Every time I held my son in those first months, my brain showed me the same terrifying image: dropping him. Not tripping, not stumbling — just letting go. What made it worse was that we were living in a basement apartment at the time, where the floors were hard beneath thin flooring. I could picture exactly what would happen if he hit the ground, and the image replayed in my head on a loop.I knew enough to recognize it for what it was. I have OCD, so intrusive thoughts weren’t new to me, even if this one felt especially brutal. But knowing it was an intrusive thought didn’t make it disappear....
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