Be Broken. Be Open. Be Okay with Chaos.

I read two really great articles recently that spoke to me, and I think they may speak to you.

The first one was called “Why Lying Broken In a Pile On Your Bedroom Floor is a Good Idea” by JC Peters. The second was a piece called “Time To Get Honest About Being Disabled”, published in Disabled Magazine and written by a man named David A Grant who’s a traumatic brain injury survivor.

These two articles on their own are amazing and powerful, but reading them both in one week has sort of blown my mind.

THE GODDESS WHO'S ALWAYS BROKEN

Julie Peters explains in her article that there’s a goddess named Akhilanda, whose name basically means “Never Not Broken”. Peters (and Akhi herself) sort of suggest the idea that being broken is part of growth, part of change; so instead of looking at ourselves and saying, “Whyyyy am I so broken? I suck because I’m broken,” we can say, “I am broken because I am growing.”

I am broken because that’s how things grow. So being broken (physically or mentally, whatever you’re dealing with) isn’t weakness, and it’s not the endgame; it’s the start of the new you. And if you’re like me and you crave constant growth, then you’ve got to expect—and embrace—constant breakage. I come undone because I am always undone. I am never finished. I am an agent of change.

THE WASTEFUL PURSUIT OF PERCEIVED PERFECTION

This obviously paired really beautifully with Grant’s article, which talked about how much time we all spend trying to appear ‘normal’ or ‘healthy’. God, we expend a lot of energy trying to pretend we’re OK. And for what? Grant points out that those of us with invisible ‘broken parts’ can become isolated by our own perfect acting. Instead of burning ourselves out pretending we’re fine, why can’t we just accept ourselves as imperfect creatures? If we all did this, unabashedly and with a sense of pride for our individualized strengths, wouldn’t we find out that normal isn’t the norm at all?

CHAOS IS A FRIEND OF MINE

I read these two articles the same week that I saw Bob, my psycho-spiritual mechanic (my counsellor, in layman’s terms) and he suggested that I need to start working on better embracing chaos when it hits. I’m not a chaos fan. I like things to fit neatly into little boxes, to start when they’re supposed to start and end when they’re supposed to end. I like things quiet unless it’s an orderly noise. I like it when the dog stops shedding for the season. I like it when my house is clean.

This week I stopped trying to keep away the chaos. I started by giving up on my house cleaning. I never really get on top of it anyway, what with teaching and running a start-up company; why stress about what I can’t currently control anyway? That drove me a bit batty, but I managed and I figured that would be what I told Bob I did this week—yay, me. Instead, the goddess Akhilanda decided I needed to be pushed a little further. So on Wednesday morning my car wouldn’t start, and after four days of driving around a loaner while we diagnosed the problem, the loaner blew a tire, leaving me stranded in a Chapters parking lot.

LEARNING GAINS MOMENTUM 

It’s a funny thing, personal growth. When you decide to start down a road of self-discovery and self-acceptance, momentum can start to pick up. One learning opportunity after another will start to happen, sometimes faster and faster until you can’t tell where one ends and the next begins. As I stood beside my loaner car waiting for help, I called MJ and laughed with all my heart at the ridiculous chaos of my life. I didn’t freak out. I just laughed, bought myself a banana loaf inside, and waited for help.

So I guess, if I package up all my learning this week for you to also benefit from, I’d have to say this to you:

Be forever broken.

Embrace it, inside and out.

And don’t fear the chaos, because it’s part of the eternal breaking/mending cycle.

Two days later, my car is fixed, I’ve scored some major victories in my work, and I’m sitting in my chair now, listening to MJ sing as she bakes while Corben sheds relentlessly all over my feet and my unwashed hardwood floors. And I’m pretty content, actually.

Some Tuesdays are Mondays.

Tuesday went like this.

I got up at 5:30am.

I fought with the doors on my car that had frozen shut, then drove past the school I teach at as I forgot where I was going; pulled a U-turn down the street and actually drove to the school instead of past it this time.

Ran with my dog Corben to the building as his feet started burning from salt, and I realized I can't carry him now that he's 53lbs. Taught class. Got call from MJ back at the house: she's ill.

I drove home on class break, made her tea, checked temperature, and gathered crackers. Drove back to school, taught another class with angry students this time (long story). 

Drove to a client's for a troubleshooting thing, then to the grocery store for sick MJ food. Drove home, made MJ sweet potato slices in the oven (a compromise, as she wanted tater tots DESPITE STOMACH FLU).

Found that dog had dragged the mug we use to scoop sidewalk sand into the house and onto my bed, where the snow it contained had melted.

I put dog outside for a pee, then brought him in even though he brought a big rock into the house to chew on. Took rock away from dog, discovered rock was actually his own frozen poop. Cleaned hands, floor, etc.

Took dog to THREE PET STORES looking for boots, found nothing his size. Came home, sat down for the first time in 14 hours.

Ate leftovers, stared blankly at my to-do list until bedtime while watching MJ scroll through thinkgeek.com. Eventually dragged yoga mat into her room so I could try stretching out my screaming sore back.

So yeah, pretty normal day.

Random Update: My Week In Snippets

I have been really busy this week, because I launched my own business (yep, I grab life by the balls, people), and I've been doing miserable things like getting cavities filled (though most of my time was spent sitting and waiting for the freezing to work while my hygienist and I discussed online dating forums), and in the middle I've been trying to actually get out of the house a little. So I haven't had time to formulate some big clever post this week, nor have I had time to post some awesome recipes and DIY stuff I've been doing. It'll come, don't worry. In the meantime, here's a very short summary of what has been happening.

