fat hell: Recent Episodes
Amanda Richards
Have you ever had one of those moments — and it doesn’t have to be a single moment, it could be like a full f*g month of realizations charging into your brain like the Kool-Aid Man — where you realize that nothing in your life has played out the way you wanted it to, or the way you thought it would or should?
In those moments, you might feel naturally inclined to blame external circumstances, or bad luck, or other people for the s*t storm you find yourself in. You might rage and curse and talk st about how others have failed you, how if only X, Y, and Z hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be in the position you’re in.
***A caveat to this, of course, is if you’re being physically or emotionally abused by another person: in those circumstances, the dynamics are far more complicated, must be addressed as such, and are not your fault. I don’t know enough about how to unpack or address these dynamics (within my own life, or on behalf of the lives of others) to talk or write about them at length, so I won’t.
What I’m talking about is your run-of-the-mill st — the job you hate or maybe just resent, the relationship that’s going sideways, the friends you’ve neglected, the persona you’ve created and also resent, and the negative or flawed attitudes and approaches you have to the world around you. It’s really f***g easy, and actually kind of fun, to sit back and really stew in the question you’ve always asked yourself when you’re not happy with an outcome:
How the actual f**k did I get here?
But then, one day, things will fine tune themselves slightly and that question will shift to a declaration, an existential copy edit strong enough to make you realize that while you may had the best intentions along the way, and maybe even some successes and happiness, the current negative outcomes you’re experiencing aren’t explained by anything else other than yourself. “How the actual fk did I get here?” becomes “I know exactly how the fk I got here.”
And that, my friends, is when you know your b**t has finally caught up with you.
I say this with compassion, as a fellow bullshitty person who has spent a very long time mired in her bullshitty b**t. The reasons for remaining solidly entrenched in our own emotional and situational septic tanks are different for everyone. For me, if I’m being totally honest with myself, I think it was a defense mechanism. Up until a certain point in my life, I felt extremely sad and confused, certain that something was wrong with me but unable to figure out what the “something” actually was. In lieu of honoring the fact that I had a painful wound begging to soothed and healed, I created a persona for myself, one that has evolved over time. Perhaps not many of you reading know this, but around the time I started writing about body positivity and self-love (the thing that ultimately built my audience and career up until this point), I was traumatized and very mentally ill and agoraphobic and isolated and extremely f*g miserable and not particularly body positive at all. I liked the idea of radical body politics — but there is a big difference between being moved by something healing, and actually being able to use it to heal yourself. For a long time, I wrote from the perspective of the former publicly, while neglecting to implement it personally. And then, to my created persona’s delight, I started getting a lot of attention for it. My ability to self-express through my writing is so strong and so clear, I was able to sell a certain mindset to the people reading, without actually having to do the work of cultivating that mindset myself. This created another interesting and perilous layer of self-loathing: I felt affirmed and seen and celebrated, but I also felt guilty. Deep down, I knew I was full of st. I’d read comments on my work while actively sobbing and wondering what it might be like to throw myself in front of a bus.
“Yas queen, we stan!” they said.
“OMG, thank you!” I replied, “Love yourself!”
“Today would be a great day to die,” I thought when I put down my phone.
Now, don’t be so black and white as to think that people who present themselves one way through their work and social media are somehow scamming you. It’s far more complicated than that, just like people are far more complicated than just being a**s vs. angels, problematic vs. righteous, inspiring vs. draining. I leaned into my b****t persona not to cause harm, but because I believe the universe and my instincts knew I needed some kind of affirmation to survive, to literally resist the urge to kill myself. I also knew that it helped the people reading it, and therefore couldn’t possibly be all bad.
So, I kept at it. In fact, for quite some time I focused exclusively on my b**t to avoid addressing anything else head on. It was pretty easy, too — after all, I had an audience. In fact, I often visualize my b*t as a very tragic trained dolphin at Sea World, following along behind a heavily damaged beach ball of a human being, trying to keep it above water. Someone really needs to take the ball away from the dolphin and repair it, but the ball is far enough from the eyes of the audience that no one really knows there’s anything wrong — and everyone’s having a great time watching the bt dolphin keep things going, and the b***t dolphin is kind of having fun, too.
