I find myself paying close attention to any possible signs of hope, and that includes the shows I stream.

The more I live, the more I realize that every one of us is trying to figure out how to live in a battlefield of different pressures and struggles presented to us in life

Not too long ago, I got into an unexpected conversation involving faith with the person who cuts my hair. Midway through the haircut, she told me that she and her husband were going to church that weekend. From our conversation, I had gathered that she was not religious at all so I gently asked her why they were going to church. Her voice slowed down and got shaky. She moved the scissors away from me. She then looked at me through the mirror and said, “My husband and I just had a baby and life has been very stressful. We are not sure we are going to make it. We are going to church because we need something to hope in.”

The more I live, the more I realize that every one of us is trying to figure out how to live in a battlefield of different pressures and struggles presented to us in life. The question has always been, “How is it possible for us to live and perhaps even flourish in this type of world?” The ubiquitous nature of entertainment options available to us in our technological age might be unique to us, perhaps. But what is not new is our desperate need for faith and hope to sustain us. The rise in Christian entertainment reminds us of this truth.

We might not need Amazon Prime video or Netflix to survive in this world, but the offering of faith and hope found in the films and storytelling within those streaming services are the exact ingredients we need to live. When you think about it like that, it’s easy to understand why Christian entertainment is indeed having a moment.