LAUNCHING MY BUSINESS: 

I took a big leap and started my own marketing firm. I was already working freelance, but I wanted to take things to the next level and really brand it. It's freakin' scary, but I love what I do and I prefer to do it on my own terms. This way I never end up marketing Nesquik or Axe body spray or anything else that makes me feel dirty. I celebrated the launch of my business by promptly losing my day planner, which is still MIA as it flew off the roof of my car. I spent the next two days curled up in a ball while I tried to remember all my appointments and notes. I recommend you, too, reach for the stars and go for that dream career that you've always wanted, no matter how scared you are...but I recommend you find a different way to mark the occasion.

MJ MOVED IN:
My best friend MJ moved in with me a couple months ago. I didn't really mention that yet, because I wasn't sure what to say other than, "YAYYYYYYY". Not every pair of friends should live together, but MJ and I have a history and lived together for four years previously, so now, in our 11th year of knowing each other, we felt pretty confident in our decision to be roomies. I don't know exactly how she's feeling about it, but I can tell you that *I* am thrilled. For one thing, I feel less likely to develop a brain tumor from holding the phone to my head for 2+ hours a day while talking to her. Also, we can do little chats throughout the day rather than one long one...it's like Stadtler and Waldorf shorts on The Muppet Show, in their balcony, laughing at their own jokes. But today especially felt like a day where I could say, "Yeah, I'm living with the right person," because she left me this note in the morning:

Only a best friend would know exactly how to make me laugh first thing in the morning like that.

CORBEN TAKES THE TRAIN, AND A BUS: 

Corben's training continues and is getting more interesting as his age/brain increases. Last week we took him on a steam train at the museum to teach him about trains. Not, like, to teach him about trains, because I'm telling you, this dog has no interest in book learning, despite my repeated attempts to make him watch shark documentaries with me. Anyway, he had to learn how to cope with train travel and this was a great way to do it. Despite hundreds of screaming children and a wasp that flew in the train car, he handled it like a pro. So the next step is a public bus, and we went through the rigmarole of getting him recognized by the bus service, and now--no joke--Corben has his own photo ID for the bus. Yes, I'm in it, but I think I'm pretty much just there to hold him up to the camera.

ONLINE DATING SUCKS, MOSTLY:
I've been doing the online dating thing for a few months now. I started out, not to actually talk to anyone, but because I'm an A-type organization freak. So while I was lying there in bed one day, pitying myself because I was pretty sure I'm never going to find someone I want to date again, I decided to see if that was empirically accurate. Dating sites allow you to screen people based on their gender, age, financial bracket, education level, desire for children, etc etc etc. So as cold-hearted-Vulcan as it makes me sound, I went on and selected all my best case scenario choices for a mate, I found that yes, there are still some eligible mates in the world. The rest of the screening is left up to the individual, of course. If you're considering trying it out, may I suggest the following additional screening methods:

1. If they message you with, "Hey Baby/Cutie/Sexy", don't bother messaging them back.
2. If they have pictures of themselves shirtless, when not on a beach, don't bother messaging them back.
3. If they don't have a picture of their face, and you're not interested in participating in a round of infidelity, don't message them back.
4. If they fail to use punctuation or spell check, don't bother messaging them back. Unless you're one of those people, too. In that case, I'm glad you found each other.

I may do a longer post on this topic at some point.

WISDOM FOR THE WEEK:
In dating, business, or life in general: if you are unsure if you're good enough, smart enough, or cool enough, just fake it 'til you make it. You'll get there. Here, a song for us self-effacing fake-it-til-we-make-its:

Dog Training Done Right: Dogs In Harmony teaches the human and the dog

When I first got my Aussie Shepherd puppy, Corben, we had a week of blissful quiet. He was adorable and confused and shy, and still very young. After that first week, though, he realized that everything the light touched was his…and he became a typical crazy puppy. Well, with the exception that he was startling bright. This meant that he was double trouble.

And so Lynn Hyndman entered my life.

Lynn, who is owner and trainer at Dogs In Harmony here in Ottawa, Ontario, came to visit before Corben even arrived. She helped us puppy-proof the house, prepare a crate, and talk about puppy maintenance. By the time his first training day came around and he was being a nutbar, I was honestly convinced I couldn’t handle this whole puppy thing at all. He wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t sit still, wouldn’t stop chewing things, and wouldn’t stop running around.

Lynn came in, pulled out her bag of tricks, and within ten minutes she had that 10 week-old puppy doing perfect ‘sits’. He was housetrained within a week, and stopped chewing non-toy items within a month. She made it look effortless, the way someone else might tie a shoe or chop a carrot—like it was nothing at all. Indeed, compared to some of the small-brained breeds she undoubtedly works with, Corben was likely a treat to teach.

Lynn has been our constant cheerleader and teacher as Corben has met and exceeded all his basic obedience and manners training, and is now well into his specialized training for his ‘day job’. However, Dogs in Harmony does not usually do the specialty work Corben gets for his job; indeed, you can hire Dogs in Harmony for your own dog anytime, at any age.

Lynn is a Professional Dog Trainer and a member of the Canadian Association for Professional Pet Dog Trainers. You may recognize her from her segments on Rogers Daytime, as well. On top of all this, she volunteers her time with various doggie non-profits, and is a Mentor Trainer for the Animal Behaviour College, testing and training novice dog trainers as well. All these credentials aside, what makes Lynn so incredible is her genuine adoration for her field.

Lynn teaching Corben to ignore
birds and squirrels.

