Hello, Luna

So, if you've been paying attention to Andy's Facebook page of late, you might have noticed a particular common theme.  This is Luna.  

So, yep, Luna is a three year old Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever and pretty darn cute.  Andy in particular has been adjusting to working fully from home with some difficulty, with adjusting to my class schedule, reading/homework load, and twelve-hour clinical days.  He has been feeling particularly low without regular human interaction.  At least when we were still working at Skyward together from home back in March and April, we had a similar schedule and understood the flow of the day.  We knew that there was going to be some adjustment in my transition back to school, but that did not eliminate all the reality in processing it.  So Andy began seriously arguing for a dog, a companion to help easy the lonely parts.  

Mike was fine with and even excited at the prospect of getting a dog; Andy was chomping at the bit and would have brought one home months ago; I was the holdout.  Frankly, I wasn't interested.  

I knew that I wasn't keen on taking on the emotional load of caring for something else, feeling stretched between all things anyway.  During adjustment and all else, there would inevitably be pee and/or poop inside the house, something else that did not excite me.  There would be walks and taking the dog out, that no matter how much Andy assured me that he would take the lead in those kinds of needs, inevitably it would be my job, too, somewhere.  And buying food and other care supplies would still be in our collective budget and vet appointments and grooming and other costs.  But mostly it was the emotional costs that I didn't want.  We have enough going on.

...and there was one more important thing.  I don't trust dogs as a general rule.  A dog jumping up on my stomach puts their paws directly on Melvin, just a few layers of cloth and fabric between their claws and my intestines.  I have a panic freeze response.  I know it's an illogical reaction, but my brain has tied fast-moving dog with profoundly unsafe and it hits my PTSD triggers.  A perceived endangerment to my body triggers a particular immediate panic, and I refuse to feel unsafe in my own home when it could be easily avoided.  Even trying to process the idea was pushing some red zones, from the association of the association.  

So why the hell did I say yes?  

We talked about it as a household.  We discussed boundaries.  We made plans.  I feel my anxiety curbed significantly to have a plan.  I knew the benefit the change could bring to the other members of our household.  I had their assurances that A) they would do the bulk of the work and B) they would ensure that the house stayed clean.  We made some boundaries specifically to ensure that I would have some safe spaces.  We also planned agreed-upon commands and strategies for handling certain needs.

A few days in (while we're still trying to encourage the idea that tether time is pee time and otherwise that the carpet is not the same as grass when it comes to finding a place to pee), and I felt vindicated in some ways, as Andy expressed surprise about the fatigue he felt from the emotional load to work through this change and adjustment.  We knew it was going to happen, but once again that's not the same as feeling the weight of it.  Luna is trying to get used to our flow just as we're getting used to hers.  We can't sleep in when she's ready to eat and whining directly above us.  That takes emotional bandwidth.  We can't just turn her off when we're tired.  It's a huge change and demands that energy, particularly when she pees on the carpet once again.  But I made a promise to myself to embrace the experience, to allow time and acknowledge what I'm feeling in those places.  This is pushing my comfort zone, but pushing those places is where growth happens--I want to see which way I will grow in this experience.  I want to see what the experience can hold for me.

There's also this expectation, that I feel like I am supposed to be happy about having a pet all the time.  I think it's similar to how people are culturally expected to feel about parenthood.  I'm not always thrilled about the obligation.  But she is awfully cute when she falls asleep at my feet when I'm doing classwork.  She has a charming kind of derp in her lack of spatial awareness, thunking her head into the coffee table, tumbling off the couch, and all else.  And I have been getting outside more, taking her on evening walks around the neighborhood.  There are shining moments.  I just resent feeling that I have to feel a certain way and getting into a shame cycle if I don't, even though logically I know I am not obliged to feel anything by the people that matter.  I have to fully know that I'm safe before I can be open to that.  Perhaps some of my hesitancy is veiled stubbornness, that I refuse to fall in love just because I'm supposed to.  Probably the best way to say it, though, is I'm leaving room to fall in love but not trying to force it.  In some ways, I'd be fine not to have her anymore; but in the same breath, I'm going to make the effort for as long as we do, for those that it really matters to, Luna being one of them.  Andy's happiness matters; Mike's happiness matters; Luna's happiness matters; mine does, too, and there is a degree of flexibility from all of us that simply will take time.  

And that's an important factor, too--we've had only about two weeks together.  It's going to take time to find a proper rhythm.  I need more perspective.  In short, there's more processing to do yet, and thankfully I've got one week of class, Thanksgiving break, another week of class, and then finals, meaning that some planned rest is forthcoming.  Limping and pushing toward the finish line for this term is where I need to direct my emotional energy as it stands currently.  

And Luna and I will continue to enjoy some private time on evening walks in the interim.