Clarity in the Chaos

 How God’s beauty breaks through the chains of the prisons in our minds

This article is part of the Claritas spring 2025 issue, Connection. Read the full print release here.

By: Isabella riano

Hmm, what color should I pick? Lavender Purple, Basil Green, or maybe Flamingo Pink. Actually, I think I’ll pick Grape Purple. I watched as my Google Calendar became more colorful by the minute. From classes to office hours to club meetings to research meetings to dinners with friends, I’ve packed my schedule to the brim since my first semester at Cornell. We should keep ourselves busy, right?  Isn’t it important to be productive? 

As a senior in my last undergraduate semester, I realize now that overpacking my schedule was often more harmful than beneficial. I ran from place to place, justifying my busyness by calling it ambition. But what I was really doing was distracting myself from the thoughts that were gnawing at my mind—a habit I had been building since long before college. 

When I was eight, my parents divorced, and I watched my dad suffer from suicidal ideations for years afterwards. Sadness and suffering were a normal part of my childhood, and I used school as a distraction. As long as I scored well on my AP Exams, I would be okay. As long as I had different leadership positions in clubs, my parents would be proud of me, and all would be well. Yet as soon as I accomplished a task, I looked to the next one, and was never satisfied with my life or myself.

My thoughts were the source of my deepest pains. They made me question who I was, what I believed in, and even what reality was—I hated them. One second I would be hysterically laughing with my friends and the next I would be drowning in a turmoil of doubt. My deepest insecurity stemmed from the fear that I waat s a horrific monster pretending to be someone I was not. 

During my freshman year in college, my paranoia and doubt peaked. I remember obsessing over every millisecond of what I did. I would ask my friends to tell me the same story over and over again because I was so paranoid that I had forgotten something. This did not feel like my regular anxiety. It was far worse. 

Last semester, after suffering for three years, I was formally diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). I finally felt some relief when I got the diagnosis; it gave me clarity as to why I could not just “move on.” I did not have a “what if” fear of the future, but a “what if” fear of the past. I was paranoid of my own memory, not knowing if my intrusive thoughts or nightmares had actually happened—I’d completely lost my sense of reality. My fear of the past was putting my present life in danger.

My skin peeled from washing my hands too frequently. I worried I had fatal germs that would hurt me, or worse, someone else. I would spend hours engaging in compulsions that only offered me temporary satisfaction and completely consumed me. Walking to class, I feared accidentally bumping into someone. You can imagine how terrified I was when I learned to drive. 

When I placed my faith in Jesus back in high school, my life became transformed. He has given me an anchor to grip onto through life’s rocky waters. But in my early years of college, the OCD led me to question everything—including whether I was saved. Many of my thoughts attacked my faith, and shame pushed me away from God. My mind felt too dirty to be saved. I did not know what was true. 

Having OCD is far worse than having a clean room or having an organized schedule, as many joke about. I honestly wish it looked more like that. 

In her book This Beautiful Truth: How God's Goodness Breaks into Our Darkness, Sarah Clarkson thoroughly shares her experience with OCD amidst her faith journey. “No person, whether stranger or beloved, is safe from my distorted vision,” she writes. “I am undone with horror, bound in guilt. How can such dirtiness dwell in me, and is this truly my identity? Am I demon possessed or just despicable? I don’t know.” [1]  Clarkson perfectly describes many of my thoughts—from doubting my identity to being torn apart by my debilitating thoughts. She also points out how OCD distorts connection, driving a wedge between her and other individuals, just as I felt the OCD hindering my connection to God.

I did not understand why I could not relate to 2 Timothy 1:7,  which writes, “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” [2] I could only relate to emotions of fear and shame. My mind was far from being “sound.” I had an even harder time understanding why God loved me, especially since I did not love myself. I allowed my emotions to rip my mind apart and validate my intrusive thoughts. My shame and guilt, whether triggered by past mistakes or by the OCD, blinded me from seeing the truth of God's grace.

