My Dog Griffin: The Antidote

I find summers, and in particular the month of June, challenging for me. My energy level goes down and everything seems a little harder. I suspect a lot of that comes from the memories of being abused during the summer months when I was growing up. My birthday falls at the end of June and with it come the anniversary dates of some of the worst abuse I suffered at the hands of my father and my brothers. So its no surprise that I often feel depressed and even more easily triggered in the summer and in particular in June.

This year things feel particularly hard. As much as I have tried I have not be able to escape the ever-present facts of the Sandusky trial; The descriptions of what victims went through, the ways in which the defense portrays the victim’s and the ways in which we are all talking about sex, rape and abuse. After a bit, it all starts becoming a little too much for me. And without ever realizing it, I like so many others, become depressed and without noticing start going through the motions of life. I’ve been keeping myself distant from people for fear of being hurt. Even though I know I won’t be hurt now.

I’ve worked hard not to be this way all the time. I know that there is more to life: more connection, joy and happiness. But with those profoundly happy feelings also come more sadness, grief and loss. And when you are reminded of the abuse you so skillfully survived its easy to fall back into a numb and slow depression.

So, this month, which I always find challenging, but more so this year, I am trying to rely on my favorite dog, Griffin, for some added relief and even joy. I know this may sound simple and even to some, silly. But I’ll do all I can to try and get through difficult times and walking the dogs and taking joy in their carefree spirits is one of many strategies I’ve learned over the years.

A few years ago I learned to let myself go more, to feel more love and risk feeling more sadness than I ever had before. This ability to feel more didn’t just come from the years of therapy, though that hard work laid the groundwork. The new depth of emotions came to me through my relationship with our dog Griffin.

In 2009, we adopted a puppy through a rescue group, a mystery mix of Borzoi and Springer Spaniel. He is spotted black and white, and at 4 months already weighed 35 pounds with BIG paws, indicating that he planned to do a lot more growing. Like all puppies, Griffin was full of energy and love, and he wormed his way into my heart with very little effort. A therapist might say I was ready to open up a little more. I think that was true, but Griffin was the perfect dog at the perfect time.

When Griffin first arrived, I noticed myself trying to stay a safe emotional distance from him. But as much as I tried I found myself loving him with an intensity that I haven’t felt since I was a child. Now full grown at 75 pounds, Griffin is a gentle giant who plays well with any dog or cat, big or small. He croons to express himself and wiggles his whole body when he’s excited. Like our other dogs, he takes every chance to look for field mice and gophers out in the pasture, but on the rare occasion he finds one, he pins down the poor animal and licks it. He lives for our daily walks and otherwise just wants to be with my partner and me, even if we are just in the car running errands.

Now, he is my one constant link to the rest of the world. Even on days where my mistrust of others is at its peak and I feel betrayed by those closest to me, angry and alone, my connection to him never wavers. When I isolate myself, Griffin is there with me, crooning, wiggling and unperturbed by my changed nature. His companionship comforts me and eventually I work through the issue and back to my partner and friends.

He is the first dog that I have allowed myself to love since I was a little girl. I remember the struggle, deciding whether or not to love him, knowing that something could happen to him. Something will eventually take him from me. I know this and I can still love him.

Like many of you, my distance and emotional disconnectedness came from a childhood filled with abuse at the hands of my father. I don’t know if my father conceived of and deliberately set out to isolate me from the rest of the world when I was little, but he might as well have. Over the years, he systematically severed my ties to my brothers and even to my mother. He also eventually took away anyone I felt close to outside of my family, driving away friends and forbidding me from seeing neighbors and teachers with whom I had formed strong ties. He killed the pets I loved, a warning to me that didn’t need spelling out.

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It became hard for me to feel close to people. Like many people who have experienced traumatic events I dissociated, as a manner of coping. Over time, I felt less and less real emotion and became emotionally distant.

In therapy finally at the age of 31, I started working my way back. The therapeutic process helped me to start feeling something besides numbness and fear. Although most of what I felt was grief and despair, it was liberating. Then one day I felt joy, intense and unexpected. At that moment, I decided that I wanted to feel my life to its fullest. Even if it meant that I would have to experience extreme highs and lows, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be happy and stop going through the motions as if I were living someone else’s life. Only after years of healing have I been able to gradually feel more, develop close friendships and loving relationships.

I've worked hard at letting myself go and letting people in. I've worked on this in my relationship with my partner and in my friendships. It's been an amazing experience to feel so connected to people. Even so, I am still emotionally very distant at times. I now try to figure out why, and work through the anxiety, worry or sadness that has created a wall around me.

If you have had an experience that makes it hard to connect to people for fear that you’ll get hurt, I urge you to try. I found the joy was worth the pain. If you can’t imagine yourself connecting to a person, then think about starting with a furry friend—a cat or a dog, or whatever draws you in. It is an amazing feeling to love them and they love you back so purely and perfectly.

I find that the worst part of all that I go through now is the loneliness I feel when I withdraw from others because I feel that I can’t trust them. During those times, I am grateful to have the love and companionship of our dog, Griffin.