Lynn has a natural way of explaining how a dog works, and this is key in dog training because the majority of the education happens to the owner, not the dog. I haven’t found a behaviour yet that Lynn can’t figure out how to retrain. She’s a steadfast professional, never breaking stride even when Corben does the cutest bad things—though we often laugh about them afterwards. Watching her work is like watching a fish swim: it’s as if she was born with a clicker and a leash in her hand. Lynn focuses her practice on positive, rather than punitive, behaviour correction techniques, and the results are proof-positive that you don’t ever have to whack a dog with a newspaper to stop a troublesome habit. Indeed, she gets much better results by not doing such things.

With Lynn’s guidance, Corben has become the most well-behaved dog I have ever known. And thanks to her help, he’s also one of the happiest, well adjusted dogs, too. I feel like I’ve learned how to communicate with my pup in a way that he understands and appreciates. Everyone leaves a training moment feeling accomplished; it’s like my dog and I are a team, one built on mutual respect and patience. I truly wish I’d met her when I adopted my rescued pug many years back, as I understand now how it’s never too late to teach even an old dog a new trick.

 

Lynn LOVES dogs, and it's apparent in her wonderful
training style.

This is my unsolicited commendation of Dogs in Harmony and Lynn Hyndman’s work. It’s also my very public way of saying thank you to her for all her work, research, and support as I’ve swung from, “Please tell me how to restrain myself from stuffing this puppy in the blender,” to “Okay, this dog is awesome and I can’t wait to see him every morning”. Thank you, Lynn, for your hard work with us. Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful you found your calling.

How Not To Talk To A Service Dog Team

Some of you diehard readers know that I am in the middle ofthe lengthy yet rewarding process of training my own service dog. Corben is a bit of a social media celebrity—or at least I think so, as I post pictures of him regularly. He is 11 months old now, and acing his training. He’s with me most of the time now, and he’s helping me a lot with my daily life. And he’s ridiculously cute, so he’s kind of like a visual form of Prozac. Win-win, right?

Well, most of the time.

I’ve discovered that when you appear able-bodied and have a service dog with you, you’re going to experience a lot of bizarre behaviour from strangers. I think we can use these examples as a ‘How not to talk to a service dog team’ sort of list. Here it goes.

HOW NOT TO TALK TO A SERVICE DOG TEAM

1. DON’T HOLD THEM UP.

Yes, I have a service dog. Yes, he’s interesting. No, I don’t always have time to talk to you about him. Last week Corben and I got onto an elevator that a man had just vacated. As the door was closing, I saw this man turn on his heel and shove his hand into the door to keep it open. As the emergency system kicked in and the door slid open, he stared at us and said, “Is that a service dog?” Yes, I said. “Well…can you explain that to me?” I’m late, I said. “Oh. Oh! Okay…” said the man, and finally let the door shut. Yes, this really happened. Yes, I’m unimpressed.

2. DON’T ASK WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE HANDLER.

Don't get me wrong, I love talking about dogs and my dog in particular. But if I had a dollar for every time someone asked me, “He’s your dog? What’s he for?” I’d have enough money to never worry about the cost of Corben’s training ever again. The problem with this question is that you are basically asking me, a stranger, to tell you what my disability is. Sometimes I even get this question from acquaintances or friends I don’t see often. Most frequently, I’m asked this in a crowded room with lots of eager ears around. No, I don’t want to explain to anyone what’s wrong with me.

 

He doesn't actually do housework.

3. DON’T KEEP ASKING WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE HANDLER.

Okay, we all slip up sometimes. It’s possible not to realize that a) you’re asking someone to divulge their personal health challenge, and b) that that’s incredibly rude. But if the conversation goes like this:

STRANGER: What’s the dog for?

ME: Service.

STRANGER: What kind of service?

ME: Medical alert.

STRANGER: What’s that mean?

ME: It means he helps me by alerting me.

STRANGER: Okayyyy, but what’s the problem with you that he’s watching for?

…you’ve pushed too far. “Medical alert” means, “I have a medical problem.” Look at it this way: if I came up to you on the street, stood in front of you, and said, “I have a medical problem.”—without Corben beside me, just for no good reason, wouldn’t you think I was being socially awkward? Wouldn’t that seem like an over-share? The presence of a service dog does not mean you should feel all rules of polite conduct are moot.

3. DON’T ASSUME THE ABLE-BODIED HANDLER IS A TRAINER.

It’s easy for me to hide sometimes behind the assumption that I’m just a dog trainer. Honestly, many of us with service dogs do let this assumption ride in some awkward situations. But in some ways, it diminishes what Corben and I are to each other. It also daily reminds me that I look healthy, so the fact that I’m daily struggling with a serious medical problem is invisible and therefor, not acknowledged. Anyone who’ suffered through a non-visible health problem can relate to this. It’s like visiting your aunt and having her repeatedly offer you ice cream even though she knows you’re lactose intolerant but just never remembers. In a way, the refusal of people to consider I may have a disability makes me feel even more invisible.

4. DON’T PET THE DAMNED DOG. 

No, you can’t pet him. See how small his brain cavity is? The smartest dogs in the world have only the reasoning capacity of a 12 year-old. If I came to your 12 year-old’s math class and started petting her while she was doing an exam, don’t you think she’d make more mistakes than usual? Every time we’re out together, Corben is performing his own version of a math exam. Every time you try to pet him, you mess up his concentration. Yes, it’s cute when he breaks stride and wriggles to be patted. No, you’re not giving him a pleasant break in his day. You are essentially giving pixie sticks to that aforementioned 12 year-old and then leaving me to get him focused back on his math test.

5. DON’T POINT HIM OUT TO YOUR TODDLERS.

If you petting him is like a pixie stick, a toddler barking at my dog—yes, they bark at him—is you giving Corben a litre of Red Bull. All concentration is lost, and any work I need him doing isn’t going to happen. I don’t run up and pet your toddlers; please keep your kids off of my toddler.