So that’s my b**t. Maybe yours is like mine. Maybe it’s totally different. The point is, we all have it, and it’s extraordinarily easy to let it take control of your life and allow it to dictate how you approach decisions, relationships, and yourself. I’ve allowed myself to be propped up by my b**t for years, and when things got weird or bad or hard, I often asked myself how that question we all do: how the fk did I get here?
Of course, the reason I’m saying all this is because, as I mentioned, I see very clearly how I got here. Unfortunately, it’s only come to me after everything I thought I was working toward and executing well or at the very least maintaining in a healthy way, has fallen apart. I’ve made multiple extreme decisions in my professional life (decisions I do not regret, but certainly did not have to be that extreme or chaotic), neglected to process deeply traumatic past relationships and their continued effects, refused to acknowledge that I had no boundaries with people who were undeserving of my time and attention, and inadvertently hurt people I really love and care about by being so mired in my own b**t, I couldn’t tune in to reality, set limits, and do my part to contribute to healthier dynamics.
I don’t say all of this to self-flagellate, or to take all the blame in any one of these situations. Again, life is all about nuance; there are so many different ways we fail each other, and ourselves and it’s not about placing or accepting blame, really. However, I think it’s important to be accountable for what you’re accountable for, to embrace that accountability instead of fear it, to feel like trash for your part in all of it and find a way to make peace with feeling like trash. Unfortunately, this is something that usually only happens when you become just self-aware enough to try just a bit harder to transcend all of it. It’s the moment when the damaged beach ball of a human being you are finally gets bopped just hard enough and subsequently catches just enough air to make it over the side of the tank to be collected and repaired. In the meantime, the b**t dolphin remains unaware that the ball is gone and just starts swimming into a wall over and over again until it finally knocks itself out and drowns.
It’s sad, I know, but here’s the good part: once the ball is fixed, it stays above water all on its own and you realize you never needed the b**t dolphin in the first place. It all finally caught up you and fell away, and now your only job is to figure which direction you’re going to float next, without any of the b****t behind you.
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So I’m reading this book called Journey of Souls, which dives into the idea of connected life across our many lives. Mostly, it talks about death — AKA, where you will go when you die and what it will be like when you get there. Highly recommend this book to anyone with a passing interest in spirituality, particularly those of you who, like me, love to have your woefully limited consciousness blown out of the f*g water to a state of further spiritual expansion and awareness.
In the book, the author touches on something called “soul groups.” Basically, everyone has a group of souls who are always with us, throughout each and every incarnation of our lives. They can be friends, romantic partners, family — anyone in our close circle. Each new incarnation of life shuffles the group in a different way. In other words, your best friend now may have been your sister in a past life. Your brother may have been an important teacher. The love of your life today may have once been, several lifetimes ago...your mom.
I know.
I love the idea of soul groups, only because it provides a framework for how I’ve met and held onto the closest people in my life. My past is pretty segmented, in more ways than one. I’ve lived in many different places, across continents and time zones. My value system and identity have shifted in extreme ways. My work life has, too. For whatever universal reason, I just haven’t lived a very consistent life. Sometimes I think of it as a bad thing, like I’m just a chaotic disaster goat jumping from rock to rock, but I’m realizing now that inconsistency and discomfort are somewhat necessary for my survival; without a challenge to toil over and pick apart and chew on and figure out, my brain goes flat.
Anyways, throughout these experiences I’ve somehow amassed a particular group of people that, because of life’s many twists and turns, I kind of had no business meeting, but met; have no business still knowing, but do. And, when things go sideways, or when things feel scary, or when I just need someone to kick it with and have fun, the person or persons from my soul group uniquely equipped to be there for me in that situation show up. And it’s not always pleasant, either; sometimes, someone from the eternal soul squad shows up to teach me an important, painful lesson that I haven’t yet had to learn. And sometimes, it means someone has to go, at least for awhile. Lesson or no lesson, that always hurts.
I know what you’re thinking: people come and go out of our lives and it’s all very normal and standard and there’s not much more to it than chance. But think of it this way: don’t you have people in your life who always seem to show up or send you that text, exactly at the right time, for no reason in particular? And when people leave your life, don’t you notice a difference in the level of emotional intensity with which you react to that loss? Some people can just go ahead and go — bye! Others, you think about a lot, perhaps even once a day. No matter what transpired between you, you feel connected to them and have compassion for them and never quite feel like they’re gone. One day, when you least expect it, there they are again, right at the time you need them. There’s got to be something more to it than chance, don’t you think?
