When I first got Radha, my assistance dog, people were surprised at how well I cared for her. It was not only my primary care team, made up of doctors, social and, recovery workers, mental health nurses, and the police. My housemates, ex-partner and shop attendants at my local grocers noted and commented on how well I cared for Radha.
It surprised me that anyone would think anything different. Perhaps it is because of a negative internal narrative I’ve had repeated for decades. This voice tells me that I am a bad person, a bad girl who is filled with evil and ill intent. I harm innocent children and animals. I am not fit to be a carer or a mother. The way that I love is not right, not good, not enough. There is something wrong with me. I harm, kill and make ill.
I’ve come to realise that the voice in my head is not my voice. It is an accumulation of voices from people who could not carry their own burdens and shame. These people projected their inadequacies and intolerance onto me, and I carried them for decades as if they were my own disturbed identity.
When I was a little girl, I had a little dog. I loved her with all my heart. Although I will admit that my father was right, she wasn’t the right dog for me, and I was too young. Having said that, I still loved her. The only problem was that I wasn’t allowed to love and care for her in my way. I was ridiculed, shouted at and shamed. Once, when I was 8 or 9 years old, I wrote an essay on how I cared for my dog. I described how I would have liked to look after her – washing her once a week, brushing her, taking her for walks, etc. The truth is, I wasn’t allowed to do things my way. I had to do things the way it was dictated to me. I got into trouble for “lying” in my essay. Another deep shame was displaced onto me by an adult carer, embedding the idea that I was an evil little girl with ill intent.
When I got Radha, I set out to care for her in my own way, in the way that I was never allowed to. And I promised myself that I would make sure I was allowed to. And I promised myself that I would shut out the noise and nay-sayers, stick to my convictions and persist in doing things in a way that suited me.
I took Radha out for a walk every single day. I still do! I had only one incident that prevented me from taking her out that day. But, every other day, regardless of my physical pain and emotional anguish, I did what I needed to do to have her needs met. And in doing so my needs were met.
I take her out for walks every day. I do this because she loves going to the park or any open space like the woods. It stimulates her in many ways and she gets her exercise. This means she’s less likely to be reactive or annoying at home. I need her to be calm and happy as much as possible because I need to be calm and happy for my health and healing. The daily exercise does me good. The fresh air and connection to nature, seeing other people in my community, and other dogs, it’s all beneficial.
Within the first month of having her, I noticed her fascination and love of balls. I wanted to give her what she enjoyed. I wanted to participate in the activities and games that made her happy. So, I bought balls. Different sizes and types. We played with these every day, outdoors and at home. The girl is so good at football, she can play for England’s Women’s team! I have never been an adequate ball player; I even have the proof in writing from a nursery school report card! But, the action of kicking a ball, running after the ball, etc, aided my own recovery tremendously.
I wash her once a week because she wants me to. She likes to smell nice and be clean. She loves a pamper and massage session. It brings calm and joy to me when I can look after her in this way. Being clean means she can enter spaces like hospitals and supermarkets. It makes life easier for me.
I love her in the way that she adores. I give her cuddles and kisses. I sing her songs. I tell her she’s a good girl and that I love her very much. Her breed and temperament love this type of attention. It comes so easily and naturally to me to love in that kind of way. To reach out and touch, to whisper a sweet nothing and to kiss on her little head – it’s all a second nature and a far cry from the bad, evil person I was made out to be by carers and partners who turned out to be my abusers. The benefit to my nervous system is profound. It helps reduce my anxiety, and it prevents me from further self-harm.
The more I tend to her needs and give her what she wants and likes, the more she can support me. Her needs are being met, and that means that she is fully charged up to meet my complex needs.
I stood my ground for a long time with regards to my rights and ability to train her into being the supportive assistance dog that I need day to day.
Do you know that Radha has been the first dog to attend court twice and police interviews at the police station? She’s the only dog at my GP practice, too. I had so much stick from medical professionals, specifically in the run-up to getting her certified and recognised as a psychiatric assistance dog. Not because they didn’t recognise my complex needs. I just think the medical industry is a bit arse backwards, that’s all. The NHS is not designed to support you into long-term good health and happiness. Well, at least not in the East End. My experience in North London is somewhat improved, but I think that might be because more people like me have assistance dogs and assert their rights, and there might potentially be a bit less misspelling and discrimination here.
In choosing to care for Radha in my own way, I began to listen to my own voice—the one that had been buried beneath years of shame, control, and distortion. This is how I began to listen to my own voice—and it led to healing, connection, and agency.
I met Radha’s needs, and in turn, I met my own needs, and our lives improve every day.
I am blessed to have her.
With love.
Karmic Rebelle