Fleas.
Gross right? Nasty little things.
This post, of course, isn't about fleas at all.
I was devastated and panicked on Thursday night, to realize that Sophie (my 10 year old yorkie-chiuaua cross) had fleas. When you see the amount of fleas that I discovered on my dog, you instantly want to burn your whole house down. The worst part? I should have noticed long before I did. She had been scratching her hair out for about a week. You may be wondering how the hell someone can go that long without noticing their dog has a problem (as bad as fleas)...and honestly, I had to wonder that myself.
I sat down in my sanctuary of solitude (the bathroom) with my head in my hands and thought "I can't handle this right now".
Little did I know it was exactly what I needed to handle...
Although I have been practicing moving more slowly through my life, I have come to recognize that it's only in certain broken down segregated sections and areas. I go slower when I am going out the door, getting ready, and talking to my kids but generally speaking I haven't slowed down in the "grand scheme" at all. Not one little bit. As soon as I eliminate one thing I pick up another. All my time is always filled, I am terrified that if I slow down I won't get started again. Even my meditations are a scheduled part of my day instead of when I need them. I don't say "pause" and then go find a quiet place when I require it. I hold it in and wait until it works for everyone else - and then try and re-find what I needed to work and force it down my own throat. Consider this example a "what not to do in practicing self-care".
I'm going to be completely honest here and just say - I neglect my dog. I am also embarrassed to say that it's no surprise to some of you reading this. I'm the worst pet owner ever. I often angrily ponder, "what was I thinking when I got a DOG? Did I not know how long they live and how much attention they require?!". I have even called myself "not a dog person". I would say it and I could feel myself shudder inside, but I said it anyway because I was pissed to have someone else who needed to be looked after and this lame excuse somehow rid me of that responsibility....? Question mark?
Let's take a side step for a moment here.
The one little being that is always home in my house is Sophie, the only way I wouldn't notice my pooch scratching her fur out, is if I wasn't paying attention. You know what they say right, about dogs being mirrors of their owners...? I have been denying that she is a reflection of me for a looooong time.
Funny thing about dogs, they tell you so much about yourself - your life and how you are holding up. So how am I doing Sophie? Interestingly enough if Sophie could answer, I know that even though she would say I've been sucking, she would say but I'm here to love you now if you are ready. Amazing, animals are amazing.
Sophie has been with me for 10 years. She has lived through all my pain and she is still here with me in my joy - only she got all of my pain and none of my joy. She has taken care of me consistently through all my shit, and yet now that I am brimming over with love, I spend very little time taking care of her.
I realized on Thursday that not only was I not honouring my dog, but I had detached my new self from my old self. Left her behind - both old Grace and Sophie. Sophie is a live representation of my past and I punish her, just like I punish myself for what happened back then.
So I had to ask myself: How can you love where you are now if you don't love where you have been? In order to get to where I am at this point, I had to find my way in the darkness. I had to stumble around and bump into shit, hurt myself, fall down and get back up to find the light switch. Then I had to decide if I wanted to see what turning the light on was going to show me, and if I was even worth having a look.
When I turned the light on, it was a bloody massacre and I then had to decide whether I was worth the clean up.
The answer of course is yes, but once I cleaned it up and I Lysol'd the hell out of the past (I would never use lysol now) and hoped to God there was no trace *erased all evidence*. If I can erase and forget, perhaps I can do a good enough job of making everyone else forget too.
I have a running list of things that I really want to work on - get better at, if you will. Loving myself is always at the top of that list, no matter what. Sometimes you just have no idea where the labrynth of self-love is going to take you. Just when you think you've nailed it, some kinda booby track opens up and swallows your ass whole.
One of the things on this list, after self- love (foreshadowing: everything on the list is really just about self-love) that I need to work on, is that I need to love my dog more - and yet, I just couldn't seem to do it. How and why do you avoid loving your dog?
Well let me tell you!
I found a million excuses - kids, work, busy life yada yada. Then her "bad" habits got worse and we all resented her. She was peeing in the house, ruining carpets and driving us mental. Deep, deep down in the depths of denial, I knew what was up but I blamed her, I blamed life, I even blamed Danny.