Anyways, I encourage you to consider who in your life might be part of your soul group. Think about the particular set of circumstances it took to find each other, what you’re gleaning and giving by currently sticking with each other, or what you didn’t realize you’d learn when they left. Connecting these dots is a really interesting exercise, and for me, it’s brought a level of peace and rootedness in a time when I feel untethered from most of the world around me.
One more interesting thing to consider about souls, and soul groups, particularly as we enter an age of emotional enlightenment and dismantle the rigid expectations and social structures of the patriarchy: souls have no gender. In other words, I wasn’t kidding when I said your husband could have been your mom in a previous incarnation, though I certainly encourage you to pretend like soul groups do not exist whenever it’s time to see his penis. My point in saying this, though, is that as our world changes and grows and creates a softer, more open-minded model for people to exist and present themselves, particularly with regards to gender, we’re actually getting closer to existing as freely as our souls do. I’m not saying that in order to be enlightened, you have to reject your gender — I’m saying that opening your mind to the idea that everything is fluid and evolving according to a divine plan could actually bring you closer to understanding yourself and the people around you. And, ~now more than ever~, isn’t that the whole point?
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This is the first in a series of love letters I’m writing to the people who’ve cared for me and tended to me over the years, without judgment or expectation. These aren’t romantic love letters, at least not in the traditional sense. Admittedly, I’m not the particular sort of evolved person who values platonic or familial love over romantic. In fact, I’d say that a childhood watching Disney movies — specifically The Little Mermaid, over and over, until the VHS tape quite literally ground into dust — taught me that romantic love was to be valued above all, that the chase to find the person of your dreams should be the absolute, utmost guiding force in your life. As you can imagine, being closeted until 33 made this chase extraordinarily unfulfilling. I chased boys and men who either didn’t want me, or wanted me for long enough for me to realize I absolutely did not want them. After each relationship, I suspected more and more the whole thing was a goddamn scam. You’d think that when I came out as a lesbian, I’d be thrilled and embracing of the fact that the romantic love I was searching for could finally be reciprocated by someone I actually wanted to be with. Instead, I overcorrected. I kept love at an arm’s length for awhile, preferring to keep things at the surface. I tried to bury the romantic side of myself, convinced that the people who were looking for love must be kidding themselves and if I “gave in” to the thing that’d spent a lifetime hurting me, it would ultimately lead to dissatisfaction. Of course, that wasn’t and isn’t true and caused it’s own set of confusing problems I now have to untangle (fml). Fundamentally, though, I think the issue is the same as it was when I was living as a straight person: I deny myself access to my real feelings, because I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust myself because I never really felt like I was allowed to.
The bottom line: being closeted sucks and being a queer person trying to navigate your feelings outside of the heteronormative framework while also being true to your inherent values and nature is extremely perplexing, particularly if you arrived at queerness late and spent a whole lifetime refusing to acknowledge how and why your feelings matter.
Trust me, I get it. It hurts. Deep breaths.
You’ll untangle it all and find the balance eventually, and if you relate to this, understand that I am right there with you, slogging through the s**t. We’ll figure it out and everything will be great, or at least better than it has been before.
Anyways. All of that is to preface this, a series of platonic love letters to the people who’ve shepherded me through all of my lifetimes, straight and gay and happy and sad and fucked up and thriving and mentally ill and balanced and literally everything in between. I’m sharing them (with each subject’s permission) to perhaps inspire you to look at your own circle of souls and acknowledge who has shown you true love outside of the realm of romance. Maybe you’ll even want to write to them and let them know.
The first one is to my friend Lara.
Dear Lara,
I’m currently tucked away in your Maine apartment, where you’ve left me in charge while you’re away on a work trip. The cat and I are getting along better than we ever have, and while her unpredictability used to scare me, I’m realizing that it’s actually what makes me feel closer to her. Sometimes she purrs, sometimes she bites, and there’s no way to really know what you’re going to get. Same, TBH.
Before you left, we had an encounter in your kitchen that I promise you I will never forget. Something came over me that day; an overwhelming feeling of panic and sadness and fear and heartbreak and disappointment and confusion a terrifying lack of control over my own life and my own emotions. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite that way before; it was like my body was purging energy without my permission. Perhaps it’s because it sensed that even if I couldn’t give myself permission to release in that way, you granted it for me. Admittedly, I was ashamed at first. For a few seconds I was really f*g scared that you’d judge me for what I was experiencing, or tell me to calm down, or tell me I needed to seek help.