6. DON’T FORGET TO EDUCATE YOUR STAFF.

Ottawa is pretty good about not giving us a hard time. However, I went out for dinner with a friend a couple weeks ago, and a young waiter informed us that dogs weren’t allowed in the restaurant. After I pointed out his vest and told him we had our papers in my bag, he put his hands on his hips, cocked his head and said, “Yeah right. What’s wrong with you that you need a dog?” I don’t have to explain this and I’m not going to. Shop owners, be sure that even your youngest staff understand that it’s a human rights violation to kick me out of a store for having a dog, and it’s also wrong to demand to know what my health problem is.

7. DON’T EVER ASSUME WE’RE FAKING IT.

At Ottawa Comiccon this year, I managed to attend 2 out of 3 days. This is in huge crowds with poor air circulation and a lot of noise. I was able to do this because I had Corben. At one point while I was looking at a vendor table, my friend heard a man mutter something about, “strapping a vest on his dog, too, just to bring him to the con”. MJ rocks, so she turned to him and said, “Yeah, maybe that would be fun, except this is a real service dog.” You’ll occasionally hear horror stories of people faking service dogs, but I haven’t seen it happen around here, and when you look at Corben’s behaviour, you’d have to be an idiot not to see just how heavily trained he is.

8. DON’T CALL IT A PRIVILEGE.

After I answer all the questions people throw at me about my dog, their curiosity sated, I will often get a comment like, “Well how nice for you that you get to take your dog everywhere! Well I sure wish I could take my dog with me everywhere!” Listen to what you’re saying, people. You’re telling me I’m privileged because I have a disability where my best tool for normal daily living is having to raise, train, and cart a dog around with me everywhere I go. Yes, he’s cute and fuzzy. No, in many ways he does not make life easier. When I leave the house, I have to be aware of all his needs plus my own. I have to look for ways to traverse a mall without the use of an escalator. I have to choose seating in restaurants based on where my dog’s fat butt won’t get tripped on. I have to get special dispensation to take him on a plane. But yes, he is lovely and he does make my days a hundred times better. So I think it’s bogus to suggest that having a service dog is a lucky privilege; I think it’s more of a karmic balancing. I have to live with this shitty disability for the rest of my life, but the trade-off is that I get to have a sweet-faced companion come along with me.

9. DON’T ASSUME THE DOG IS A SIGN OF WEAKNESS.

I had a job interview this spring. I got to the second round before I mentioned Corben, who I’d purposely left at home for the first round. When I mentioned him, the interviewer started asking if I was really sure I could do the job, if (and I paraphrase here) I was so effed up that I needed a service dog. I pointed to my resume and said, “Everything you see on here that you like, I did with my disability present. The dog doesn’t make me less capable. He makes me more capable. I accomplished much of these things without him; imagine how much more I’ll do now that he’s with me.” She didn’t bite. She couldn’t shake her bias. The reality is, having a service dog means that people are daily reminded of my otherwise invisible disability. But instead of looking at Corben as a reminder of how I’m broken, try looking at him as a reminder of how I’ve soldered myself back together. He’s not a weakness; he’s a weapon against failure.

10. DON’T OVERTHINK IT.

It’s a dog, folks. You see dozens everyday walking around your neighbourhood. I don’t get what all the fuss is about. When you put all the attention on my dog, you make me feel like all the qualities I possess as a person are secondary…that my companion is all that defines me. Just relax and ignore him. It’s what he wants, anyway. Stop staring at the dog and get back to making eye contact with me. I’m here and better than ever.  

Back in the day. I can't believe he's grown up so much.

Dog Drugs, Singlehood, and the Joys of Solo Time

CORBEN PULLS A MARILYN

Yesterday while I was doing my hair, Corben left the bathroom and ten minutes later I found him spread out on my couch with an empty pill bottle tilted down his throat. He’d slobbered the label completely off the thing, so I had to retrace his steps until I found some tablets on the ground and could determine what he’d taken. It turned out to be a sedative used by both humans and animals (small blessings), so when I called the vet I was simply put on ‘dog watch’—a minimum six hour monitoring of a nine month-old puppy for ‘signs of anything unusual’. Y’know, because 9 month old puppies never do anything unusual. Anyway, he spent the rest of the morning getting really fascinated with anything I touched. At one point he buried his head in the laundry and just inhaled, slow and deep.

OH YEAH, AND...

Oh, and I’m single again. Yeah, I thought I’d write a big emotional thing here, but I’m fine. I mean it: I’m FINE. Truly fine. I don’t know if breakups are different the older you get, or if it’s because after divorce, everything feels a little less catastrophic…like if you had a leg eaten off by a shark, and then later a dog bit you at the park, and you’d just be like, “That’s nothing. Have you seen my peg leg?” The actual breakup happened a few months back, and I spent some time processing, and now I’m at the point where I’m not exactly single ready to mingle, but I’m also lightyears away from crying in the dark.

I think what’s surprised me the most is that I’m totally okay with being alone. I’m looking forward to it, in a way. If I want to eat cereal for dinner while standing in the bathroom because I’m doing my makeup before heading out to a movie, that’s ok. If I want to play Call of Duty for an hour instead of buying groceries, that’s ok. When I do buy groceries, I only have one insane set of dietary needs to consider, and that’s glorious.

BOYS VS GIRLS 

Today my friend Pepper and I were discussing dating. Pepper is awesome. Her romantic experiences are within the realm of girl-boy things, whereas mine (as you know) meanders back and forth over the gender line. We were conferring on the complexities of trying to get men to talk about their feelings in an upfront and direct way. I told Pepper, “If I knew how to get guys to just talk about their feelings and practice appropriate self reflection and introspective observation, I maybe wouldn’t have ended up spending half my adult life dating women.”

