Mental Health – Page 4 – …on the B.L.

On Anxiety: Getting Lost in the Woods

May 12, 2021May 11, 2021 RaeAnna

If this isn’t your first time here, you’ve probably noticed I have anxiety. That would be because I talk about it A LOT. It’s a huge part of my life and dictates a good portion of how I live and my internal musings. Lately, anxiety has been dousing me with an extra helping or twelve, and it has really been affecting everything from sleep to productivity to mostly sleep.

Beau looking back at me… Neither of us knew where we were or where we were going.

I’ve never been a big sleeper. Part of that comes from my natural circadian rhythm: I just don’t need tons of sleep to feel peppy, focused, and productive. The other part is my eternal FOMO. I have had a fear of missing out since I was an infant, which is long before that term entered the patois. My parents will be the first to say that I would not sleep if there was even an inkling of something happening. I remember being about three years old, hopping out of bed during my nap to have a listen at the door because I wanted to know what was happening: Mom was watching a soap opera, but damnit I was not going to miss out on what was going on in Susan’s third husband’s love child’s second marriage (I just made that up, but I’m sure that’s come up at least thrice). The longer I sleep the more I miss out on: time to work, time to play, time to be awake and do nothing but at least I won’t miss anything while I’m awake doing nothing.

As much as I don’t want to sleep, I do, in fact, need it. Anxiety keeps me up more than anything else. This isn’t new. I remember being eight and having a borderline anxiety attack (although I did not have the words for it then) about growing up and having to file taxes and also decide what my major in college would be. I ONLY HAD ELEVEN YEARS TO FIGURE IT OUT. Yeah, I was a weirdo then. Nothing has changed. As an adult, my anxieties are a bit more grounded in reality, but in eight year old me’s defense, those are real things to worry about… Just maybe not at eight years old.

Three weeks ago, I was in the midst of an anxiety spiral over some very real problems. Some of which have since been solved, yay! I couldn’t stop. It started on Sunday and reached its zenith Tuesday night. I hadn’t slept much, which was fine. I was nowhere near a psychotic episode, although anxiety said differently. Tuesday night, I did not sleep a wink. Not one bit. I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, stewing. I eventually did a bunch of reading, writing, working, and then in a desperate attempt to dumb my mind, hopped on TikTok. Beau was snuggled between my legs, content with the consistent inconsistency of her mother at nighttime.

Beau’s got this. She led the way. The way to nowhere helpful.

By 5:30 am, I had sufficiently given sleep my every effort and failed. The only failure I have been able to accept with out personal devastation. With the energy of a sleep deprived human—it’s actually quite a lot; after years of sleep deprivation, I am one of the most energetic and positive exhausted people in the history of the world—I literally skipped into my closet, put on running clothes, dressed Beau in her running gear (aka harness), woke up Dylan, let the puppies out/fed them, and ran out the door.

Exercise is one of my least favorite activities. I loathe it, but it is something I do with regularity because it is incredibly good for our bodies, brains, emotions, and overall health. COVID halted that, but I’m trying to slowly work myself back into life.

Running is at the tippy top of exercise I hate, which is exactly the reason I turn to it when I’m dealing with inordinate amounts of stress and anxiety. It takes equal parts determination and pain to start and keep going, making it the perfect mental distraction. Beau has come to look forward to times of high anxiety because she gets lots of walkies.

My neighborhood has tons of walking trails and parks. Beau isn’t the easiest dog in the world to walk. She wants to sniff all the things, chase any bird/leaf/squirrel, and zig zap like it’s an Olympic sport, but I like getting the alone time with my OG (Original Girl). She knows the drill, we head out the door straight for the walking track just down the road. We did one lap before a walk on the woodsy trail.

I decided to confuse Beau and do something different: Head onto the dirt trails deeper into the woods. The Iowa girl in me loves exploring nature. Living in Houston, there is a stark lack of hills and woods, though we have amazing parks and walking trails. My neighborhood has some unexplored woods, and this was the day to dive in.

Beau lead the way. She loves getting to zig zag without Mommy holding her back. Every fork in the path, Beau chose the direction. I was doing a good job tracking each turn… at first. For, maybe, the first two or three forks. A gazillion forks in… I was starting to think there was a potential of being lost. An hour and ten minutes into our walk-run, I decided it was time to turn around. As we made our way home, after several turns… I realized we were lost. For realsies lost. I knew where I was adjacent to my house, but getting there via trail or off trail was a completely different story.

At one point, I found a nice little, green sign nailed to a tree at one of many, many forks, denoting the paths: Rabbitt Pun and Creekside. I let Beau choose Creekside because I truly had no idea which one to take… or if we’d even seen that on our adventure in. We followed the path choosing another fork. Next thing I knew, I was back at the intersection of Rabbitt Pun and Creekside. Frustrated, I took Rabbit Pun. Obviously Beau’s career as a Sherpa in Nepal is looking quite grim. After choosing another two forks, we were ONCE AGAIN facing Rabbitt Pun and Creekside. I looked at Beau, who looked at me, who looked at the sign. My future as a Sherpa in Nepal is just as grim.