Instead, you hugged me and told me that no matter what happens, I always have you and this place. Then you poured me a whiskey, turned on the shower, and said, “Get in there and cry.”
I did, and it was exactly what I needed. Thank you for that. Your shower is a most excellent environment for a breakdown. I enjoyed the body scrub as well.
So as I’m sitting here and looking around at all of the very pretty but also very uncomfortable Turkish pillows you got for a steal on Etsy and enjoy the inherent coziness of the life you’ve built for yourself in Maine, I consider the fact that yes, we met by chance in Seoul — but somehow, our friendship continued across many years and many continents and now we’re both here doing this, whatever this is, so perhaps it wasn’t a chance meeting at all. We haven’t always been on this strong of a wavelength — you went through some things I wasn’t emotionally able to support you through, for my own reasons, and I went through some things you simply didn’t see (most likely because I made sure you couldn’t). The fact is, though, despite the ebbs and flows to and from one another, it’s always, always easy to pick back up where we’re strongest: hunched over a cheese board, drinking and cackling about whatever b**t happens to be plaguing us at the time. In those moments, it feels like we never left one another — in fact, it feels like we’ve known each other for the entirety of this lifetime and the ones before it. I’m just so glad that this particular lifetime includes dirty gin martinis and a fuckton of cheese.
I don’t know if I’ve ever succinctly expressed this to you, but you have a particular quality that I really admire, and wish to cultivate more of in myself. You’re so f*g present for the people in your life; in constant communication with those who need you. It doesn’t matter if you’ve known the person for years, or just a few days; you show the fk up. Sometimes I worry that you take too much on, that you’re not leaving enough room for yourself. Your brain often seems like it’s running a mile a minute. Maybe that’s why I’m here; to remind you that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do even if you’re fully capable of doing it, and that you should take the time and space you need to prioritize yourself as Lara, versus yourself as caretaker. You’ve been through so much in the last five years, experiences I know would shatter most people to the point of total immobilization. And yet, here you are, dealing with all of that and continuing to be a sounding board and support system for others, cooking meals and pouring drinks and reciting the most pure of Lara mantras to get people out of their comfort zones: “C’mon everybody, let’s just try it!” Your dad would be so f*g proud. When you think of him, thank him for me; for all of us. I know I do.
There are so many small little moments I cherish between us — I won’t get into them here, because those are just for us and whoever happened to be in the room hunched over the cheese board at the time. I also know there are many, many more to come, and the security of knowing that makes this bizarre time of my life and fucked up time in the world seem all the more manageable. I’m so grateful to have a friend like you, and I can only hope that what I’m bringing to our relationship has as much of an impact on you as your presence does on me. There are not many people in this world one knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they can rely on — I hope you know you’re that for me, and for many, many others. Thank you for everything, my friend; the companionship, the adventures, the encouragement, and most recently, for teaching me how to properly cook and eat a lobster despite the fact that I couldn’t even bring myself to put it in the pot. Your friendship means the world to me.
Love,
Amanda
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I have a habit of qualifying my observations about the world around me with a sentence like, “I don’t know if it’s just me, but…”
I think I do this because I often feel isolated in my experience of the world. When I say “I don’t know if it’s just me, but…” people probably hear, “Do you relate to this, and can we connect?” But what I’m actually saying is “I feel incredibly strange and alone in the perception I’m about to share with you, so I just wanted to let you know that I know it’s f*g weird.”
The joke of it is that I’m not actually isolated in my experience of the world. I’m not actually that special. Sharing my writing has proven, time and time again, that I’m quite in tune with human experience; so much so, in fact, that I often receive emails from complete strangers thanking me for telling their story by way of my own; for seeing them by way of seeing myself.
So why, then, do I feel so disconnected?