Pepper pointed out that this means I have options, but it’s not that simple. I explained, “Yeah but then you get into the world of 'mental ninjitsu mixed with verbal acrobatics with a smidgen of passive aggressive assasination attempts', and then you'll find yourself seeking out the refuge of a strong hairy chest and monosyllabic conversations.”

“So, pros and cons to both,” said Pepper.

“Yep. At the same time, it's like choosing between two equally awesome tropical beaches, but also being stuck on two tropical beaches without an umbrella or sunscreen...eventually, it burns...”

Obviously, I’m not coming at the dating scene with the same wide-eyed naïve vigor with which I approached it as a younger woman. I think this means I’ll be a lot more committed to my mental ‘checklist’ of things that I will and won’t tolerate. As I’ve aged, I’ve learned that time is precious, and I’m wary of wasting it.

Unless, of course, we’re talking about laying on my bed, alone, playing Call of Duty for an hour wearing a sexy nightgown for no reason and eating Easter chocolate I keep hidden in the freezer. That…that is time well wasted.

Blog Out Loud 2014: Wrap Up and Thank You

Last night I was one of the bloggers selected to read at Blog Out Loud Ottawa 2014, which was part of the Ottawa Writer's Festival this year. I didn't know before getting there that I was one of a handful selected out of about 60 applicants. I can tell you, that raised the stress level a bit...but was obviously a huge honor.

That's me!

I wanted to write a quick post and say thank you so much to Lynn, who organizes this event every year. This is my second time being selected, and it is such a unique and special opportunity as a blogger, to witness an audience hearing your writing. Blogging can be crazy-making, because you hear back from so few of the readers, and you have absolutely no way of knowing what they thought. It's not like books, where I can measure the enjoyment of my readers by the number of copies sold. So to have that time where a room of a hundred people laughs at all the right spots, and sighs at all the right spots...it's a kind of a magic.

To those that stayed to talk to me, thank you so incredibly much for doing so. The post the jury selected for me to read was The Four Horsemen of the Mental Health Apocalypse. It's a very personal post, and a very dark one--though written with my usual irreverence, of course. I was nervous to share it like that, and as we got closer to the date I was less certain it would resonate with people in the flesh; but apparently it did, because you were so generous and effusive with your praise.

Thank you for coming up to talk to me, and sharing some of your stories about mental health. For the aspiring blogger I met, who told me, "You said everything I wish I could say about depression": thank you. For all the others, thank you too. I came to share a gift of a story with you, and instead I feel like I left with far more in return than I can ever express.

Corben had a bowtie.

Corben thanks you all, as well. He handled the echoes, the chamber music, and the rounds of applause like a champ. Attached to that is a special thank you to Lynn from Dogs In Harmony who has helped my 8 month old furball become a polite young man.

And a deep, heartfelt thank you to my friends who came out. Though I was far across the room standing alone on that stage, it was directly to you guys that I was reading.

And lastly, a thank you to the combat veterans who inspired the Four Horsemen post. In learning about service animals and working with Corben, I have had the distinct honor of getting to meet some of you, and seeing you at your most courageous--not when you're fighting battles with guns against enemies, but when you're fighting battles with nothing but your strength, against inner demons. It was for you that I wrote the post.

Alright, that's enough mushy stuff. As you were.

My Four-Legged Weapon Against Anxiety: an intro

A week or so ago, I wrote a post about the four horsemen ofthe mental health Apocalypse. People loved it. Apparently, lots of you can relate either to personally knowning one of the horsemen, or to living with someone who does. Well, I’d like to give you a bit more insight into my personal horseman, Anxiety, and the battle I’ve waged against her. If you read this and have a comment, please do share below, or email me. Much love.

ANXIETY—A REFRESHER

So if you’ll recall, I gave this short introduction to Anxiety:

  

Anxiety tends to sit, quietly and moodily in silence, until she suddenly throws a tantrum. The tantrums typically mean that her host will have a 10- to 60-minute blinding, sweaty, tunnel-visioned panic attack. The rest of the time...Anywhere you go, Anxiety goes with the flow: she can find something to panic over just about anywhere. Don’t even bother trying to travel, take a bus, talk to a stranger, get through an interview, drive on a highway, walk your dog at night time, or watch a scary movie. She’s that leechy friend in high school who starts wearing all the same clothes that you do, styling her hair the same way, and following you everywhere, until one day you realize you’ve become a permanently-connected duo.

THE BRAIN VS ANXIETY

Anxiety turns your own nervous system into a weapon against you. It’s a clever way to work: when a person can be sitting on the couch, watching The Simpsons, and suddenly feel an overwhelming electrical rush of panic for no reason, you’ve got a pretty effective method of screwing a person up. The trick with Anxiety is that, on a basic level, she isn’t in your brain—not at first. She lives in your nervous system, and your brain then learns to interpret all her whisperings as if the brain itself had whispered. Your brain doesn’t understand how it could be possible for your nervous system to have a ‘mind’ of its own. So your brain internalizes what your system is doing.

Eventually, this will basically give your brain a complex. It becomes a question of “chicken or the egg”. You have a panic attack at the mall one day, for example, because Anxiety hijacked the nervous system and made you hyperventilate. Okay, so that’s just one bad day, right? Wrong. Because next time you’re at the mall, there’s a good chance the brain will say, “Wait: didn’t I hate being here? Didn’t I send the nervous system into a spin?”, and it’ll do it to you again. For some of us, the brain over-generalizes and eventually you just can’t go in any large building, or into any crowd over twenty people, or shopping of any sort.

