Kashfi felt ashamed, so ashamed that she had never previously been able to seek help. A bright, lively, attractive young woman, she was single, was active socially, and enjoyed her work in a film production company. What blighted her life was her driving compulsion to check, check, check—and to keep it a secret.

Before going to bed or leaving her top-floor flat, she went around it ensuring that all electric appliances were turned off and unplugged, gas taps were off, bathroom taps and shower hose were not dripping, counting to 100 for each check and repeating the sequence eight times. At work, she made sure all cupboard doors or filing cabinet drawers were shut, so that no one could hurt themselves, and avoided using the communal kitchen area, in case she left some appliance on. She was often dehydrated, as she wanted to cut down on her need to use the toilet. Just as exhausting was keeping all this secret. She couldn’t bear for anyone to know.

“I’m terrified that I am going to harm someone by being careless. I’m fine if others are around—I trust others to get it right. It’s just me. Why am I such a freak?” She burst into tears.

As shame was the strongest emotion she was feeling, I reframed what she was........

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