Recently, I’ve been developing a theory, and I’m wondering if it might resonate with anyone. Once again: I don’t know if it’s just me, but…
I spent a long time working toward what I thought would connect me to the “real” world; working, carrying on relationships, curating a life of material possessions and relative status — all of which I thought would, eventually, ground me. Unfortunately, what I lacked through all of it was real, uninterrupted Presence with a capital P. If you’ve encountered me during the last, IDK, decade, know that I was I was there, but also 10 steps ahead of whatever “there” was at the time. My brain does really well in a constant state of overdrive;
what to wear, what to post, what to buy, what to produce, what to share, what to prove,where to go,how to get thereI always valued my ability to think that way; in fact, I convinced myself it was the byproduct of true ambition. The problem with being in this never-ending state of momentum is that it doesn’t honor what you’re experiencing now, as in, right this minute. It also leaves absolutely no room for what you’re actually feeling
And that’s where a sense of disconnection comes in, right? Because you’re not actually connected to anything in the present, and you can’t possibly be connected to anything in the future because the future doesn’t actually f*g exist yet. So, you end up putting yourself in existential purgatory; refusing to honor the now, and instead rooting yourself in something you can’t even see — which technically means you’re not rooting yourself in anything at all.
Does this make sense? Are you still with me? Do I have any business in exploring these topics? Am I literally having a mental breakdown by way of an email newsletter? I don’t know if it’s just me, but…
This quarantine and year have thrown me in ways I literally couldn’t have, or wouldn’t have conceived of, even as short as one (1) year ago. A friend of mine calls this process the “crumbling,” AKA, the unexpected and often difficult life events that force us to take a step back from all of our insufferable, short-sighted, toxic b**t and step forward in a whole new way, should we be brave enough to accept the challenge. I’ve been through a lot, but if I’m honest, this is the first time I’ve truly crumbled. Don’t get me wrong: I’m doing just fine, and I’m ridiculously lucky. I have my health, I have a place to live, I am surrounded by people who love me. I am not complaining, nor am I blind to the tremendous hardships people are experiencing, living lives far more unjust and brutal than my own. I also know that, objectively, my life has been harder than this.
But there’s something about this moment that feels different. Though my external circumstances are relatively benign, my inner world is going through some kind of spectacular transition. I feel more tuned into my present stream of consciousness than I ever have before. I’m realizing things about myself and the people I love that seem so obvious, but I’ve never once thought of. I’m living inside my own head in the present, instead of allowing my brain to go into overdrive about what’s around the corner. I’m learning that so much about my former life — AKA, the life I was trying to build before — actually made me really f*g miserable. I’m also learning how comfortable I was navigating that misery, and how affirmed I felt when I was praised for something that deep down, I kinda hated.
Good job, Amanda! You did it! And by “It,” I mean: some s**t you don’t even care about. You should be…proud?
Anyways. This is where I’m at. And I’m sharing this with you — whoever you are — because I think that part of being present is being honest, and if past experience has shown me anything, the more honest I am, the more I’m able to connect with the world around me. And again, I’m talking about real connection; the connection to the now, by way of telling the truth about how I’m experiencing the now. Maybe you’re experiencing it, too. Maybe you’re reading or listening to this and thinking to yourself “Goddamnit, this is me.” I hope so.
I’m going to leave you with one really cool thing that’s been happening since I started tuning in to my inner world, something that legit gives me chills whenever it occurs, and whenever I think about it. That is: I’m realizing that there are little signs, all around me, guiding me along on my creepy little path of self discovery. They’re real, tangible things in the world that stop me dead in my tracks and acknowledge that I’m in the right place, right now. I’ve never been able to receive those signals before — too much st in my brain, I guess — and to me, they’re like the ultimate reminder of how connected I actually am to my own existence, even though I have a hard time accessing it. It’s little st: a text message that comes in the exact right moment. A TV character’s monologue that I happen to hear when I wake up after passing out on the couch. A moment of overwhelming universal acknowledgment when I feel so anxious and scared, I suspect I might just start throwing up all over the place. It’s not ~a~ higher power, I don’t think (or at least, I haven’t thought of that, yet). It’s ~my~ higher power, and the possibilities to see it seem to be around every corner.
I don’t know if that’s just me, but…damn.
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In a time of serious disconnection, I really look forward to hearing my dog chew.
I like to tell myself that I haven’t been able to focus since quarantine, but if I’m brutally honest, I don’t think I’ve been able focus for most of my adulthood. And I don’t mean focus on work, or focus on relationships, focus on a task at hand or a project to complete. I’m very, very, very good at those things — in fact, I’d even say that being so good at those things has left me completely unable to focus on myself.