In one of my politics classes junior year, my professor connected me with a guest speaker who had visited our class, an author well-versed in law and Christianity. I remember joining a Zoom in Sage Atrium after eating my crunchy chicken noodle wrap, preparing for what I thought would be a normal coffee chat. Instead, the author and I engaged in a deep conversation, and he shared that he also has OCD. He reminded me of the unconditional love God has for all of us. He told me, “There is nothing you can or cannot do that would change how much God loves you.” I have replayed this line in my head countless times in an effort to let go of the evil thoughts that continue to attack me hundreds of times a day. This reminder transformed the way I perceive myself and was my first step in allowing God to take the weight of shame off my shoulders.

The following semester, when I studied abroad in Australia, God showed up for me in ways I could have never anticipated. I had been nervous about moving abroad, since I did not know any of the other students traveling. However, only a few days before the trip, I met a friend who ended up traveling with me to Sydney and later shared that she also has OCD. She played a huge role in helping me learn to take a leap in faith amidst moments of immense darkness and pain. I also met a pastor in Sydney with a mental health background who helped me further understand the battle that constantly tears at my mind. He taught me that I could not manage this spiritual and mental battle alone. God placed specific people in my life at a very deliberate time to encourage me to fully lean on Him. 

My dad, who battled dark thoughts that nearly drove him to take his life, often reminds me of Psalm 23:5, which states: “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” [3] “Enemies” not only include individuals but also include our evil thoughts. It is with profound gratitude that I have witnessed my dad’s overflowing joy following his experience of God’s deliverance. 

The apostle Paul writes in Romans, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” [4] I find comfort in this verse knowing that no matter how dark my mind becomes, He is always there. 

We are never going to fully understand why certain things happen the way they do, or why we are faced with certain battles, but we do know one thing for certain: Jesus loves us more than we can even imagine, comprehend, or understand. In Proverbs 3 we are reminded to “lean not on your own understanding.” [5] His ways are higher than our own. We can trust in Jesus’ unconditional, incomprehensible love. That is the beauty that breaks through the chains of the prisons in our minds. 

As German priest and theologian Martin Luther once said, “You cannot prevent the birds from flying in the air over your head, but you can certainly prevent them from building a nest in your hair.” [6] You may not be able to prevent certain thoughts from landing in your mind, but you have the decision of how much you want to let them define you. I have learned to surrender my thoughts to Jesus and remind myself who God says I am: His masterpiece. Ephesians 2 states “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.” [7]

In my moments of weakness, I strive to cling to God's voice—not to my flesh that wants to crumble in fear, not to the devil that wants to instill in me more shame, and not to the world which provides no enduring solution to the crippling pain caused by anxiety. Mental disorders continue to be somewhat of a mystery to me. Whether they are a product of spiritual warfare, the result of altered brain chemistry, shaped by our genetics, or the product of our environment, is still unknown. Although it is important to look at the root of our mental suffering, it is more important to know that God has already won our battles. God has the ultimate power over our brokenness and has introduced me to a peace that I cannot explain. Whether it is reading His Word or sharing in fellowship, I see God’s abundant love as He continues to remind me to let go of thoughts I cannot control and find rest in Him.

OCD has led to the most painful moments in my life, and frankly, it still does. But it gives me even more reason to fully trust in God. I know that Jesus died for me while knowing the thoughts that I would have. He is far better and more powerful than the wickedness of our minds.

Sources

[1] Sarah Clarkson, This Beautiful Truth: How God’s Goodness Breaks into Our Darkness (Grand Rapids, MI: BakerBooks, 2021), 31.

[2] 2 Timothy 1:7 (KJV)

[3] Psalm 23:5 (NIV)

[4] Romans 8:38-39 (NIV)

[5] Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)

[6] Martin Luther, Explanation of the Lord’s Prayer, quoted in Kyle Borg, “A Bird Nest in Your Hair,” Gentle Reformation, May 23, 2019, https://gentlereformation.com/2019/05/23/a-bird-nest-in-your-hair/.

[7] Ephesians 2:10 (NLT)