My Dog, My Son, and the Mirror of My Inner Child

There’s something that’s been building quietly for a while — until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

My dog is driving me mad.

She’s sweet. She’s loyal. She’s also incessantly needy. If I leave the room, she moans. If I sit down, she climbs on me. If I give attention to anything else — especially my son — she gets louder. More urgent. More fused.

And at first, I thought,

“She’s just badly trained.”

But then I noticed something deeper.
A pattern. A mirror.

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🪞 A Living Reflection

My dog doesn’t just follow me.
She clings, like she might disappear if I look away.

And it hit me one day while putting my headphones in to get a moment’s peace:

She’s not just my dog — she’s a living mirror of my inner child.
That part of me that was never quite sure I’d be okay on my own.
That part that felt I had to be fused to someone else in order to matter.
That closeness = safety, and distance = abandonment.

I didn’t teach her to be needy on purpose.
But I did respond every time she moaned.
I gave in to her emotional demands.
I allowed her to regulate through me, instead of teaching her how to settle herself.

Because that dynamic — someone needing me so badly that I can’t even breathe — is disturbingly familiar.

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🧠 When Familiarity Isn’t the Same as Safety

The truth is, chaos feels more familiar than peace sometimes.

So when I sit in silence — when I put on noise-cancelling headphones and finally get a moment of space — part of me doesn’t feel calm.
I feel uneasy. Like something must be wrong.
Like I’m missing something. Or I’m failing someone.

This is the long tail of a childhood where my presence was more valuable than my personhood.
Where being needed meant I was safe.

And now, my dog — without a single word — is bringing it all up.

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👦 And Then There’s My Son

My son is beautiful. And intense. And full of questions.
And sometimes, especially when the dog is competing for attention too, it pushes me past my limit.

And I realise…

I’m not just trying to parent him.
I’m also trying to parent the part of me that never got what he’s asking for.

His needs are real. But so is my wound.
And when those two things collide — it’s like being pulled in two directions, both of which matter.

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🔁 The Pattern I See

• I allow others to attach too tightly.
• I wait until I’m overloaded before I set a boundary.
• I crave peace — but feel like I don’t deserve it.
• I recreate emotional chaos because it feels like home.

And now that I’m building a real home, with real peace and agency…
I’m noticing how foreign it feels.
And how parts of me try to sabotage it.

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🛠️ What I’m Learning

1. My dog is not my trauma — but she reveals it.
   She’s showing me what happens when I don’t set boundaries early.
   And what happens when I confuse responsiveness with regulation.

2. My son is not my inner child — but he activates it.
   And in those moments, I can choose whether to react from my wound…
   or respond from my wiser self.

3. Peace takes practice.
   And it’s okay if it feels awkward, or wrong, or even boring at first.

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🌱 This Is Reparenting

Not just of my son. Not just of my dog.
But of the part of me that’s learning:

“I am allowed to have space.”
“I don’t have to earn it by meeting everyone’s needs.”
“I can give love — and set limits.”
“I am safe, even when things are quiet.”

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I used to think healing was about cutting ties with my past.
Now I see it’s about welcoming what the present is trying to show me — through the creatures and people I love the most.

Even if they moan.
Even if they climb on me.
Even if they drive me mad.

They’re teaching me.
And I’m listening.

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