That’s not to say I’m not selfish. My laser focus on controlling my external circumstances is, in fact, a selfish act. It’s a destructive method of avoiding my own issues; to avoid taking responsibility for myself, my own unhappiness or happiness, my inability to be truly vulnerable with other people. All of these things are symptoms of what I’m learning is deep-seeded codependency; I associate successfully performing tasks and planning for the future and the ability to control and solve other people’s problems with love and stability, and so that’s what I enact upon the world and the people in it. Unfortunately, I often do this without stopping to ask, “What does this situation or person actually need? And, what do I?”
Of course, there isn’t any maliciousness in it. I know that my heart is gentle and abiding. My intent is always to be a good; a whole person who helps other people and who spreads joy. That intent is why I’ve always been able to convince myself the more emotional energy I invest in my external life, the more I care. I realize now, with months of therapy and reflection, that the act of trying to control and fix and quickly react to external circumstances has led me to an overwhelming feeling of internal emptiness. I don’t know how to right my own ship, and when I’m confronted with the task of doing so, the feeling gives me such a sense of anxiety that I’ve historically preferred to lose myself in whatever is right in front of me. When one perceived crisis or problem feels like it’s subsiding, I find another to put in its place, without realizing that the crisis is, and always has been, within.
Think of me as a panicked, slippery frog hopping from one lily pad to another, never stopping to really enjoy the view from each. Ribbit.
I’ll stop here and say this; my shame at not knowing or caring for myself well enough is often overwhelming. If you’ve ever felt this way, know that I see you. It’s a desperately fucked up situation to be in, and you often don’t get to come to the realization it’s happening until everything you were working so hard to build is gone. That’s where I’m at right now, and that’s why I’m writing about it: when I read or hear someone is going through the same or similar, it makes me feel better. Be nice to yourself. This isn’t your fault.
I also think that, in addition to the heaviness and introspection and words we learn in therapy, we all deserve a little levity. In fact, I think that my sense of humor is one of the few things that’s kept me feeling alive and connected to other people throughout my 35 years of bouncing from one thing to the next, with no real goal or end in sight. And, real talk; it’s f*g hilarious to be a spectator to your own b*t. When you see yourself for what you are, clearly, you can have compassion for that person. When you have compassion, you create space for trust. Where there’s trust, there’s laughter. By all reports you’ll eventually get to have a whole ass vulnerable relationship with yourself, which is what you were ideally supposed to have cultivated before you started focusing on the external. It’s not about regret, though; it’s about progress. Seeing yourself clearly and compassionately is a f**g gift — especially if you spent far too long giving that gift to someone else.
Life has never been harder, for all of us. Even the most stable, solid people have been harmed by the consequences of the pandemic, the quarantine, the never-ending traumas and injustices enacted by our current administration. So, if you’re like me, go easy on yourself. We were fucked up enough already, and now this.
I’m told that after you become self-aware about what’s burdening you, the next thing to do is to try and take active steps to change your circumstances. I’m not talking about major, life-altering changes (I’m really good at those too, and am only now realizing that it just adds to the noise you need to drown out your own b**t). I’m talking about small things; everyday awarenesses you can cultivate to bring yourself back to the present and remind yourself that you’re safe.
And for me, there’s one thing I can count on to bring me that sense of safety. I’ve been trying to focus on it recently, and luckily, it happens at night when I am at my most anxious and activated.
Sometime in between curling up at my feet and falling asleep for the night, my dog Paul makes a decision for himself. He stands up at the foot of the bed, looks around, looks at me, and slowly climbs down. He slowly ambles to the kitchen, and even though it’s happened many, many times before, there’s always a second when I wonder what he’s up to.
Then, just as I’m about to check on him, I hear it: the slow, deliberate crunching of his kibble. At this time of night, he eats differently than he does the rest of the time, more slowly, the kind of slack-jawed, slow-motion chewing we all do when we’re having a late night snack; a little bit sleepy, a little bit hungry, a little bit bored, a little bit of calming routine. I tuned it out for awhile in favor of listening to my own anxiety, but now that I’m trying to tune back in, it’s one of the things about my day-to-day that brings me a lot of comfort, especially in These Uncertain Times. If my dumbass dog can honor his needs, his desires, his sense of his surroundings, and his routine, why shouldn’t I? And why shouldn’t you?
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