My anxiety had found a new and far more tangible outlet. We were officially lost in the woods.

In a desperate attempt to navigate homeward, I pulled up Google maps. Not helpful. It gave me directions from the nearest road. From the nearest road, it was a two and a half mile walk… According to Google we were about a mile, as the crow flies, from that road. My blue dot showed me standing in the middle of green space.

Luckily, there were beautiful scenes to see.

Off we went, once more on Rabbitt Pun. It felt like the right choice. About twenty minutes later, with no familiar physical indicator, we ran into a man and his two dogs. Beau was excited for company, and I was excited for directions.

We managed to find our way out of the woods… Nowhere near where we entered them, but out we were. What was going to be an hour walk turned into a two hour and forty-five minute walk, nine mile walk. Not at all a fast pace, but there was a lot of confused twirling in the woods.

Beau was thoroughly exhausted and over the moon with joy. I was tired and running late to work at Amanda’s shop, luckily, she didn’t care. My anxiety had found a realistic outlet. Between the utter lack of sleep and long walk, I was able to sleep later that night.

Anxiety’s a bitch. I’ve found my ways of coping with it.

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

Close up of The Awakening on Galveston Beach.

Books, Fiction, In My Own Words, Lifestyle

Remembering and Rereading Kate Chopin’s The Awakening

April 27, 2021April 27, 2021 RaeAnna

I read Kate Chopin’s The Awakening twice in high school, but I haven’t touched it since.

Normally, I write book reviews, but this is more of a book forward, a book impression, a book remembrance. I read it for the first time and fell deeply in love with this classic, feminist triumph of a novel, but I’ve been scared to return. As a young woman, it came to me while I was in the midst of my own battle against the patriarchy, man, and family for freedom of self. My uncertainty to open its cover once again is out of fear. Fear of what I will find it would do or maybe what it wouldn’t do. Would it mean the same thing it did to sixteen year old me as it does to twenty-nine year old me? Not only am I stronger and more broken, I have been of this world longer with its misogyny, laws, patriarchy, double standards, abuse, and more. I’m also a more experienced reader. So of course The Awakening won’t mean the same to me today as it did a decade ago, but I was scared it would mean less.

Woman in a white dress standing on the beach with The Awakening by Kate Chopin. — Standing on Galveston Beach with Kate Chopin’s The Awakening. | White Dress

Literature with a capital ‘L’ arrived on my bookshelf when I was eight. I was an overachieving priss of a child; children’s literature did not speak to me. I love Literature because I didn’t get it right away. It demanded an understanding of the vocabulary, history, culture, and more in which it was written and set. I yearned for knowledge. Literature made me do the research; in a time before Google and the internet, it was an interactive experience as I read one book surrounded by a dictionary and encyclopedia. As much as I loved Literature, I craved more. I craved seeing myself on the page. Even as I kid, I knew I was not being represented in the pages I so loved. There is very little written by women. More exists than meets the eye, but even as an educated reader and researcher, finding older works by women takes effort outside of Dickenson, the Brontës, Alcott, and Austen. It was years before I found Woolf, Morrison, Eliot, Shelley, Wollstonecraft, Duras, Wharton, Cather, Plath, Lee, Stein, Beauvoir, Angelou, Gaskell, Lennox, Stowe, Hurston, and of course Kate Chopin. All of whom have shaped me as a reader, writer, and most importantly as a woman. Chopin was my gateway into a world of writers writing about me, my plight, my pain, my existence in a world not meant for me. Even a hundred years later or more, the words these women wrote represented my place in the world. Chopin wrote in the late nineteenth century, and she rocked society with her daring works about the internal and external lives of ordinary women daring to live.

The Awakening was the first book I ever felt a deep connection with. I was a young reader beginning to understand the importance of Literature, representation, feminism, activism, and more. I was starting to come into my own as a thinker with a vagina. I was beginning to grasp at what it meant to walk this earth as a woman. A lover of Literature and history, I was probably more aware than most fifteen year old girls of women’s historical lack of autonomy. Historical being the key word. I did not feel equal, and I wanted equality, but I knew it wasn’t mine. Even with my fundamentally better understanding of history, I had yet to grasp the whys or the hows or the history or the culture or any of it. I just had a feeling. This book came into my life when my life was changing from bad to worse to what I would eventually title “Hell”. As I read The Awakening, I was struck by the realization that I knew very little had changed for women. I could wear pants like the boys, but I would never be like the boys. I was a girl. America had never been the land of the free.*

Four months after I experienced my first sexual assault in the lunch room by a school administrator. Four months after I told my mother. Four months after she told me to keep quiet and see if it would happen again. Three months after my first kiss at the Winter Formal because my mother told me I had to or I wouldn’t have a boyfriend anymore. Three months after I realized no one would protect me. Two months after I realized I was only worth something connected to a man. I was a freshman in high school. I was experiencing my first tastes of being a woman.

I picked up The Awakening.

It was the summer I turned sixteen. I had new boyfriend because that’s what sixteen year old girls do. But I had no faith in men. No faith in women. No faith in family. No faith in people. I felt utterly alone. With no one to protect me, to understand, to hold my hand, I was accepting that to be a woman was to be alone.

