Digging Deep

Over the past fortnight, we welcomed a new member into our family - a small dog named Bibi. She’s a rescue dog and so she comes with some history already embedded into her very fragile little body. It took a few days for her to stop trembling, and though the nervous peeing has yet to disappear completely, the love she’s showing for everyone is really very sweet.

What I was not expecting in this whole process is the way this cute little addition triggered a very deep, dormant anxiety that I have never experienced before.

I’m not exaggerating to say that within minutes of walking her into my house, I started to spiral down a doom staircase of anxiety. Sleeplessness and panic attacks surfaced almost immediately, and this went on for two weeks with only a single day of respite. Bibi still trembled every time someone went near her, and I was doing the same thing when she came near me. Something about the dog that just sent me for a loop. Every time I heard the little pitter-patter of her feet, my heart would start beating 100 miles an hour and I would freak out. The only solution I could think of was returning her. The problem was we’d already had to give up three dogs, and it wasn’t going to be a light choice to do it again.

After two weeks of this, my husband Glyn and I were at the end of a very short tether, considering taking Bibi back to the shelter, hoping the panic would dissipate. The only thing making this difficult was the promise I had made to my daughter that we would not give up another dog. However, things were starting to feel so desperate that I was contemplating how to explain to her that sometimes even the people we love can’t keep their promises.

“Glyn spent a few minutes each day listing out to me how good Bibi was for our family, and how she added vibrancy to our lives. Every time he did this, something inside of me would have to give way, because my feelings were being confronted with truth, and truth trumps feelings.”

Thankfully, before we took any action, the anxiety was gone as quickly as it began. And the solution for me was unexpectedly simple.

Throughout this whole anxious saga, Glyn spent a few minutes each day listing out to me how good Bibi was for our family, and how she added vibrancy to our lives. Every time he did this, something inside of me would have to give way, because my feelings were being confronted with truth, and truth trumps feelings. It should always be hard to base concrete decisions on feelings when they don’t line up with reality. While I reacted with panic to the sound of pitter-pattering feet, he would feel gratitude that she was checking in on us.

On the day that the anxiety left, I woke up feeling the familiar dread start to wrap itself around my chest. I sat right up in bed and proclaimed out loud that I would be taking the doggo back. It seemed like the only answer. The family was devastated, to say the least. But before packing her up, I listed the characteristics that would be true of myself if I returned Bibi, and it wasn’t a flattering list - the only perk being that the anxiety would probably immediately disappear, but it meant breaking my promise to my daughter and giving up on something that we’ve wanted for a long time, among other things. I also wrote a second list highlighting the positive traits that would develop if I persevered and kept the dog. Despite this seeming like the tougher choice, the truth was undeniable - goodness and growth could come from pushing through.

It would be an oversimplification to say that this alone lifted me out of the funk. There were lots of hugs, walks, and deliberate efforts to pull myself out of the anxious state and into reality. There were tearful talks with friends and heartfelt conversations with Glyn - a lot of verbal processing trying to find what was going on under the surface. A dog had never had this effect on me before.

In the end, after contemplating these lists, I decided to keep the dog and push through. And without a lie, as soon as I made that decision, the anxiety lifted instantly and hasn’t been back since. I’m writing this tentatively with five good days behind me with no panic attacks or anxiety sweats. With a little more processing and talking it through, it looks like this was a form of homesickness. There was something about little Bibi needing my care in this new land that sent me over an emotional edge I didn’t even know existed.

So, even after two years, some things still sit heavy in my heart. The decision to move to the other side of the world is still attached to unresolved pain that I need to slowly unpack. But I’m thankful for the way it doesn’t all hit at once. I appreciate friends who sit with me through these emotions. And I’m very, very grateful for my family.