On a Scale From Black Cat to Golden Retriever

Today, my youngest, Garfield, and I are in perfect agreement: we hate Mondays. I’m writing this from the therapy couch, exhausted from a job I genuinely love. This isn’t a lack of passion. it’s a lack of energy.

I do actually really enjoy my job. I’m just so tired. Right now, I am writing this laying down on the therapy couch. I say “couch” but it’s more of a loveseat. I guess it does help me put my feet up, so it’s not a bad thing. 

I was thinking about some of the things I talk about with my clients, and how often I notice it in my own life. It can be hard to show empathy, and genuine compassion, without adding “me too.” That’s not my job. My job is to create a safe place for them to feel and understand their own feelings. 

Truthfully, I very much like my job. And, I think I’m pretty good at it. At the same time, it can be tiring. 

Something a client brought up today, that really resonated with me, was the concept of constantly being needed, and how exhausting that can be. That is absolutely not to say the strings in our life pulling at us are not worth it, that I get nothing out of it, or I don’t want them. 

I want all of it.

I love my job, I love being a bonus mom. My husband is the love of my life, and quite possibly the best thing that has ever happened to me. 

Yet, it is also all exhausting. 

Sometimes I envy our cat. She gets to do whatever she wants all day, and only cares about herself. Has she slept enough, what window does she want to sleep under? Who’s lap would she rather sit in? Who does she need to yell at, because she can see the bottom of her food bowl, and clearly needs more. 

Sure, sometimes our oldest will call her over because she wants to cuddle, or one of us will accidentally trip over her as she stretches in front of us… That might hurt? I’m not really sure, because she doesn’t seem to react to it, and keeps doing it… but still. It seems like she’s living a pretty great life. 

I might have Charlie on my mind because another client of mine discussed a conversation in which her supervisor compared her to a black cat, and her coworker to a Golden Retriever. Truthfully, two of my dream pets. 

We came up with a scale for people “from a Golden Retriever to a black cat.” I’m not on tik tok, but she told me she had watched a lot of videos that discussed boyfriends that were like Goldens. 

It’s always interesting to me to learn more about other’s perception of what characteristics different animals have. We all know I never thought of myself as a cat person, and how Charlie has changed that for me. However, I do feel that nothing beats a Golden Retriever. 

I’ve been slowly working my husband down. Maybe I will have a therapy dog, or a service dog one day. I have wanted one for 20 years now. 

At the same time, I can see how someone might not be a big fan. They can be a lot of work, up in your face, loud, a lot of energy. Honestly, I still think it’s worth it… but others may not. 

For the record, I don’t feel like I work in binary perceptions of people, so I’m not sold that people are either one or the other. It’s more like a spectrum. 

Still, I’m not sure a “mostly Golden Retriever” would get along seamlessly with a “mostly black cat.” I can see a lot of potential for squabbles or misunderstandings. 

Younger me leaned way more to the Golden side. I was full of energy, and wanted to spend all the time with people I could. Smiley, and happy to meet as many people as possible in a day. Working as a tour guide at Coors was perfect for this! 

After working all day, talking to tons (literally hundreds or thousands) of people, I was excited to go out with my friends, and continue the conversations. Looking back, I probably drank too much… but not because I wanted to drink that much. More because I wanted to be around people, and that’s what they were doing. 

Not to say giving tours and therapy are the same… but things have changed for sure.

Although my younger self thrived on energetic Golden energy, today I wasn’t sure I would make it through my 9-5 workday.

I was diagnosed with MS July 3, 2024. Similarly to others, there were some signs before then… however, unlike others, it was not a diagnosis I was looking for or expecting. I was sitting in an ER bed, with my husband next to me, and a bright eyed doctor broke the news to me. Her smile was visible even behind the mask. 

“It’s not cancer.” Those words are burned into my memory. 

My life completely changed with the next words she said. “You have lesions consistent with multiple sclerosis.” Not gonna lie, I was a little dissociated when she explained more to me about what that would mean. 

