Author: Aimee Eddy

Mental illness can be debilitating, leaving those who suffer with lack of energy, paralyzing fears, lack of will to take care of themselves, inability to make rational decisions, and more. Some can push through the symptoms that leave them feeling useless while for others illness is so bad they need constant care. The family members of many who struggle with mental illness believe they cannot do anything for themselves. Family members take over their care and cater to them like they are helpless children when they are not. Mental illness is debilitating, but that doesn’t make all who suffer with it helpless.

When my illness was at its worst, I couldn’t sleep, I had a hard time keeping food down, I was fatigued, I couldn’t make decisions easily, and my thinking was irrational, yet I forced myself to get up each day and go to college. I fought to keep awake during my classes and I got sick in between classes, but I kept good grades. My illness tried to keep me down, but I pushed myself to go on. After classes, I hid in my room. I self-injured, I planned my death, and I cried uncontrollably, and yet I still found a way to study. I even got good grades.

It would have been easy for me to just give up and fail out of college. Unfortunately, many who struggle with mental illness do give in and their families stand by and allow them. Some believe their sick family members need to be waited on and allowed to just give in. They see the ones struggling as helpless when they are not.

I know a woman who has a sister with mental illness. The sister gets depressed and sleeps the day away. The healthy one takes care of her sister and waits on her as if she’s helpless. The sick sister has no responsibilities and no reason to fight her illness. Why fight when she has someone to make excuses while she sleeps all day, someone to cook all her meals, someone to make decisions for her, and someone who comes running when she needs something? The sister of the sick one believes she’s helping her by catering to her when she’s only taking away her sister’s reasons to fight.

The one thing that kept me getting out of bed when I was at my worst was my purpose. When I was in college, my purpose was attending classes and passing one way or another. I lived with my grandparents and kept my illness a secret from them. They helped me without even knowing it. They bragged to family and friends how well I was doing in college. This encouraged me to keep going to classes and to study. When you are struggling with mental illness, you need encouragement and tasks that give you a reason to keep going on.

When I got bad, I did move home and took a year off from college. My parents could have told me, “You’re sick, so just go to therapy and don’t worry about anything else.” Instead they insisted I get a job while I was on leave. My parents never viewed me as helpless. They knew I needed their assistance in making sure I took my medication, they reminded me to take care of myself and made sure I ate healthy meals, but they never did everything for me. They gave me reasons to get up each day and they encouraged me to keep moving forward when I felt like I couldn’t. I made meals for my parents, I took care of my own bills, I helped my mom around the house, and I went to work.

Having things to do, a job to go to, and a reason to get out of bed gave me reasons to not give up on myself and my recovery. No matter how much I wanted to lie in bed and sleep all day, I couldn’t because I had a purpose. If my parents didn’t give me that reason, I would have been like the woman I described above. I would have just sunk deeper into my mental illness and given up. Instead, with my parent’s encouragement, I fought my way to recovery.

Mental illness makes living a normal life hard, but for most, it doesn’t make you helpless. Being catered to, others making excuses for your actions, taking away your responsibilities, and others making decisions for you strips you of your purpose in life. The best thing a loved one can do for someone who is mentally ill is to encourage him and her to get out of bed, to take control of his or her life, to give him or her responsibilities, and to help him or her feel useful.

The stigma that a person with mental illness can’t work, can’t take care of him or herself, and can’t live productive lives is false. There are cases when the person struggling is so bad, they need constant care, but this isn’t true for all who have mental illness. For many, recovery can be reached with medication and therapy. There are successful people in our society who pushed past their sickness and fought for recovery to be an important part of society. We are not helpless and useless people whom society can turn their backs on. We are nurses, CEOs, bus drivers, cashiers, college students, actresses, hair stylists, and much more.

If you have a family member who is struggling with mental illness, encourage him or her to get up, give the person responsibilities, and be there to help, but not to do everything for him or her. Having things for the person who is struggling to do gives them purpose and a reason to keep going. Encourage the one suffering to reach recovery and to live a productive life. You can help your loved one, but don’t do everything for him or her.

My husband helps me manage my mental illness and he takes good care of me, but he encourages me to do things for myself. My parents did the same when I was at my worst. Because my loved ones never treated me like I was useless, but instead encouraged me, I stand in the light of recovery smiling.

With Easter weekend I didn’t get a chance to write a post this week, but I have good news to share with you. My editor, Catherine McLean, finished editing my memoir!! The next step is to read through my memoir to see how well it works with the edits and prepare three chapters and a query to submit to ant press. Ant press specializes in memoir. They reply within two weeks. There is a possibility I will get a rejection letter. If I get a rejection letter I will just keep submitting until I get a acceptance letter.

The process to publication may be a long one but I am taking the steps and I will not give up. I will keep you posted on my progress.

I hope you all had a wonderful Easter. I will have a new post for you next week. Remember He’s Risen!! Happy Easter.