What I had read in history was not at all in the past. Nothing had changed really. Being a woman meant being an object for male consumption. Some took gently. Some did not. It would be another year before I learned how much they could and would take without permission, without waiting, without caring I was human. And if I turned to women, they would not protect me if they believed me at all. My mother taught me that.

At sixteen, the next seventy years looked like a lonely, losing battle. What was the point? Did all women feel this way? Why weren’t they do anything about it? I was years away from understanding the nuance of internalized misogyny and all the culture shit we are taught to swallow, believe, conform to, and uphold as women. But I already knew existing like that in this world was not for me, and so I already had a few suicide attempts under my belt. I had very little desire to live even before the first of many men took what he thought was his right.

And then Edna walked along a Grand Isle’s beach and dared to yearn for more than motherhood and wifedom. We were separated by a century. We were separated by experience. We were separated by so many things, but I understood her. She didn’t save my life, but I felt seen. I felt validated.

I reached out to my fellow bibliophiles asking for their opinions on The Awakening, on Edna. The few who had read the book hated Edna. They found her shallow and selfish. The ending was completely unrealistic. What woman with a life of leisure would walk into the ocean? What wife would leave her husband? What mother would choose death over her children? To me, it was the perfect ending to her story. I was frustrated by the vitriol. How could they not understand? She was alone and desperate, leading a meaningless life.

The Awakening was the first time I saw a female character with any emotions or internal life I could comprehend and identify with; probably because she was the first woman written by I woman I had read. Edna was the first, but many have come after her.

My concept of womanhood has evolved over the last thirteen years. I am no longer the optimistic sixeen year old, but I’m no longer the devastated sixteen year old. All is not completely lost, though I have a dismal view of the present and near future. My world view is complex, and I know I am on a lifelong search for my place and role in society. Not all share my view of womanhood, nor should they. But I will continue to fight for every woman. As a twenty-nine year old, I know my life has seen challenges many have never and will never seen, but it has also been blessed in many ways. Pain is not a competition. I acknowledge my many privileges and disadvantages. Pain is not the only thing I have known, but pain is still central to my experiences as a human and as a woman.

Kate Chopin, The Awakening, and Edna gave me validation. Someone understood. 122 years ago, a woman knew the pain I knew and dared to want more.

I am not going to review The Awakening. For so many reasons, one of which being: I don’t want to. Another being: It would be a very long review. My fears ended up being unfounded. The book means more to me as a grown ass woman than it did as a teenager. I found the nuances, narrative, and storytelling far more enthralling than I had thirteen years ago. Not only did I fall more in love with Edna, I fell out of love with her husband, paramour, and female companions. What had seemed like a love story years ago is anything but today. It isn’t romantic but deeply depressing. I could identify the tragedies with the eye of an analyst and the heart of a woman and the mind of a partner. I saw the craft in Chopin’s work and the soul in her story. The Awakening spoke to me in new and more powerful levels.

Edna is very much alive.

bisous et обьятий,
RaeAnna

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*This is being written from the perspective of a white woman as I look back at the views I had as a teenager exploring my own place in this world as a woman through the knowledge, resources, and books I had at my disposal. It would be several more years before I learned the term “intersectionality” and began applying it to my own life, views, feminism, and activism. Up until that point, feminism and racism were uniquely separate issues because that is all I knew. Black women suffered racism. Black women suffered feminism. I wanted equality for everyone: men and women, Black and white and Asian and Hispanic and everyone in between. I was more apt to identify as a humanist than a feminist. My fundamental beliefs have remained the same, but my terminology has expanded to better encompass and express my desires for intersectionality, equity, and advocacy.

In My Own Words, Lifestyle

COVID Came For Us; We Almost Didn’t Make It

April 26, 2021April 26, 2021 RaeAnna

It’s been four months almost to the day since we found out we had COVID. By we, I mean Dylan and I.

Over the last four months, I have been silent. I haven’t publicly spoken or written about our COVID experience at the beginning of this year. There has been so much guilt in my heart and soul about having COVID. I am still struggling with that guilt, but as a writer, I can’t stay silent not while this pandemic rages on. I feel shame over having COVID. Like I need to keep it a secret and not talk about it, but I’m not an ostrich. My head does not belong in the sand, and I’ve never been one to shy away from telling the truths, my truths before. People are still complaining about wearing masks, fighting the harsh reality, saying it’s a conspiracy, claiming the vaccine is dangerous.

I am an immunocompromised human. Dylan is a disabled veteran. We were quarantining for our own health and the health of all humans. In our home, we believe in science and the reality of this pandemic.

Since the announcement of quarantine over a year ago, we have been social distancing like absolute champs. We stayed the fuck home. I stopped traveling. We started having our groceries delivered. We didn’t go out to eat. We hardly saw friends or left the house, except when completely necessary. We have worn masks and stayed away. We’ve sanitized and cleaned.

So many people did not believe in the seriousness of COVID until if affected them personally. We did not need to be affected personally to know the severity of COVID. Though we did have several friends who contracted it and recovered. They were fortunate to have uncomfortable but manageable symptoms.