I had forgotten how it good it feels, and doesn't it just feel so damn good to love your pets? To feel their unconditional love. I was not only withholding from her, but withholding hers from me. In a way, I was withholding love from myself by shutting down this special dog/human bond. Many people will say - the love of your dog (pet) is like no other - they forgive you instantly, they don't judge you, they wait for you to arrive with excitement and angst, they are sad when you leave. I don't know about you, but I have never met anyone that gets as excited as my dog to see me when I walk in the door. Danny never wags his
And yet...I would walk right past her, shove her away, deny her kisses cause her breath smells like a fart wrapped up in burnt hair.
Since the fleas started I just can't stop thinking about her, wanting to ease her pain and hold her like a child. Today after I bathed her for the second time, I wrapped her in a towel like a wee little baby and sat in the rocking chair that I rocked Lilly and Oliver to sleep in. She closed her eyes and totally melted into me. My heart ached.
How did I forget to do this?
I felt enraged with myself, but instead I just quieted my mind and gave into what my heart needed. The love of my best furry friend - Sophie, who has been with me since I was 20 years old, every single freaking day. I got her when I was living in Toronto, scared and mostly alone...but more than anything completely lost. There is no doubt in my mind - NO DOUBT, that she kept me going when I was barely hanging on - swinging from the ledge by dental floss.
Sophie (who's real name is actually Sophia Maria Lopez, she's Mexian) reminds me of who I once was and that hurts. When I look at her buggy little eyes I see myself when I was 20 and I can't escape it. So I stopped looking at her.
*Cry break*
My sister asked me a while back if I could "go in" and talk/connect to my inner teenage/young adult and I said "pffft no way, I fucking hate her." Gale said "Mmm....interesting" like all wise people do when they know you better than you know yourself. Obviously I needed to connect the back-then-version of me with the new-and-improved version of me. Because you know what? As much as I don't want to admit it - we are the same person. Just because I got a shiny new paint job, does not mean that I can turn the odometer back and pretend all those miles weren't traveled. Nuh unh. Nope.
When I think back to "who" I used to be, the shame and the guilt is sometimes so unbearable that I shut off any and all of those memories - but last weekend when I got up in front of 75 women and told them some tid-bits of my self-loathing past, a part of me was set free. I was not alone. I was amongst 75 women who understood where I had been, and perhaps some of them were still there, or there again.
I, was allowed.
On Thursday, I had a phone meeting with Gillian, my coach, and as we worked through some (misplaced) anger and resentment I thought I was holding towards other people in my life (all who are lovely and have amazing intentions) she lovingly poked and prodded like she always does when she knows there is something festering underneath. Eventually I burst - I snapped and cracked and fizzed and pop. In a state of pure raw emotion, through tears and cursing I told her that no one knew how long it's taken me to get to where I am now. Did no one know, or did I not know? It actually seems pretty clear to many people in my life how far I have come, and how I have done (in the words of my mother) "a complete and utter 180...or is it 360?".
I constantly give credit to everyone who has helped me but never to myself for showing the fuck up - for getting out of bed on the days when I was just devastated to wake up, devastated because all I wanted to do for 14 years of my life was die. I didn't fantasize about life long dreams, success or changing the world like I do now, I fantasized about driving off the road and everything coming to a screeching halt. In fact, my morbid daydreams kept me going at times - as backwards as that sounds. I got to go to another place, where none of the pain I was in existed.
I knew that I had a purpose, and that is what kept me here - and that knowing without an answer pissed me off. If I seemed to know I had this purpose than what the hell was it? I had no idea that all that pain was part of the journey, and what I realize now was an integral part of the journey. If I hadn't been there I would not be here, telling this story.
I thought no one else was giving me credit, when all I had to do was open my damn eyes and see that it was me. IN fact, everyone else is giving me credit, patting me on the back and telling me how proud they are of me.
The love it there waiting for me at the top of the stairs, barking at me to let her onto my lap - all I have to do is show up, open my heart and my eyes.
This week I reattached myself to myself. It's like that scene in the movie Ghost when Whoopie goes into Kurt Russell's body, that's essentially what I feel like I have done. I have re-inhabited my own body.
So what do fleas have anything to do with this? The fleas gave me my life back. The fleas made me see that I wasn't loving a version of myself, and I was able to see that through my neglect of my sweet Sophie.
God damn it, I am so glad I stuck around because LIFE IS AMAZING, and Sophie is one hell of a friend.
So here is to Me, the old Me and the all the new Me's I have yet to become.
I love her:
With love and gratitude,
Grace Karyn Edison
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