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I used to think that Googling symptoms kept me healthy. My mother’s death showed me that I had to quit Elle Warren


WWhen I got my first period when I was 11, but not again for 18 months, I worried I might be the next Virgin Mary, pregnant by mystical means. I was sitting in front of my family computer and googling: “How to get pregnant without sex”, “Why am I not getting my period?”, “No period after the first period”. I would spend an hour scrolling through articles and Reddit threads until I read “no, you’re not pregnant” and “yes, this is normal” enough times. But after days or weeks, or sometimes a wonderful month or two, relief fades and doubt creeps back in, until I finally begin my search again.

Although my period eventually returned, my inability to deal with the uncertainty inherent in the human experience remained, and I kept turning to Google for reassurance. When I was 17, I sat on the couch doing homework while my parents went out with friends. In the quiet of the house, with nothing to focus on besides the boring textbook and my inner workings, I noticed my chest feeling tight. I had a smartphone at the time, which meant I could Google anytime, anywhere. I searched for “chest pain,” and it quickly became clear that I had no choice but to call my parents and go to the hospital. (After the doctors monitored my heart and took some x-rays, they told me I probably had stomach acid reflux.)

As I entered adulthood, I would often end a Google session by making a doctor’s appointment. I looked for a lump in the back of my head (the doctor touched it, shrugged, and said, “It’s just a lymph node”) or a lump in my breast (it was breast tissue). I became convinced that I had cancer or some other rare and serious disease. But sometimes, in the case of an eye twitch or a little rash or a headache, I read with relief that what I’m worried about is nothing to worry about. During these years, I thought online research was the only thing keeping me safe. It helped me understand my body. Sure, I felt anxious and desperate while scrolling through search results, but wasn’t that the price of staying vigilant about my health?

I learned that this habit was probably making me… more I worried, no less, about 10 years after my first period, when my mother died of cancer complications. Grief had cut me off from the thread by which I seemed to be hanging. I had daily panic attacks and often needed to work up the courage to leave my apartment. I felt like I was the only person who had experienced such a struggle, and I was desperate to find other people like me. So I turned to a different search engine to try to understand my mental health and not my physical one.

I typed “anxiety” into the Instagram search bar. I found people who cataloged their experiences with it, but I also found therapists who had hundreds of posts about another condition I didn’t know was even close to anxiety: obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Before, I thought OCD was about liking things to be neat and organized. But I’ve learned that it’s not about preference or enjoyment at all. Obsessions can be debilitating and relate to almost anything, including the possibility of contracting a fatal disease. Compulsions are not limited to counting, turning lights on and off, or washing your hands. Constantly searching for reassurance — from people around you, from yourself, or from the Internet — can also be compulsive.

I thought I was just an obsessive hypochondriac—someone who was almost comically exaggerated when it came to what was going on in my body. But about a year after I finally understood what OCD was, I received an official diagnosis. I didn’t stop googling right away. The diagnosis means I know now Why I clung to that search bar with such desperation. I think what ultimately helped me break the habit was the realization, over time, that there was nothing I or anyone else could do to save my mother’s life. Her cancer was aggressive and resistant to treatment. I realized then that there was no point in trying to predict anything that could be wrong with me. I may have always had intrusive thoughts about my health, but I didn’t need to waste the precious time I had on it.

At 26 years old, I no longer look for my health symptoms. I’m not trying to “solve” it. I’ve learned that it’s not something I can do, even in moderation. Instead, I trust myself to listen to my body and decide whether or not I need to see a doctor. At first, abstaining from the allure of that search bar was difficult, and I wasn’t perfect. “It’s irresponsible of me not to check this online, just to be sure,” my mind tried to tell me. But now, in a way I could never have imagined five years ago, I rarely feel tempted. I prefer to live in the peace and quiet that comes from accepting what I cannot know. I feel the lack of urgency I feel around needing to know why I have a headache or a mark on my skin. I ignore and wait for it to go away.

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