We did everything we could to stay safe, but COVID came for us.

COVID still invaded our home, and we were met with the full force of it. Dylan and I had been so extremely careful, and yet it entered our home and almost took his life—and mine, but I’m ignoring the severity of my own situation. There’s nothing more, really, we could have done to prevent getting COVID, but I’m still struggling with guilt over contracting it. I have talked about it so infrequently that very few people in my personal life even knew about it at the time or even now. We didn’t advertise it. We were more concerned about surviving it because we both had fairly extreme cases. Only our very closest friends and family knew what we were going through.

On December 26, 2020, Dylan went to Chicago to visit his family. By December 28, he was admitted to the hospital with a positive COVID test and pneumonia. He didn’t have enough breath to call and tell me himself, so I found out over the phone from his mom once he’d been admitted. It was devastating. My partner of the last five years was in the hospital on the other side of the country fighting for his life, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.

Blake, one of the closest people in my life, had come over to spend time with me and hang out with the dogs while Dylan was gone. He was there when I got the phone call. I felt horrible because I had put him in danger without meaning to. We went for COVID tests the next day. I had a sickening feeling that I would absolutely be positive for it because I had developed a bad cough the day before. On New Year’s Eve, I found out I had COVID and Blake did not. We knew it would be two weeks of quarantine before Dylan could even think about coming home, before I could leave the house, before Blake could leave the house. We were trapped in a new way. I was trapped sick in my house with someone I loved. I was trapped by fear that the one person I depended on to be okay might not survive.

Everyday, I struggled to breathe. My oxygen levels kept getting lower and lower and lower, yet I refused to go to the hospital because of the dogs. Blake is probably the only reason I did not die, but it was not good. (Don’t do what I do, kids. Go to the doctor.)

Everyday, I waited for texts from Dylan to know he was okay, he was still alive, he was still breathing on his own.

Everyday, I hoped to hear news that Dylan was responding well to treatment and could go home soon to finish his recovery.

Every few days, I heard from his nurses or doctors to find out how he was doing. The news was hopeful but never good.

He ended up staying in the hospital for almost three weeks. When he was finally released, he had to stay in Chicago for almost three more weeks, two of which he was dependent on oxygen. He visited specialists repeatedly, waiting on the all clear to come home. Dylan was all alone on the other side of the country with his family and doctors, but I worried constantly. I was at home with Blake, who did everything from cook to clean to take care of the dogs to helping me get dressed to checking on me in the middle of the night.

By the time Dylan came home, he had been gone for almost six weeks. He was better but not back to normal. I had not been completely honest with him about my own health because I did not want him to worry as he fought for his life. He was shocked by how sick I still was, but we made it through. We spent the next two months slowly working back into normalcy.

If we’re being honest, and I am, we are both still on the mend. Neither of us have full lung functionality. We still get tired and winded much easier than we used to. We are both grateful to be alive, to have survived.

Dylan and I are both completely vaccinated. The moment we were allowed to, we signed up. He had Moderna. I had Pfizer. He reacted with a sore arm and slight aches and pains. My reaction was slightly bigger with a sore arm, aches, pains, and a low-grade temperature. The second dose was easier for me than the first.

I was vaccinated through UTMB Health at their outdoor League City location. I signed up through their website: https://www.utmb.edu/covid-19/vaccine/ back in February. It took me a week and a half to get an appointment. Now that vaccinatio are open to everyone, I’m sure it looks a little different as far as the sign up process. I arrived at the site. I never once had to get in my car. It took about half an hour to snake through the park, sign in, read the information, and get my vaccination. I then proceeded to the parking lot, where I waited fifteen minutes to make sure I didn’t have any reaction. I was on my way. This was the process for my first dose and three weeks later for my second dose.

Dylan was vaccinated through Harris County in Waller at their outdoor location. His process was exactly the same with a shorter snake time because it was a smaller site, serving less people. It was fast and easy.

We are vaccinated. We still stay home more than we did in the before times. We wear masks when we go out. We sit outdoors when we go to restaurants. We believe in science. We believe in COVID. We believe in vaccines. We believe in doing our part. This isn’t over, but we have and will do whatever we can to make COVID a part of history.

11..., Lifestyle

11… Ways I’m Forgiving Myself

April 13, 2021April 13, 2021 RaeAnna

I can’t believe a third of the year has already passed us by. I was really hoping to make some positive changes in my life within 2021’s first few months. Unfortunately, I have been struggling to even come up with a modicum of productivity.

Just out here looking for forgiveness…. | Black Dress |

I am going to lay a lot of that blame at COVID’s figurative feet. Not just COVID existing in the world. I haven’t talked about it on this platform yet, but COVID entered my home right after Christmas. My partner ended up in the hospital for three weeks and on oxygen for another three. I really struggled to make it through the worst parts of it myself. More than three months later, we’re both dealing with the aftermath of COVID. Breathing is still difficult. I get fatigued so easily. Life has slowed down significantly as we recover. I am not able to go-go-go the way I like to or am used to. So a lot of things fell by the wayside. Pretty much anything that has not been an absolute necessity has gone untended, and even some of the necessities. So fuck you, COVID, my year could have been better without you!

