Encouragement for tense times

Nervous Nurturers! Graham here.

I'll be honest, these last few weeks are getting to me.

But encouragement comes from some unlikely places.

First, a story, from before the latest lockdown. A story complete with several unsolicited dog pics. . .

(You're welcome.)

Anxiety runs in the family

It’s a pretty large office we’re sitting in. Roomy. Big couch.

And it’s warm - the heating at full blast on a cold Melbourne day. 

To be honest, it’s a lot like any psychologist’s office I’ve ever been in. With one minor difference. The floor is scattered with dog toys. 

Because for once we’re not here for me. We’re here for my pooch!

Bodie - my big, restless Kelpie-Rottweiler cross - is not interested in the dog toys. He’s pacing nervously around the room. Every now and then a little indignant yelp, just to underline the point. 

The veterinary behaviourist (*cough* dog psychologist *cough*) eventually looks up from her computer, where she's been furiously typing notes while we talk. She turns her chair to face us, and delivers her verdict.  

‘He’s a very anxious dog,’ she says gently. ‘You’ve done so well with him, but I think it’s time you all had a little more help.’

I am strangely emotional hearing this, for reasons I don’t yet fully understand.

The power of a good pooch 

I’m at this appointment with Bodie’s mum, my ex-wife Nikki. We got Bodie just after we’d moved to Melbourne eight years ago. A hectic 1-year-old rescue pup, he was already far too big for our tiny North Melbourne terrace house. But he won us over with his signature mix of unconditional love and complete, unfiltered insanity.

When Nikki and I separated, Bodie was the thread that held us in each other’s lives - especially through the really hard bits. He’s part of the reason we’re now really good friends. 

In so many ways, this dog has been a soft landing spot for us both, through some of the hardest stuff life can throw at you.

But he is also a total handful. 

We’ve done hours and hours of training, with five different trainers, many specialising in dogs with big feelings. Despite this, simple things like daily walks remain an exercise in chaos — avoiding an ever-growing list of triggers. 

And sitting in the vet’s office (specialist number 6), I can’t help but note the parallels to myself.

Too anxious to learn

The vet explains to us what’s going on for Bodie. How he struggles to feel safe, especially outside the house. How he’s always on high alert, always watching out for the next threat. 

Nikki looks at me knowingly, throughout this spiel. She knows exactly what I’m thinking. 

‘Wait, that’s how I feel!’

Hypervigilant. Always alert to any possible threat, real or imagined. 

‘Bodie learns very well from things going wrong,’ the vet says, referring to how, for instance, if a broom falls over somewhere in the house, he will avoid that spot for weeks.

‘But he doesn’t learn from things going right’. So, the fact that the broom has never fallen on him does not make him any less scared of it.

(Another knowing look from Nikki.)

‘You’ve done all the right things with him, all the right training,’ the vet tells us. 'But the reason you haven’t seen real progress is that he’s just too anxious to learn.’

I look at Bodie, still restlessly shifting on the floor. Lying down, getting up, lying back down again. Not sure what to do with his body in his heightened state. 

You and me both, pup.

‘He looks to you for reassurance’

We leave the vet’s office with a new plan - a tailored program designed to help Bodie finally feel safer. We don’t know if it will actually help, but for the first time in a long time we’re hopeful things could get better for him. 

And for me, there’s a mix of other feelings too.

Empathy for this big, beautiful dog and his equally big feelings.

Sadness for us both, struggling to feel safe in the world for so long.

‘He looks to you for reassurance,’ the vet explained to us, near the end of the session. ‘You’re his safe place, so that’s something we can work with.’

I like that I can be that for him, even if I’m still working out what he actually needs after all these years. 

But I quietly wonder, who do *I* look to, for reassurance? 

Who do any of us look to, when life’s falling brooms clatter through our delicate sense of safety?

Can't say he isn't trying

It’s been a scary last few weeks in Australia. 

I tend to downplay it - other countries have seen it worse - but the resurgent COVID outbreaks in Melbourne and around the country really push my buttons.

The slow, low-hum of panic, standing in a pharmacy waiting for a script. Not quite enough room for social distancing. Noticing those whose masks have slipped below their noses. Pointlessly holding my breath as I walk past those not wearing a mask at all.

If I was Bodie, I’d be pacing the pharmacy, barking my discomfort at the top of my lungs. But instead I do the thing I’ve been training in for years — push it down. Hide the fear, at least until my name gets called and I can get out of here. 

There is such tension in my body, as if tightening every muscle could somehow keep the virus out. And the inevitable round of judging thoughts that accompany all this. 

‘Imagine if you had to work here, you wouldn’t last a day.’ 

‘You shouldn’t be so affected by this. Just relax.’ 

‘Other people have it so, much, worse.’

Who do we look to when we're overwhelmed? 

Whatever pushes your particular fear buttons, who do we look to for reassurance, in these tense, overwhelmed moments? 

Mostly the answer has to be ourselves. But when the inevitable judging thoughts swirl up, we’re not always the best support.

Psychotherapist Pete Walker likens these judging thoughts to a kind of “self-rejection”. We judge our own feelings, which leads to shame (‘I shouldn’t be this overwhelmed’). 

This shame can mimic experiences of rejection or abandonment from our past, when even well-meaning caregivers may not have known what to make of our particular sensitivities.

This can lead to more fear, and then in turn to more judgement and shame.

(No wonder a shopping trip can feel so exhausting.)

I know the judging approach doesn’t work with Bodie. Telling him to calm down and stop barking when he’s freaking out doesn’t tend to get very far. 

And I know this approach doesn’t work for me either. So where does that leave me?

‘Didn’t we do well, pup?’

I caught myself doing something this morning - something I've done a thousand times before without really thinking about it. As Bodie and I got back from our morning walk, I said this little phrase to him, gently:

‘Didn’t we do well, pup?’

I've been saying this little phrase to him for years, at the end of each walk, presuming he hasn’t tried to rip my arm out of its socket chasing a plastic bag he thought might be cat.

In fact, ever since the visit with the vet, lately I’ve been saying it to him even when the walk hasn’t gone to plan. 

It’s a simple acknowledgement. That this is hard, for both of us, and yet here we are each doing our best.

Channeling this softness for myself

As my own trips out of the house become a source of growing tension and fear - long pharmacy lines, busy supermarkets - I think I need to channel some of this same softness for myself. 

In fact, I’m about to go to the supermarket again, as soon as I’m done writing this. I know I will probably be overwhelmed. I know that, despite my best efforts, I will most likely have some of the same old judging thoughts (‘I shouldn’t find this so hard!’)

But you know what? When I’m back in the car, with my shopping in tow, I’m going to try saying to myself: 

‘Didn’t we do well, pup?’ 

I’m going to channel just a little of that patient, soft presence I offer Bodie (in my better moments at least). 

‘Yes it’s exhausting. Yes, I wish it wasn’t this hard.

But I did the thing, anyway. 

And didn’t we do well, pup?’

The truth is, it’s hard to be there for ourselves, day in, day out. Especially when our inner life has all the chaotic energy of a big, anxious pooch.

This is true at the best of times, let alone right now.

And yet we keep showing up. Sometimes with softness and patience, other times less so. But here we are regardless, another day doing our best. Whatever's going on in the world. However our best might look today.

And didn’t we do well? 

Good luck out there folks - people and dogs alike x

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