Proud
My psychiatrist told me to be proud of myself this week.
I made an appointment with her after, on Sunday, I spent 12 hours in the car returning my new puppy after having her for less than two weeks. Ashamed and at my breaking point, I was unaware how to move forward.
As soon as I brought home the puppy, which I had envisioned as the one-size-fits-all solution to the loneliness I felt after coming back from my extended visit home earlier in the pandemic, I was ecstatic. I’d been obsessively counting down the days from 36 to 0 and when she was in my arms, I felt like I was on top of the world.
That feeling lasted less than a day. It turned out that, since she was the runt of her litter, she was coddled so much that she never learned how to be alone for even a single moment. Anxious and needy, she started throwing hours-long tantrums that broke me as much as they broke her. She and I were not eating, sleeping, or functioning.
I knew, going into the process, that puppies were extremely difficult to deal with, but I underestimated how much raising a puppy would affect me mentally. As the days dragged on, neither of us had any quality of life. Everything became too much so quickly that I started to feel like I haven’t since my junior year of college - pounding heart, zero appetite, weak body, and anxiety so steady and pervasive that I couldn’t stop crying multiple times a day.
I tried so many things. Different kinds of training, forcing myself to be positive, reminding myself that there were good times to come. But as time continued, I couldn’t see any light at the end of the tunnel that was steadily worsening as the puppy developed physical in addition to emotional problems. I was at my wit’s end when I took her to a Zoom class and someone spoke about rehoming.
I hadn’t considered it then, but I burst into tears at the thought that there was a way for both the puppy and I to be happy, even if that meant not being together.
I used a strategy my psychiatrist calls a “brain dump” - which involves writing down every thought in my head until things start making sense. It didn’t take me long to write two pages that concluded with the idea that the only reason I was keeping the puppy for myself instead of returning her to the breeder for training and rehoming was a desire to prove that I was strong.
After talking this out with family and friends, I came to realize that it is strong to give up on a dream when it’s not working out. It’s strong to do the right thing and take the time and effort (which was extreme, considering the breeder’s distance and the complicated plans that had to be made) to ensure that the puppy will have a good future. My vet said I could drop her off at a shelter, but I wanted to do what was best for her.
We had one last full day between when I decided to give her up and when it was time to say goodbye. I carried her outside and sat with her on the grass. She met a few of my friends, some in real life and some virtually. I gave her treats and hugs and kisses and was able to be more positive with her as I finally felt the hope of calming down.
On that last day, I was a mess, even if I knew better times were coming. I convinced myself that someone “normal” could have dealt with such severe separation anxiety better than a person like me. I thought that there was no way for me to ever get a dog again. I cried and cried and the puppy licked my tears away as I promised her a much better life.
Two days after returning her to the breeder, I called my psychiatrist. I told her everything that had happened, how I felt weak for having even some of the intense symptoms I last experienced my junior year in college, the way I doubted my ability to take on other kinds of responsibilities.
She told me that she was proud of me, and I was shocked.
How could she be proud of me when I couldn’t even make it 2 weeks with a puppy? How could she be proud when I made the decision based on faulty logic from obsessive thoughts telling me that I was incapable of living alone, especially during a pandemic? I had listened to my thoughts and it led me down a path that came so close to breaking me. I was as far as possible from proud of myself.
She explained that she was proud of how I dealt with the circumstances. She recommended more CBT work to deal with the thoughts that got me into the situation in the first place, but she told me that it was a huge step for me to be able to know when I needed help, seek it out in a timely way from the right places, and make the difficult but ultimately right decision to return my puppy.
Instead of framing this as a failure, she suggested I frame this as using strength to get out of a lose-lose situation. I was so entrenched in my fear of being alone during the pandemic that I got myself into this situation, but I am getting out of it by using healthy coping mechanisms. It might take time, but hopefully soon, both the puppy and I will be in a much better place.
First, I will need to deconstruct the thoughts that got me here in the first place. I was so convinced that I couldn’t make it alone that I needed a dog as soon as possible, and when I couldn’t get a shelter application approved, I relaxed my standards and went for a puppy when I had been determined not to do that. I got so obsessed with the idea of getting a dog as soon as possible that I fell for a scam and then, when I found a breeder, counted down the days with such a frenzy that it worried my family and friends.
Even though I’m still dealing with a lot of shame from both listening to these thoughts and giving up the puppy, I’m going to do my best to be proud of myself this week. It might take some time, especially considering how much I had bonded with my puppy while she was here, but in the end I believe I will able to get back to my equilibrium. Maybe even more than that - now that I won’t be using the puppy as a coping mechanism, I can try to work on my quality of life in a healthier way. I can use CBT and thought journals to deal with the fear I didn’t want to face in March and use my strength to get past this tough situation.
There will always be a part of me that loves and misses the puppy, but I know that I made the right decision for both of us. And with the decision made, she and I can both grow in a way that makes us both proud.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.