CRUELLEST INTENTIONS

Anxiety works by mad whisperings. She’s the queen of digging into your forgotten memory banks and discovering all the things that scare you. You’re walking in the park and you hear birds; Anxiety reminds of that time a swan attacked you at the petting zoo when you were six. She then deftly connects the dots between ‘seagulls’ and ‘swan’ and before you know it, your skin is tingling with the expectation of bird claws digging into your hair.

She knows every micro-expression on the face of every human you meet, and she’ll teach you terrible ways to overanalyse these until your mind begins to melt. When you made that last joke about pirates and Janet didn’t laugh very long? That clearly means she hates you. When you head to that board meeting and your boss rolls his eyes about expense reports, that’s clearly because of how you present them. Oh, and remember that one time you felt dizzy in your cubicle? Good, because Anxiety does too, and now she wants you to know that you’re probably going to have an aneurism in front of everyone, which means you’ll die in a really gross spazzy way and someone will post it on the internet. Might as well just call in sick. Then at least you can have your aneurism at home in private, where no one will find you for days. You could just be paralyzed, actually, lying on the floor in a pool of sweat, unable to reach your phone. So you better just grab your phone now and keep it in your pocket all the time, because what if you need it and can’t reach it? Remember that one time you thought you lost it but it was in your jeans? How stupid are you? Remember the look your sweetie gave you when you did that? Clearly she hates you, too. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah....

Yeah, that’s how Anxiety works.

Where other people are having five or six thoughts at any one time, you’ve got so many mental tabs open that your harddrive starts to crash. And almost none of these thoughts will be positive. Anxiety hates optimism; she will tell you right away that every time you use hope, it’ll karmically backfire and punch you in the face. Better to always be ready for the next horrible ordeal.

As I write this post, I am thinking about the thousands of people who will read this and think I suck and hate me forever. Thank you, Anxiety.

WEAPONS AGAINST ANXIETY

GROUP THERAPY

I have seen Anxiety fended off in various ways. I personally took a lengthy course of CBT (aka “cognitive behavioural therapy”) which was kind of overwhelming because I spent twelve weeks of weeknights in a room with a dozen other friends of Anxiety. We took a lot of breaks, and on breaks we all smoked and traded advice on the best sedative cocktails. The information was good, but it was maybe too much to take in over such a short timeline. It was also hard to learn when, everytime the counsellor shared a medical fact, someone put up their hand and asked if they themselves might be experiencing that. (Anxiety loves medical facts. The scarier, the better.)

MEDICINE 

I have used medication to subdue Anxiety, as have many of us. It's like turning on really loud music while wearing sunglasses sprayed with shaving cream. This is how I felt like I behaved when I medicated:

In fact, when I attended the CBT group and was, at twenty-four, the youngest in the room, I realized I’d better get off sedatives quickly if I didn’t want to hit forty and still be swapping prescription recipes. I mean, hey, whatever gets you through the night…but I wanted something else. I wanted my brain to be clear and strong.

(Because here’s the thing about Anxiety sufferers: we’re not stupid. We’re usually overly bright. Employers fear hiring those with Anxiety, but the truth of it is, we’re often the fastest, hardest, or most creative workers. We’ve got nothing but adrenaline to burn off, and our minds are geared for complex, intricate, future-focused thought. You can tell me the first three lines of a marketing campaign you want to run, and I can tell you where it’ll bomb twenty steps down the road. We should really all work in Risk Management departments, but then I think our poor heads would explode.)

Anyway, I digress.

PSYCHOTHERAPY 

Drugs weren’t my answer, and so I headed back into therapy. At the time I was having a really bad round of insect phobia. I told the psychiatrist that I felt like spiders were actually hunting me down because they were everywhere. Unhelpfully, by the end of about six months, she actually agreed the theory had merit, because I really do seem to have a spider beacon attached to me. Anyway, the therapy helped some more, but it wasn’t enough.

The mind that never ever gets to rest.

ANXIETY HAS A WEAKNESS

I started to feel a fair deal better when I was at home, but not when I was out. For years I subsisted like this. I didn’t know why home felt better, though I assumed it had to do with the agoraphobia that Anxiety loves to provoke. It was only eight years later, when my pug Mr Darcy died, that I put the pieces together: the dog was my helper. If I got anxious, he would sit with me; if I had a panic attack, he would lay with me. When I was alone and Anxiety’s incessant nattering took over, I would talk or sing to the dog.

I needed another dog. But this time, I was going to do it bigger and better. I decided to get a service dog.

And there it is: like so many of the mental health monsters, Anxiety is afraid of dogs.

So in walks Corben, eight weeks old and absolutely idiotic, adorable, and completely time-consuming. I had undergone weeks of searching for just the right puppy, and just the right trainer. And here was Corben, and before he’s learned even one command, suddenly there are actual moments of silence in my head.

When I bury my face in his fur and breathe in the simple animal scent of him, my mind goes peacefully blank.

Corben is being trained to accompany me out into the real world, because I have goals. I have dreams. I have places I want to go. I want to travel without having to take a support person with me. I want to attend concerts or festivals without fear of the crowds. I want to sit through a high-stakes board meeting without starting to puke. This smiley-faced dog is going to have commands for all these things, so that I can operate as I truly want to.