There has been more and more talk of self-care in the world. Self-care looks different from person to person. I’m really the last person to talk about it because I’m really bad at doing it myself. So this is not a post about that. But in my effort to be kinder to myself and try to reduce some of my mental load and anxieties, I’m going to extend eleven forgivenesses from me to me in an effort of self-care and self-preservation.

I’m also forgiving myself for not posting this last week/yesterday like I had planned on… because I ran out of time and the physical ability to get it done the day after Easter/yesterday I decided to clean the entire house/the dogs/disinfect dog boxes, which is a chore.

Sending myself flowers as an apology to me. (from Amanda Bee’s because duh)

I forgive myself for the stack of books I’ve read and not reviewed. This sounds trivial, but a huge part of …on the B.L. is book reviews. I started out as a book blogger, and though I don’t identify solely as a book blogger, it’s still an integral part of my platform and life. I quite literally majored in reading real good. Having been depressed, anxiety riddled, and ill for the last year, I’ve done a lot of reading and very little reviewing. So I forgive myself for not reviewing. I couldn’t do it. I did not have the mental bandwidth to write more than I absolutely had to. So instead of writing all the backlog reviews, I’m going to write reviews for the ones I really want to write reviews for. I will do a big post about all the ones I’ve read and am not reviewing; partially because I really like some of the pictures taken. Going forward, I will try—try being the operative word—to write about all the books I’m reading.
I forgive myself for getting COVID. I have a lot of guilt about this. Dylan and I have been so extremely careful, and yet it entered our home and almost took his life—and mine but I’m ignoring the severity of my own situation. I feel shame over having COVID. Like I need to keep it a secret and not talk about it. I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do.
I forgive myself for ordering out. I love cooking, but I have found no joy in it the past several months. So I have found myself ordering in a lot. Like a lot a lot. Like too much. I take solace in the fact I’m supporting small businesses who are struggling to survive through COVID.
I forgive myself for not exercising. I can blame COVID for this one. I had been in a really good habit of exercising [semi]frequently, but then COVID hit my lungs. I’m still having a hard time getting up and going, so exercise has gone by the wayside for now.
I forgive myself for having a short fuse. My fuse has been short for a whole BUNCH of reasons. I wish I had more patience right now, but I don’t. At this point, my patience is being reserved for the dogs. The people who have to deal with my fuse, or lack thereof, understand and are being incredibly understanding. But the dogs don’t have the same ability to understand mommy’s shortcomings and humanity, so I give them all my patience because I’m not going to make them neurotic with my frustrations.
I forgive myself for not writing. I write for a living both as a freelance writer and for this blog. I love it. I really love my job, and I feel incredibly lucky to get paid to do something that interests and stimulates me every day. But the things I want to dive into and explore more on the blog take a lot of emotional exploration and inevitably lead to breakdowns and breakthroughs, and I love that, but it’s hard. In a year where I’ve raised and gave away puppies while going through a pandemic… I haven’t been able to go there. So, I am forgiving myself for that because it does me no good to dwell on what I haven’t accomplished.
I forgive myself for not socializing the puppies more. After buying a house, the need to socialize the puppies at the dog park decreased because I have a backyard. They don’t need to play at the dog park the way Beau did when she was an only dog living in an apartment. They have tons of playmates and the space to be rambunctious ding dongs. I still feel bad that they haven’t had that experience but a) we’ve been staying in because of COVID b) socializing five dogs—four puppies—is a lot of work and I didn’t have it in me.
I forgive myself for not working as much. This isn’t completely my fault, but I could’ve done more to work more. The pandemic hit my work load hard because my clients were hit hard. So the work dwindled. In a way, that was a blessing; it gave me time to raise puppies, rest, and not work when I had COVID.
I forgive myself for not sending Thank You cards last year on my birthday. I ALWAYS send Thank You cards when I get presents. My 29th birthday landed in the beginning of a pandemic but also in the middle of raising thirteen very needy puppies. I had no time…. And it fell by the wayside. I’m trying not to feel bad about that.
I forgive myself for being a lesser friend. I try to be a good friend. I try to show up, stay in touch, reach out, send notes, get together, and all those good things. In 2020 and 2021, so far, I have been a lesser friend. I feel bad, but I couldn’t be there for people the way I like to be.
I forgive myself for putting myself, my happiness, my mental health first. I’m not used to putting me first. And I’m terrible at asking other people to make me a priority, treat me well, give and not just take, and more. I’m not good at demanding the respect I deserve. No one taught me that. So at 29, I’m trying to be better about only accepting and keeping people in my life who are good for me.

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

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Blog + Dog, In My Own Words, Lifestyle

Happy National Puppy Day from A Pack Mom

March 24, 2021March 24, 2021 RaeAnna

Cuddling with three puppies and their mama. The others are somewhere doing something. I’m very attentive, I know.

Yesterday was National Puppy Day, and I missed it. Well, I watched everyone else post pictures about their puppies. I was lazy and didn’t.

