My Journey with Germ Anxiety and How I Found Balance
It all started roughly around the age of nine or ten, with very subtle habits like washing my hands after touching the family fridge or door handles inside the house. Over time, it was as if I became hyper-focused, and my inner voice would tell me to wash my hands more and more—after touching things like the TV remote or house keys. Gradually, it escalated into small, mundane things. I should add that, yes, somewhere deep down, I knew it wasn’t rational, but I was caught in my mind, with my inner voice whispering things like, “You’re going to catch this,” or “This will make you sick.” These thoughts were often fueled by things I’d learned over the years, whether from TV or later from early video-sharing sites like Break.com.
By the time I was 16, my anxiety had taken over in ways I couldn’t control. For example, I felt like my PC mouse had to stay clean at all times. If I even touched the armrests of my chair, I’d wash my hands. It got so bad that if someone walked past my mouse or that area, I’d feel the need to clean it. At that age, I was using a whole soap practically every six hours. I couldn’t shake anyone’s hand, which stressed me out completely. I remember times when I’d use all the hot water in the house, and after touching something like a drawer handle to get a fork, I’d pace around waiting for the hot water to come back, working myself up to the point where I’d sometimes just take a shower.
This fear was ruining my life in many ways. My hand-washing rituals escalated into showering every time I went out, which eventually turned me into a recluse for a few years. I was living with my parents, and while I didn’t see them as disease-carrying people, my mind would constantly push me—almost as if I were being hypnotized—into these behaviors and thoughts. The feeling I experienced is hard to describe, but if I had to name it, I’d call it dread. For me, it developed into a fear of catching a disease and affecting everyone I loved. I know it sounds crazy to most, but my fear of germs escalated into a fear of making my family sick. Going to the shop and touching something would trigger thoughts like, “What if I give this to my family?” I conditioned my brain to fear two things: catching something myself and, even worse, passing it on to the people I loved.
To any parents reading this, please understand that this kind of anxiety is heavy and constant. Forcing someone to stop these rituals or using shock tactics (like making them touch something “dirty”) never helped me—it actually made things worse and increased my stress.
I tried reading up on things and even sought help, but it only provided slight relief. The only way I could beat this was by going slowly and figuring out ways to work around it. One thing that helped was washing items I bought from the shop, like cans of Coke, milk, or Monster energy drinks. Over time, the anxiety around those items disappeared, and I found myself not worrying about them at all. I also developed little tricks, like having a “school pen” and a “home pen.” The home pen was sterilized with hand sanitizer and kept in a cupboard. I even started using Glad freezer bags (those see-through bags you put food in) as makeshift gloves to open doors or pick things up. Now, I know this might sound like I was regressing, but it was actually a way to protect my hands. After years of constant washing, my hands were sore, covered in thin cuts, and even had blisters from the hot water. My aim with the bags was to wash less and let my hands heal.
Hand sanitizer also became a lifesaver for me. I always carried it when I went out, so if I had to shake someone’s hand or open a door, I could use it. Having hand sanitizer helped me tremendously because it eased my worry. Knowing I had it gave me a sense of security, and over time, I found I didn’t need to use it as much. It was almost like having a lucky charm, especially during school. When I was out, I didn’t worry as much about washing my hands by knowing i could clean my hands anytime but not worrying till i actually need to— I conditioned myself only when I had to eat my school lunch or touch my private areas. Having hand sanitizer built up a lot of my confidence.
With the bags and the hand sanitizer, I didn’t focus as much on germs, and over time, I’d actually forget about using them—almost as if I’d forgotten about my condition. The bags eventually evolved into using my pants pockets. If I needed to pick something up or open a door, I’d put my hand in my pocket and push the fabric from the inside to use it as a barrier or use my T-shirt if I feel like I need to avoid washing my hands.