For the first few months, I didn’t want to tell anyone about what Corben is being trained for. It felt like Corben was a sign that I was slipping, that I wasn’t handling my relationship with Anxiety so well anymore. What I’ve come to realize is that I’m actually improving: where I used to settle for the Anxiety-induced barriers in my life, in recent years I have wanted those torn down. Five years ago I never would have thought about going to another country alone; but now I want to. Three years ago, the only way I would have wanted to attend a board meeting would be from the back of the room with my face in a binder; now I want to lead that meeting. Corben is my bridge to those things that Anxiety had made unattainable. Maybe I’ll be even more fearless than the ‘normal’ people. Who knows.

What I do know is that I'm feel empowered. I have a new tool against my lifelong foe. If medication is what you use and it works, that's fabulous. Counselling? Also fantastic. Meditation, yoga, naturopathy, and wine? I've done all of those and if they meet your needs, then that is freaking wonderful. Seriously. Whatever you use to keep that foul-mouthed witch named Anxiety at bay, you use it. But me, I'm going a new way. I'm adding something to my arsenal, and it happens to be cute and fuzzy. 

Yoga Pants and A Lost Puppy

This morning the puppy got out of the house. I was cutting up herbs to put into some new jars when I

suddenly felt a wintry breeze on the back of my legs; I looked around the corner to find that the front door, which hasn’t been closing properly, had blown open. Naturally, Corben was nowhere to be found.

Pure, unadulterated panic overtook me. I ran outside, slipping around in my furry slippers, calling hysterically for him. I dragged myself through the snowbanks to check fearfully in the road, where I was convinced I’d find his twisted, broken body. I veered around the side of the house, calling and clapping my hands. And that’s when Corben poked his head up over a mound of snow: he’d headed straight to the park where he loves to chase his laser pointer after the sun goes down. He ran right to me when I called again, and I picked him up—all forty wiggling pounds of him—and went inside, where we both sat on the floor, shaken by the entire ordeal.

Here’s why I’m telling you this story.

When I realized Corben was gone and made my mad dash around the neighbourhood, I hadn’t yet dressed for the day. On Friday night I’d gone shopping for some PJ’s, which is something I don’t usually do: it always feels like a waste of money to buy a prescribed tee-shirt and jogging pants for bedtime when I have old worn-out gym clothes that work just as well. But I’ve been needing a pick-me-up, so I headed to the new Victoria’s Secret to see what I could find.

To my own amazement, I ended up falling in love with a pair of black yoga pants, sporting a set of bedazzled rhinestone angel wings across the buttocks. I tried them on because I really like wings, and I needed a pair of pants, and they were dirt cheap on sale. I bought them because when I put them on and they felt like the fabric equivalent of a warm hug, I knew I had to have them. Yeah, I think yoga pants should only be worn for yoga; and yeah, I think having anything emblazoned on your rear-end is one of the most tawdry things a girl can do to herself…but every now and then, just for a brief moment, I find myself desirous of something utterly girly. And since no one would ever see me in them outside of my own family, I figured, why not. I topped off the ensemble with a super-cheap hoodie with the words “I LOVE PINK” written in glitter across both the front and the back. Because again, I would only wear it for bedtime and the people in my house know I don’t love pink. But I do, secretly, adore sparkly things.

Anyway, it was in this ensemble that I ran, with the addition of furry slippers, looking for my dog. After the adrenaline left my system and I was no longer shaking with fear, I realized that I’d given the entire cul de sac quite a little show, decked out in my sparkly Victoria’s Secret gear, bellowing and clapping and stumbling through the snow.

So then I thought of all the times I’ve wrinkled my nose when I see people on TV, talking to the news reporters at the scene of some accident or crime. These people so often seem to be wearing embarrassing sweats, crude slogan tee-shirts, and never ever a bra. I thought about all the times I would think, “What horrendous trashy neighbourhoods do these people live in? How come these newsworthy stories always seem to happen where these horrendously trashy people live?” And now I wonder, if maybe just maybe, some of those poor folk were just like me: it was their one day in months where they slept in; their first time in years not getting changed first thing in the morning; and they had just bought those ridiculous pants with the word ‘juicy’ across the ass on sale that weekend because they’re just so comfortable. And maybe when they looked back on the newsclip, they too had a moment of redfaced chagrin as they realized what they were wearing.

So I apologize, all you jogging-suit-wearing, words-on-the-butt, braless crazy-haired people I’ve judged all these years. I feel your pain…your warm, fuzzy, brushed-cotton, rhinestone-butted yoga pant pain.

There's a New Pup Place in Ottawa: The Dog Run Inc!

Ladies and gents, there’s a new hangout in town, and it’s just for those of us with fur-babies.

The Dog Run Inc is a brand new facility, owned and operated by Jennifer Schutz. This indoor doggy place offers day care, overnight boarding, and even three hours of open play time every evening. (Learn more further down.) There’s a little bit of everything happening, and the Run opened just in time for Ottawa’s grossest weather season. I asked Jen some questions about The Dog Run Inc; here are her heartfelt answers.

Where did you get the idea for The Dog Run?

I got the idea for The Dog Run on a cold night out with my dogs on a particularly nasty Ottawa winter night. I wanted a warm, safe place for my dogs to get their energy out and socialize without freezing in the process! I have also had a life long dream of opening a safe cage-free kennel and daycare for dogs since I lost a very loved childhood dog to distemper from a dirty kennel. Since that loss, I have had a passion for safe and nurturing dog care. 

What services do you offer?

We currently offer Doggie Daycare at $20 per day from 7am to 6pm. Our cage-free boarding service is $40 per day. And what’s great is that we are open 6-9PM Mondays to Saturdays for an indoor dog run which is set up with agility equipment and coffee for our clients to come in out of the cold and play with their dogs in a safe environment. [You can play for the whole three hours for just $5.00/dog, or buy a monthly pass.]