The thing is, every day is puppy day in my house. Not only do I have four actual puppies, I have two older girls too. It’s a zoo. It’s chaos. It’s a furtacular event always. There is never a moment, big or small, that does not have something to do with the dogs. I can attribute that to their being enormous, multitudinous, and very attached to me. I go nowhere alone ever, and I love it.

Even as I write this, I have one asleep on each foot, two are upside down tug-o-warring, one is asleep in their box for naughty reasons, and a sixth is standing up on my wingback chair staring out the window in case of God knows what. That means there are five very big dogs in my small office. It’s wonderful. This is not a complaint. This is a brag. My office is better than your office.

A year ago, I had a home filled with Beau, the original rescue, Tess, the stray mama, and thirteen three week old puppies. I was determined to keep zero of the puppies. Life and a man had a completely opposing world view of what would happen, and I lost. Fast forward through the poop, tears, puppy breath, teething, potty training to today: I am a homeowner with a house full of six much bigger than expected dogs.

I would love to tell you this life is easy. It is not.

Having six dogs sounds amazing, and it is. Having six dogs sounds hard, and it is. Having six dogs sounds a little crazy, and it most certainly is. It was a choice and a commitment. It was a commitment to them and a commitment to Dylan, my pawtner in parenting. We made a commitment to each of our dogs to love, respect, raise, and maintain them until their last breaths, no take backsies. We made a commitment to one another that no matter what transpires between us, we will raise them together; we will not separate them; we will not keep them from the one another; we will share expenses; we will carry the burden; we will lean on the other when things are hard; and we will always create rules and boundaries together for them, no take backsies. Adopting one dog four years ago (wow) connected us in a more concrete way, making it more complicated if things went to go awry. Adding five more rescues to that equation… well, much, much, much more of a concrete connection. Worth it, but a challenge.

There are more than just the challenges of having six dogs. We did it in a COVID world where both our incomes and lives have been impacted very, very much. Tess was incredibly sick and pregnant when I picked her up off the street. Getting her healthy was expensive and heartbreaking. The puppies have some special needs, which makes it expensive and a bit complicated at times. (No complaint. I knew what I was getting into.) The reality is: VETS ARE EXPENSIVE. Their health is non-negotiable. We went without so they could be taken care of. We took on debt to take them to the ER. We buy their dog food first before our groceries. COVID made things much tighter, but it’s worth it.

On top of it, a rescue already existed in this home. Beau was the first priority. We made a decision to foster Tess and the puppies. We knew we wanted to keep Tess, but if the rescue in Beau couldn’t handle being in a multiple dog household, we would have made the very hard decision to find Tess and all the puppies their furever homes. Turns out Beau LOVED Tess immediately. They were inseparable and best buds from the beginning. They do everything together and literally hug every morning when they wake up. Beau also loves the puppies. It was an adjustment, but they adore her and she loves to play with them. But she still had to figure out how to be top dog, get attention, and cope with the fact she was no longer the sun, moon, and universe in two people’s worlds. She had to learn to share: time, food, love, attention, bed. Just kidding, she never learned how to share bed; she’s the only one that always sleeps in bed. Some of her neurosis were exacerbated at first, but with love, time, and extra attention, she’s back to her normal neurotic self.

Is it a breeze now? Fuck no.

It’s still hard. They’re still young. They’re still growing and learning and making mistakes and getting on each others’ nerves. Most days are amazing, but there are some days I cry. Being a dog parent to one is hard. Being a dog parent to six is still hard. Struggle is a part of taking care of and living with another being, human or not. The happiness outweighs all the negatives, but it’s work.

It. Is. A. Lot. Of. Work.

It takes a lot of work just to afford to maintain them and keep them healthy. It takes a lot of emotional work to stay calm in the chaos because I’m not going to fuck up my dogs’ emotional wellbeing with an inability to handle the fact they’re just being puppies. I do my best. Sometimes I fail. That’s okay. They love me anyways. They know they’re safe. They’re in the only home they’ve ever known with the only parents they’ve ever known being loved in the only way they’ve ever known: unconditionally, patiently, enthusiastically, and constantly.

My six dogs have been the catalyst for DRASTIC life changes over the last year, and I’m okay with that. Everything is for the better even when it has hurt like hell. They are and will be my number one priority until the day they die. I took on this responsibility, and no matter how hard it was, is, or will be, I chose to make their lives the very best I can.

If you ever find yourself in my home, know that you are watching six pieces of my heart and the very best of me walk around our home.

In honor of trying to be the very best pawrent I can be. I’m including six inspiration posters I created from things I’ve said to my dogs in my very best high pitched and happy-even-though-my-world-is-chaos-and-stressful dog parent voice:

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna, Beau, Tessa,
Knight, Duke, Makeda, + Bear

Blog + Dog, In My Own Words, Lifestyle

Happy First Birthday From Your First Human Mama

March 3, 2021March 3, 2021 RaeAnna

A family picture of all thirteen babies and their two mamas at three weeks old!

Happy Birthday Siren, Vienna, Knight, Marcus, Duke, Joey, Hera, Lucy, Makeda, Sadie, Teena, Murphy, and Bear! Being your first human mama was the most rewarding challenge I have ever been crazy enough to dive into.