When it came to actually washing my hands, I’d count while doing it. I also had a hand towel just for me, and no one else was allowed to use it. My parents installed a single tap with one handle that adjusts hot and cold water (a monobloc tap, which generally refers to a tap that is a single body fitted onto a single hole on a basin or sink)so that took away the need to touch the tap, i could just use the back of hand or elbow to switch off water. Everywhere you read, it says that 20 seconds of proper washing kills most germs, and even cold water does the same, but I stuck with hot or warm water. When I was in the “I must wash my hands” mindset, I’d wash once for 20 seconds, rinse off the soap, and then wash again for another 30 seconds. The counting in my mind worked tremendously because it made me feel like I had control. Now, I still do something similar, but I’ve conditioned myself to believe that 20 seconds the first time to clean the soap, followed by 20 seconds, is enough to make my hands clean. I used the 30-second method when I started because it made me feel more confident—adding 10 seconds to what doctors recommended made me feel cleaner.
By conditioning my brain with the plastic bags, hand sanitizer, and counting while washing my hands, I’ve gotten much better over the years. I don’t constantly focus on the things I touch now. Of course, I still have moments, like when using a public toilet or touching a lift switch, but I don’t have the same anxiety and fear I used to. It doesn’t affect my life or emotions the way it once did. I still carry hand sanitizer in my pocket to this day, but I find I only use it when I eat or go to the toilet. Touching doors or doing things that might dirty my hands doesn’t bother me as much anymore. It’s like having a charm in my pocket—my mind doesn’t automatically jump to, “If I touch this, what does that mean?” Instead, it’s like I don’t acknowledge it at all until I eat or go to the toilet. This has eliminated the extreme level of hand-cleaning I used to do, and now it’s almost as if I’m doing it at a level close to what others might consider normal.
If you’re struggling with something similar, my advice is this: don’t rush it. It’ll take time, but I promise, if you can just get out of your mind a bit and establish a normal routine, things will get better. Believe in yourself. When those anxious thoughts come into your mind, try to think very hard about something else—build a story in your mind and focus on that. I used to build multiple stories, almost like creating a movie in my head, and it actually made my anxiety drop because it blocked out the thoughts of germs and sickness. Just think of something and put your energy into that. The anxiety will fade, and you’ll be able to block it out.
It’s not easy, but it’s possible. You’re stronger than your fears, and with patience and persistence, you can find balance too.
“The Hands That Heal” Poem By joesite
It started small, a whisper in my mind,
A fear of germs, of what I’d left behind.
The fridge, the door, the TV remote—
Each touch a trigger, a tightening rope.
By sixteen, it grew, a storm I couldn’t tame,
My mouse, my chair, all part of the game.
Soap bars vanished, my hands raw and sore,
I’d shower for hours, then wash some more.
The dread was heavy, a weight I carried,
A fear of sickness, of lives I might bury.
Not just for me, but those I held dear,
My mind whispered, “What if it’s here?”
I tried to fight it, to break the chain,
But shock and force only deepened the pain.
So I found my way, one step at a time,
Small tricks and tools to quiet my mind.
A “school pen,” a “home pen,” a bag for my hand,
Glad freezer bags became my command.
Hand sanitizer, my pocket’s best friend,
A shield of safety, a means to an end.
I counted the seconds, one, two, then three,
Twenty to cleanse, thirty to feel free.
A monobloc tap, a towel just for me,
Each step a stitch in my tapestry.
The bags turned to pockets, the fear began to fade,
The rituals softened, the monsters swayed.
No longer a prisoner to every touch,
I found my balance; it didn’t hurt much.
Now I carry my charm, a small bottle of peace,
But the fear doesn’t rule, its grip does release.
I’ve built my stories, my mind’s own retreat,
A movie of calm where anxiety can’t compete.
To those who struggle, I say this is true:
The fight is hard, but it’s worth it for you.
Take it slow, find your own way,
And one day, you’ll see the light in the gray.
For the hands that heal are the hands that hold,
The strength to break free, the courage to be bold.
You’re more than your fears, more than your pain,
And step by step, you’ll find your way again.