We will soon be offering dog grooming services, dog training classes and seminars on dog behaviours, agility training, etc. - all of these new services will be advertised on our facebook and twitter pages (and our website is coming soon).

Why is The Dog Run a special endeavour for you?

Dogs are my life. I have been a dog owner for as long as I can remember. I find that they bring me great companionship and unconditional love that really can't be found anywhere else.  For the last few years, along with owning my own beloved Emma, I have taken in foster dogs for Hopeful Hearts. I am very passionate about my dogs and love to help out with local dog rescues.

Why do people love the Dog Run so far?

When clients come to the Dog Run, they find a place where they feel like their dogs can just be dogs. Socialization is really important for pack animals and play time is crucial for owners who want happy, healthy animals. Our clients love The Dog Run because it is warm, inviting safe place to bring their dogs for daycare, boarding or even just for supervised play time where they can trust that I will always be striving to enrich their dogs stay. I do my best to play with each dog in a way that they need while they are in my care.

You’re a true DIY’er, Jen: building your very own business. Tell us about yourself and why you love this work.

I love my job because I get to wake up every morning and do something that I am so passionate about. I get to play all day. What could be better than that?

A little about me? Well, I am originally from a small town near North Bay, ON called Callander. For the last few years, I worked as a machine operator for a recycling plant, and volunteered as a foster parent for dogs. I decided  this summer that I wanted to pursue my passion for dogs full time and opened The Dog Run Inc. I have never enjoyed my career more and hope to continue to serve the dog owners of Ottawa for a long time to come!

Where to find The Dog Run Inc:

Join Corben and me and Jen anytime down at The Dog Run:

20 Gurdwara Road, Unit 19 in Nepean (Ottawa)

--nearest major intersection: Hunt Club West at Laser St. in behind Powersports World

Follow The Dog Run Inc on Facebook

Tweet with The Dog Run Inc on Twitter

Pup-date: Corben eats, chews, and squeaks

The soundtrack to my life is now a constant symphony of squeaky toy sounds. 

The puppy is a fiend for squeaky toys. He does not, however, have a very long attention span. I suppose, once he’s determined he has officially killed the plush wart hog/ bunny/ fox/ bear, he is no longer interested in that toy and wants to find a new one.

The only toy he does not tire of, is my shoes.

He’s also regressed a bit on the potty training; we’ve been working on it all week, so now when he has an accident, I’ll say, “No no no, puppy…” and before I say anything else, he runs to the back door to scratch. It’s a process. I get this.

What I do not get is why he insists on eating all the bark off of the firewood pile in the backyard. I pull it out of his mouth as fast as I can, but he’s unstoppable. Today I looked over at him in the yard and he tried to look casual while chunks of wood kept falling out of his lips.

And of course, we had our first ‘table surfing’ experience, wherein a dog finds food on a high human surface. The food was a giant chocolate birthday cake that I’d just unboxed; I turned my back to get the candles, and next thing I knew, there was no icing on the front side of the cake. Lucky for him, these things are mostly ‘chocolatey’ coating and not real cocoa.

I can’t blame him: the icing is my favourite part and I’d happily do the exact same thing, given the chance.

What compensates for the constant vigilance, worry, frustration, and wood splinters, is the moments when I sit on the step and he climbs up in to my lap, then curls up like a cat. That won’t be as cute when he’s sixty pounds, but for now, it’s my favourite thing in a day.

OCD Cleaning Day

Yesterday I took a look at the puppy and realized he was filthy from all the fun we’ve been having. So I gave him a bath. Then he looked pathetic, so I blow-dried him, to his utter dismay. Once fluffy, I figured we may as well complete the package and give him a good brushing. Twenty minutes of fighting with him to get the brush through his fur, and then I decided I’d better clean his ears. Pouring the otic cleanser into his ear canals, then mushing around in there with a paper towel, made him pissy, but I gave him special treats and he stayed still long enough to let me clip all his toe nails.

This is what happens when an OCD person says, “I’m just gonna bathe the dog.” It’s very similar to what happens when an OCD person says, “I’m just gonna dust the furniture.” Before you know it, everything has been cleaned/wiped/swept/sanitized, and half the day is gone.

What happens when a puppy gets the royal treatment from an OCD person? They apparently sneak into the one blind corner of the backyard, dig a hole, then bury their face in it. After all that work, Corben came around the corner looking like he’d stuck his face in a chocolate cake.

The rest of the morning I spent cleaning the bathroom. I started with some toilet bowl cleaner, then I

sanitized every other surface of the toilet. I continued on, meticulously moved every lotion and potion until I’d cleaned all the surfaces. I scrubbed the mirror free from all my whiteboard marker ‘notes to self’, and then poured baking soda into the tub and hand-scrubbed all the soap scum out of it. Then I went out to visit MJ for a couple hours.

This is what happens when an OCD person says, “I’m just gonna tidy the bathroom.” It’s very similar to what happens when an OCD person says, “I’m just gonna bathe the dog.”

So, what happens when you leave your boyfriend unattended in the house for the evening? He goes into that sparkling-clean bathroom and attempts to install a new bathroom fan. Except he doesn’t know how to do this kind, and ends up pulling out the old one only to discover that there’s tons of loose, snowy insulation up there…insulation that now flurries down onto him, the counters, the floor, and the toilet. After all that work, Alan opened the bathroom door to welcome me home, looking like he’d been in some sort of blender full of cotton balls. Giant motes of pulped insulation hung in the air as they landed in the thick blankets of fluff on every visible surface.

I don’t even have a way to wrap up this post. Suffice it to say, Alan cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom, and I cleaned the dog’s face and paws, but somehow nothing felt quite as ‘sparkling’ clean after that.

This is how an OCD person works.