GUEST POST: Finding Our Breath
It's not where you think it is
Welcome to the first ever Dog Lover’s Guide to Feeling Better Guest Post! I’m delighted to introduce one of my favorite people in the world, Dr. Zed Zha. Zed is a physician, an author, a medical cultural critic, and a dog mom. Her substack Ask The Patient is a love letter from a doctor that gives patients their voice back. Zed’s pup is a fried chicken-colored labradoodle, Moshi Moshi, who teaches her new things about herself each and every day. Make sure to subscribe to her substack in the link above!
My therapist’s name was Cary, with a y. After I used up a long breath to tell her why I was so stressed out at work, Cary with a y told me, “Notice what your body is doing.”
The year was 2020. I was a country doctor in rural Washington State during the height of the pandemic: seeing over 40 patients a day, delivering babies on the side, rounding in the hospital, teaching medical students, precepting newly graduated physician assistants, managing nursing home outbreaks…even writing this paragraph made me breathless.
My body is doing breathlessness, Cary, that’s what my body is doing. I thought.
Cary with a y had her eyes closed. She kept going: “Can you find your breath? Are you completely relaxed in the chair, or are you tensing up?”
I put a hand on my chest and tried to push my butt into my chair like she requested – “finding my breath.”
Cary with a y peeked at me and said, “Very good. Now…notice the chair underneath you…”
What a weird thing to notice, I thought. I spent money on this comfy office chair just so I didn’t have to feel it under my butt.
I never found my breath.
My dog trainer’s name was also Cari, but with an i. Cari with an i didn’t train my dog. She trained me to train my dog. So, she was really a human trainer.
“Dogs can sense our anxiety,” she said. “Your puppy might be happily going along with you until she senses that you tense up when you pass by another dog. Have you checked to see what your body is doing at that moment?”
I was a first-time dog owner. And I was determined to be a darn good one. By the time I hired Cari with an i, I hadn’t even gotten my dog yet. It was kind of like hiring a babysitter before having a baby. Do people do that? By then, I had also already read two books on dog training (both from Zak George), watched all his videos on YouTube, puppy-proofed my house, and put aside a bunch of money in my “dog college fund.”
My friend Sandra said she didn’t think I was ready for a puppy because clearly, I needed to write a PhD dissertation on raising the perfect dog before I got on the list to receive one. After briefly considering it, I determined that Sandra was being sarcastic.
But to answer Cari with an i’s question about checking my own body language…I was too busy to do that.
Cary with a y was helping me manage stress. She taught me a few tricks to self-soothe when I felt anxious. “Gargling water, talking, eating…these are some things that activate our parasympathetic nervous system,” she explained via Zoom, the half-lit orange salt lamp flickering behind her.
So, should I excuse myself in the middle of an aggravating conversation to go gargle some water in the bathroom, Cary? I smiled and nodded.
In my mind, I really wanted Cary with a y to help me understand why I reacted to things the way I did. I thought once we figured out the why, the how not to would come. Shouldn’t we be digging into my childhood or something?
I never practiced what she suggested.
Cari with an i was helping me with my high-energy, six-month-old labradoodle puppy, Moshi Moshi. While Moshi Moshi was very quick to learn things, she was also very excitable – in a way, not unlike her human. (That’s me.)
“When you’re ready to wind down, you can do some single kibble treating,” Cari with an i explained, then gave me instructions: I’d sit on the floor by Moshi Moshi, holding a kibble at her eye level. Then I’d very slowly lower that kibble onto the ground as her eyes follow it, not permitting her to eat it until it touched the ground. Then I’d repeat the trick, but even more slowly. I’d do this until Moshi Moshi calmed down.
“Make sure you slow down your breathing, too. And if you want to talk to her, speak very slowly. You can even pet her. But make sure your stroke is also as slow as it can be.”
Slow is not my strong suit. Breathlessness is. But with Moshi Moshi being so high energy, I would do anything to switch her excitement off!
So, I did exactly what Cari with an i told me. Every darn day.
One day, after some name recall training and tug of war with Moshi Moshi, I sat on the floor next to her to do single kibble treating.
“Oh….kay…t---ime…to…caaaaaaaalm…dowwwwwwwn…” I spoke to Moshi Moshi slowly as her eyes followed the kibble in my hand downwards.
I imagined myself like a jellyfish in the ocean – just letting the lazy waves swish me around in the darkness way below the busy marine animals. With each expansion and contraction of my jellyfish bell, a word was expelled, taking its sweet time to land on the ocean floor beneath me. “Gooooood…girrrrrrl…”
Moshi Moshi was in a hurry to eat the first kibble. But by the second one, she let out a surrendering sigh and lowered her body to the ground, waiting for the kibble to arrive in front of her. As my own heart rate slowed down, Moshi Moshi’s head drifted to the floor.
The floor felt nice and cold on a hot summer day, and it supported my butt like the ocean water supported a sleepy jellyfish. No one was trying to go anywhere. Moshi Moshi agreed by shifting her weight sideways, letting her entire left side touch the ground.
By the third kibble, her eyelids closed. And then she was an exhausted six-month-old puppy, ready for a nap.
Huh…I thought to myself. I guess it is strangely calming to notice the floor under me, like a gentle reminder of my connection to the world…Is this…maybe…what Cary with a y meant when she wanted me to notice the chair under my butt…?
I put one hand over Moshi Moshi’s rib cage and the other on my chest to count our breaths.
They were not exactly in sync. But pretty close.
We let the cooling touch of the ocean water take over.
Moshi Moshi is turning four this week. My mother made us matching hair clips and bandanas. She snapped this photo and immediately rolled onto the floor laughing. (I suspect Moshi Moshi and I exist to entertain her.)
We’ll keep learning and practicing tricks that calm Moshi Moshi down. Or should I say, the tricks that calm both of us down.
Great read and I love the matching bows! 💛
This is beautiful! Dogs are amazing. Thank you for sharing.