Be More Dog

So, I am in my early 50s and a mother of teenagers. On the Beaufort scale for hormones here we are somewhere between Violent Storm and Hurricane, officially a place I think is called a Typhoon of Tantrums. You can probably tell which one our house is, it is the one where the mum is bright red, blotchy and cross and the teenagers have earphones permanently attached to their ears. The place where, sometimes, people have to walk on tiptoe avoiding the snappy crocodile that works in her lair downstairs, who for no reason will explode with expletives, slam a door and cry because she burnt some beans. It’s the house where the glass recycling bin is brimming over as just having a glass or three of wine at the weekend, has stretched earlier and earlier into weekdays from Thirsty Thursday (early lockdown) through Why not Wednesday, to Don’t Make Me, Oh go on then Monday; the place where Lockdown Liver is becoming a thing.

To be fair to my little cherubs, most of the tears, stomping, swearing and imbibing of booze is mainly down to me. Who said anxiety, a glass of red and a hot flush weren’t merry bed fellows? To be really fair to my little cherubs and not forgetting my poor, long suffering husband; this getting older thing has been a bit of steep learning curve. Why doesn’t anyone tell you that all the hormonal horror of being a teenager would come back and haunt you, 30 odd years later but with the added bonus of greying hair and bristly moles. Yes those. I have experienced moods I didn’t even know I had; picking the most ridiculous arguments with my husband that I knew I couldn’t win and it has taken me a while to cotton on that the kids were steering clear, dashing back upstairs to the refuge of their rooms after dinner, just in case they looked at me in the wrong way.

Anxiety is a common side effect of menopause; women who have previously sailed through life anxious free, suddenly feel fear and panic for the first time - and it is scary. I am not sure whether the recent onset of older age has made my own existing anxiety any worse but certainly the volatile concoction of hormones raging around me have made me super sensitive. And very forgetful. Those women who have had children may remember baby brain fog. Just wait until you reach your middle years. I am becoming the stereotype I didn’t want to be – losing glasses, keys, cups of tea. I take a bite out of a biscuit, get distracted, and spend half an hour with that unfinished feeling and find it days later languishing on top of the microwave stale and unmunchable. I lost the butter and found it in with the saucepans and my children do not have their own names, just a smattering of sounds made up of a collaboration of both. But, on a serious point - this fog is instilling a panic in me that I really do not need. The anxious mind plays all sorts of tricks on you, where sometimes you are in blind panic and cannot rationalise with anything or anyone. Anxious minds assume the worst and at these times the brain is your own worst enemy, it believes that the forgetful, scatty, scary creature you have become is due to some underlying health issue rather than the natural progression of older age. You begin to worry that you have an onset of a long term illness, perhaps a tumor in your head or the beginning of one of the debilitating dementias – and you can back it up each time you stare blankly at supermarket shelves forgetting what you wanted to buy, or when you are driving somewhere and completely forget the directions even though you have driven the same route for 20 years and have to pull over as you are really scared you are losing it. It is a cycle of despair - normal hormonal changes that are taking place to a healthy 50 something create the anxiety; the pre-existing anxiety diagnosis clashes with the onset of hormones, each feeding each other… Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The anxiety fuels the panic; the panic blanks the mind and the brain says – a-ha! I told you so. Which takes me back to unreasonable behaviour caused when you are in blind panic. It is very hard when you are in it, to see it, but I look back at some of my behaviour over the last year and I can see now if I can’t relax, then others around me won’t. If I am rushing around like a headless chicken, then I am less likely to feel the glasses that are normally perched on my head, or spy the tea-cup next to me on my desk. If I am flitting around the kitchen doing twenty-seven tasks at the same time, of course I am going to break into pieces if I drop or burn something. And if everyone is avoiding the elephant in the room, and leaving her to it, then it doesn’t make it any easier.

After years of being badgered, our hormonal cocktail was given a good old shake and a stir earlier this year with the introduction of a puppy into the fracas. She really is adorable, but no one actually made it that clear at how much hard work puppies are to first time dog owners. Well they may have done, but like childbirth you gloss over the gory bits as a naïve expectant mother-to-be. Puppy – pah! I had had 2 babies – what could be harder than that? Babies at 6 months old don’t pelt across the garden with heroic defiance after stealing a lamb chop from my son’s plate. Babies don’t dig up all of the cabbages you planted. Babies don’t lick their own arse. Or chew your glasses. The puppy’s hormones clashed with mine – a 6-month old puppy has the naughtiness of a 6-year old girl, and a mood and attitude of a 16-year old teenager. I was fighting a losing battle, her stubborn will against mine and she was very much beating me. And up until a few weeks ago when people said – oh it’s the best thing isn’t it, getting a dog? - I would inwardly sigh as my mad puppy was making my already frazzled life pretty hectic. And then I spoke of my woes to a reflexology friend who has helped me through my anxiety journey, who suggested that my puppy is probably feeding off my anxiety, the puppy has no idea what I want. She is trying to fit in with being a human instead of being a dog and getting mixed messages and mixed moods and is just confused. Dogs need calm. Dogs need to be told no firmly and kindly. Dogs need leadership and guidance. Dogs don’t understand the menopause.

I thought about my own children and how all through their childhood, how calm I was and when they were toddlers all the way back then, I was pretty zen. They were laid back kids and still are now, as I was in a state of mind where I could cope, where they knew boundaries and where I was a patient mummy. And I realise how those horrible hormones recently have made me cross and anxious and the puppy is feeding off me - and god, don’t I feel bad. And if the dog is feeding off me then what must the poor old humans that I also share the house with be feeling?

I am changing MY attitude towards the poor little pup – I am learning off her. When I am calm, she is calm. When I do things slowly, she is less manic. I watch her more and I am taking example from her. Dogs don’t need to practice mindfulness, it is natural to them. She is in the moment, she doesn’t dwell on the past, doesn’t worry about the future. She is happiest when chasing butterflies, chewing bones or just sitting watching the birds. She doesn’t fret about burning beans or care where she put her glasses or if she got someone’s name wrong. She is mindful. She is a dog. And we should all try and be more dog.