After bringing home a very pregnant, street dog on February 26, 2020, Tessa went into labor five days later on March 2. Which means, a year ago, thirteen puppies were born in an epically long labor that lasted 38.5 hours with seventeen hours and one minute between the first and last born. Every single one of the thirteen is healthy, happy, and living their best life today.

What a year it has been.

I was a bit protective of my babies. I didn’t want them to go to their furever homes ever, but that was not an option—I couldn’t afford fifteen dogs, nor did I have the space. I sent them to their wonderful furever homes at three months old because I was able to ensure they were vaccinated, were well socialized, avoided the critical time when they could develop neurosis and fears, learned ample skills from their mama, and I was able to catch and solve some health issues. Puppies are adorable, and I loved every single second of my time with them, but those first three months was a massive struggle in every way. I look back and wonder how I did it. The answer: love and support from my closest friends and family. Neither I nor the puppies would have made it through without those heroes in our lives. Having thirteen puppies and a brand new mama dog was taxing in more ways than I can even describe, but I won’t even try because this is a birthday celebration.

What was even harder than getting through those three months: Watching them go to their new homes. I felt so empty when they were gone. (Even though I still had four puppies, Tessa, and Beau, pieces of my heart were missing.) Knowing each puppy was in the very best home for them made it much easier to say goodbye. Every single parent sends me updates, so I have gotten to watch them grow, becoming more themselves in the comfort of a loving home. I was the puppy matchmaker; I gave the puppy to the perfect home for them and a puppy suited to the home each family could provide. Some of the puppy parents have become good friends or were already good friends. Several have stayed for a night or a few when their parents go on vacation or work trips. Puppy play dates happen. They may not be my babies anymore, but they are still in my life. I am so blessed to have found so many wonderful homes for my amazing puppies.

From left top clockwise: Knight, Duke, Makeda, and Bear. The four babies who are mine forever.

Every day, all day for three months, I was surrounded by thirteen puppies and Tessa. Three months is a short amount of time, but it is a lifetime when you’re watching beings evolve and grow and become themselves. Each one had a unique personality from the moment they were born. Being around them brought me so much joy and filled my heart with love. I was so completely in love with each one. It was impossible to name a favorite, and to this day, the ones I kept are here because a) I wanted to make sure they received the medical care they needed b) their personalities were best suited to Beau and Tessa. I didn’t keep my favorite puppies because I didn’t have any. They were all perfect and still are.

The fact it has been one year since they were born… Is shocking. Where has the time gone? I have watched my four grow into these amazing dogs with huge, unique personalities and needs. Life has been busy and complicated and stressful at times, but I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for my dogs. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my four puppies and the nine others. My heart is theirs. For now and forever.

A year ago, I was given a beautiful opportunity to give fourteen dogs a chance at life, and they are making the most of those lives every day.

Before they went to their furever homes, I took pictures with each of them. They gave me hope and happiness during an incredibly difficult pandemic. There’s no way I wouldn’t remember each one, but I wanted something beautiful to look at as the years fade the memories. I want to share them with you and a little bit about each one.

Siren was born on March 3, 2020 at 3:45 pm, weighing 8.75 ounces. He was adorable and such a sweetheart. He loved to howl and let out an incredibly high pitched noise anytime he wasn’t playing. Rough housing was his favorite activity but I could always count on big kisses from him. He kept his name Siren and lives in Houston.

March was born on March 3, 2020 at 4:50 pm, weighing 11.3 ounces. Named for the March sisters in Little Women. She has a goofy dew claw with two nails. She was always up to play but never dove right into the middle of the pack. Cuddling was just as much appreciated as play. Her daddy claimed her right away and named her Vienna—after the sausages because they looked like fuzzy, brown sausages. She lives in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Lucky enough to call Knight mine forever.

Knight was born on March 3, 2020 at 5:35 pm, weighing the least at 7.5 ounces. He gave me so much anxiety from the start because he was so little and refused to gain weight. Sass has never been something he lacks. He still suffers from little man syndrome and hates being pushed around even though he is the second biggest in my house and in the litter. I kept him because we bonded over the ten daily feedings we had, his autoimmune disorder, and his deformed front legs. He still has the name Knight, but I pronounce it phonetically, to his father’s dismay. K-Nig-Hit is cuddly beyond belief.

(Hardy) Marcus has been using his soulful eyes since day one.

Hardy was born on March 3, 2020 at 7:15 pm, weighing 7.62 ounces. Named for one of my favorite authors, Thomas Hardy. I’ve never seen such soulful eyes, and he uses them often on his dad. He was equal parts rowdy and lazy. He was always one of the first to curl up in my lap or behind my back. He always had such long legs; there’s no doubt he could be a supermodel. Instead he’s assumed the name Marcus (as in Aurelius) and lives in the lap of luxury in Houston with his dad. Doggy daycare is his jam.

Derpy Duke was never meant to stay, but stay he did, and I couldn’t be happier.