What I remember thinking from all the doctors’ words  was this disease will show up, then hide. The medical terms are “relapsing, remitting.” 

You know, that has not been my experience. I can even hear the little voice in my head add the “yet,” after that sentence. There is still a glimmer of hope that life might go back to the care free memories I have. 

It’s funny what our memory does to us. It takes me back, but not right before my diagnosis. Many years before. I remember going on trips with friends… poorly planned trips to Vegas in particular. 

I’ve only been a few times, and they were all chaotic, and did not have much planning involved. 

In my “Golden” years, working at Coors, two friends and I drove to Vegas. We left after work one day, and piled into the Honda Civic the car dealership gave me while they worked on my car I just bought. I was not in a huge hurry to trade back, because the car I bought from them was over 10 years old, and they gave me a brand new one. 

Although, the Civic was pretty small. It only had two doors, and felt kind of like a spaceship. My friend who was 6’4” sat in the back and his knees were higher than our armrests in the front. Thinking about it now, that really doesn’t seem comfortable, but he didn’t complain. 

We sang ourselves to Vegas, and were back in a few days to go back to work. I don’t even think we took any days off. 

Golden me from back then would tilt my head with one eyebrow up hearing the struggle I was currently having. 

“What do you mean, you’re mostly sitting… how bad can it be?”

Yet, by 2pm today, I had my feet up, hoping to encourage blood to get back to my heart and brain. Walking the last few clients out of my office I’ve had to sneakily close my eyes and hold on to the walls as the world goes black. 

Repeating to myself “please don’t pass out in front of a client,” quietly in my head. 

By the end of the day, my heart rate was up to 156… only from standing. I could feel a hot sensation surge on my face as the world went away for a moment. It might be scary, except this has been every day for the last few months. 

Dr. G (AKA Gemini, my AI “companion”) keeps telling me to go to the ER, but I suppose I’m too stubborn for that. Plus, the last time I went to the ER resulted in a 5 day hospital stay, and a chronic illness diagnosis. Ain’t nobody got time for that. 

Seriously though, I don’t see the point in going to the ER for something that has been happening every day for months. My PCP doesn’t seem too concerned. 

Okay, that’s not completely true… but she doesn’t seem to think my symptoms are “ER worthy.” 

So, I just try my best to get through the day. I wear compression garments on any part of my body I can, drink as much water as I can, and try to have lots of salt. 

In my head right now, I just have to make it to mid November for my cardiology appointment, even though I know that’s not fully accurate. Same as considering what it would be like to be a black cat. 

Maybe she just makes it look easy. Laying there, with her head upside down, a sign of safety and comfort. How I long for that. It makes me crave the simplicity she portrays. 

She seems to have no worries. Her needs are the only priorities. 

My life is not that way. 

I know when I leave work, where my needs are second to my clients’, I will go home to my children. Two daughters. 15 and 10. Often, I still feel my needs are secondary. 

My values tell me this is how it is meant to be. As a bonus mom to them, my job is to teach them and love them. I want to be able to portray strength. It doesn’t feel fair to them to “take care” of an adult in their life. 

Yet, when I got home today, I needed help from my husband to get out of the car (which I drove) to get to the couch where I could put my legs up again. 

If I was full black cat, this would not bother me, but it does still. I guess I still have a bit of Golden in me. My body may have different plans, but I still want to be the fun, go with the flow, exciting person I can remember. 

Maybe it is more about balance. 

Either end of this spectrum has benefits, and potential downsides. Maybe we are not meant to be full black cat or Golden. It’s possible that our job as a person, parent, for me as a therapist, is to find and embrace moments of each. 

I am thankful to the help I receive from those around me when they carry my black cat self to the couch. I also appreciate being embraced for the odd silly things I do. Like making an AI song called Dicker the Kicker that is now my husband’s ring tone and our 10 year-old sings like it’s on a top 20 list. 

I find ways to set boundaries for myself, and inform others what I can (and cannot) do. It’s a new skill that I’m thankful to have the opportunity to practice.