Duke was born March 3, 2020 at 9:00pm, weighing 9.21 ounces. He was a big derpy goofball from the moment he was born. Chewing has been his favorite thing since they got teething toys at two weeks old. To this day, he has a toy or shoe (yikes) in his mouth. If there is a free lap or hand he will claim it. If there’s no free lap or hand, he will still claim it. At eight months old, he had dental surgery to correct his severe overbite, which gives him the derpiest smile on earth. He’s my forever baby. It was a happy accident.

(Nosky) Joey was an adorably cuddly handful.

Nosky was born on March 3, 2020 at 9:05 pm, weighing 8.57 ounces. He has four white paws, so I named him “socks” in Russian. He had, and still does, a predilection for starting squabbles. He loved to antagonize and then walk away. It was irritating and funny; I’m certain he enjoyed his practical jokes. I was incredibly stressed out at eight weeks because he developed a joint problem, luckily his forever mama is on top of it. He’s living the best life and is incredibly spoiled. He is now named after Joey from friends and lives in Pearland, Texas.

Hera’s looking away from the camera as I get kisses from her forever sister!

Hera was born on March 3, 2020 at 9:55 pm, weighing 10.12 ounces. She was the first to crawl into a lap. She could never get enough of those cuddles, although she was happy to get her play on whenever a tussle started. She was quiet, sweet, and an all around easy puppy. Today, she still goes by Hera and lives in Ames, Iowa with my parents, so she’s got a pretty cushy life with her sister, Teena and brother, Barney.

(Boudica) Lucy has the cutest dots on her nose!

Boudica was born on March 3, 2020 at 11:13 pm, weighing 10.2 ounces. Named for Boudica the 60 ad Iceni queen. From the very start, she didn’t live up to the warrior queen she was named for. She stayed far away from any romp, preferring cuddles to literally anything else. She was skittish and shy, which only made me love her more. With adorable dots on her nose, she is gorgeous, perfect, and ridiculously easy to take a nap with. Her new name is Lucy, and she lives with her feline sister, Juniper, in Lincoln, Nebraska.

Star was born on March 4, 2020 at 12:10 am, weighing 9.63 ounces. She was hoppy, happy, and ready to love on anyone from the moment she was born. It became evident very early on that we would keep her because she had enough energy to keep up with Beau. I started referring to her as “Joy Incarnate” at three weeks old because she always has been. I renamed her because I wanted a more unique name, so she’s gone by Makeda—an Ethiopian warrior queen—since she was three weeks old. She’s shy yet rambunctious, playful yet cuddly, happy yet reserved. She’s a dichotomy, and I fall in love with her more every day.

Lily-May was born on March 4, 2020 at 1: 20 am, weighing 10.48 ounces. Named for Lily Bart in House of Mirth and May Whelan in The Age of Innocence both by Edith Wharton. Shy yet ridiculously lovable, she was always excited about everything once she felt safe. It was impossible to stay away from her because she followed me everywhere any chance she got. Today, she goes by Sadie and lives in Houston with her rescue dog brother, Cooper.

It’s (Athena) Teena’s turn to look-ish at the camera.

Athena was born on March 4, 2020 at 5:20 am, weighing 10.26 ounces. She was sweet but always a little funny. She wanted to cuddle but not that much. She wanted to play but not too much. She was curious but super cautious. She would frighten incredibly easily. She had such a soft coat, I loved burying my face in her neck and covering her with kisses. My dad has a knack for giving funny nicknames. He started calling her Teena, and it stuck. Today, she lives with my parents in Ames, Iowa with her sister, Hera, and their rescue dog Barney.

I never knew what (Oryol) Murphy’s ears would do from one day to the next.

Oryol was born on March 4, 2020 at 6:08 am, weighing 11.99 ounces. Named after Ivan Turgenev’s hometown in Russia. He was a chonk from the start and all about the cuddles. I was obsessed with his ears; they never knew what they were doing and changed day to day. He was so laid back that he earned the nickname “Stoner Puppy.” He loved playing, cuddles, and diving face first into food: the messier the better. He hated bathtime, though. For such a lazy puppy, he popped right to life the moment I tried to bathe him. I hope for his mama’s sake, he’s gotten better with age on that front. He lives in Houston, Texas with his mom and goes by the name Murphy.

Bear was born on March 4, 2020 at 8:46 am, weighing 12.1 ounces. Last but definitely not least, Bear is unforgettable. He was the last, the largest, and the most headstrong of the bunch. Where there was a will, Bear would find his way. He was a cuddly challenge from day one, but he’s impossible not to love even when he was causing me a great deal of frustration. His dad fell in love with him, and he ended up staying in my personal pack. I wish I could say he’s gotten easier, but all I can say is: he’s gotten bigger! He lived up to the name Bear and weighs about 100 pounds with the biggest head he could muster. Luckily, he’s more lovable than he is frustrating.

Happy Birthday my babies! I can’t believe you’re all a year old. I can’t believe I survived. I really can’t believe I’m the mama to four of you. To my other nine babies: I miss you all every single day, think of you often, scroll through the thousands of pictures I took, and talk about you endlessly. I am beyond lucky to have watched you grow into the puppies you were, and I am even more blessed to be able to watch you all grow into the dogs you are becoming. One year down forever to go!

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna (Your First Human Mama)