On Tuesday my Esther had surgery to remove a stone from her bladder. We had to take her to the vet between 8:00 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. and leave her there. We arrived ten minutes before eight and waited for them to unlock the door. Esther whimpered and shook all the way there, and when we got inside, she tucked her tail between her legs and shook. She knew she was in a place she didn’t want to be. We kissed her and hugged her goodbye and as the technician tried to walk her back, she pulled towards us. I swallowed a tear as we left.

At home I took a nap and dreamt about Esther having surgery. I dreamt that they called and said they couldn’t save her. Lou woke me up at 1:00 p.m. and I called the vet. Esther had just gotten out of surgery and everything went well. They instructed us to pick her up at 3:00 p.m.

She was groggy when we brought her home. I put her on the couch and covered her up with a blanket. She slept and only lifted her head a couple times to look at me.

Not too long after we got Esther, I had a detached tendon repaired in my ankle. Soon as I got home from the hospital, she was at my side lying next to me on the couch. She’s stayed at my side during a mastectomy, hysterectomy, and carpal tunnel surgery. With each surgery she watched over me, comforted me, and smothered me with love.

Esther is always taking care of me. She snuggles with me when I’m sad, she lays her head on my chest and nudges my hand with her nose when I cry, she keeps me from getting lonely when I’m by myself, and she always knows when I need extra love. She is my therapy. She gives me the comfort I need as I deal with mental illness. She’s the child I can’t have, and I owe her for all that she has done for me. Taking care of her during her recovery is the least I can do for her.

The vet technician said not to let her run or jump. I worried about her doing all the steps in our home, too so I carried her around like a baby for several days. Up and down stairs and I lifted her on and off the couch. On Friday the vet called to tell me that Esther’s stone resulted an infection. They also told me she was able to do steps. I was glad. Carrying a thirteen-pound dog around made my shoulders and back hurt, but I would have kept doing it if I had to.

Keeping a seven-year-old dog from jumping has been a challenge. I turn around for one minute and she jumps off the couch. When my husband goes to work in the morning I have him put Esther in bed with me, but she won’t stay. She knows she’s not allowed in the bed while he’s home. I put her down and she goes to her bed. I fall back to sleep and when I wake up, she’s back in bed with me. She waits until my husband is gone and then jumps up onto the bed. Each time she jumps I check her stitches to make sure she hasn’t broken any open.

When she must go potty, I put a leash on her to walk her around the yard, so she won’t run. She thinks she should go for a walk and pulls towards the gate to our fenced in yard. I have to walk her several times around the yard until she decides to go. Sometimes she tries to stand on her back legs and put her front paws on my leg. I try to instruct her to stay down.

Taking care of her after her surgery is the least I can do after all the times she has taken care of me through my surgeries. I’m not sure if she knows how much she has helped me and continues to help me. She’s more than a dog to me and I would do anything to keep her well. She fills my heart with love and light. She makes my days brighter.

The good news is she is healing well and is no longer peeing blood. She doesn’t need to go out as often, she has less accidents, and she no longer strains to pee. Knowing she is feeling better makes me feel good. On April 20, we must take her back to the vet to check her incision and her urine. If the infection is completely gone, we can take her off the prescription food and put her on Purina. The prescription food costs a hundred dollars. Purina will be much cheaper.

In June of 2016 my dog Elli slipped a disk in her back which paralyzed her back end. She was in a lot of pain, and we had to make the awful decision to put her down. I took her death harshly and I cried over the phone to my mom, telling her I couldn’t keep putting my baby dogs down. I told her I was never getting another dog again. As time passed my grief lessened and Lou insisted we start looking for another dog. He knew I needed the emotional support a dog gave me.

In November we started making trips to a local animal shelter. We looked at several dogs, but none of them was right. Many of the dogs were big ones and I wanted one that would snuggle up on my lap. We kept up our search. A few days after Thanksgiving we went back to the shelter. Lou went to the bathroom. He told me to go ahead and look around and when he was done, we’d choose a dog together.

I walked around looking at dogs of several sizes. Then all the dogs began barking except for this little black dog with white on her face, paws. and belly. She shied away in the corner of her cage. I walked over and read the name on the cage. It said her name was Esther and she was two years old. My heart melted and it was like God whispered in my ear, “She’s the one I made for you.”

When Lou came in from the bathroom, I pointed at Esther and said, “I want her.”

Lou looked at me. “I thought we were choosing together. I haven’t even had a chance to look around.”

“I know, but she’s the one. See if you can find someone,” I said.

Lou wasn’t so sure about Esther, but he went and got a worker at the shelter. We took her to a small room where we could hold her and see how she reacted to us. She went straight to me. She gave me kisses and snuggled up in my arms. That day we adopted her. When we took her home, she didn’t want much to do with Lou. Lou wasn’t sure if he liked her, but in time she warmed up to him. She started laying her head on his chest and nudging his hand with her nose until he petted her.

I decided that having children with my mental illness would not be a good idea. With my anxiety and struggles with handling stress, taking care of a baby would have been too much. Then postpartum depression would have been crippling for me. My dogs became the only children I could have. When we adopted Esther, she became our child. Plus, she, like my prior dogs, became my therapy dog. 

Esther is a snuggler. She loves to snuggle up on my lap and nudge my hand until I pet her. She gets mad at me if I have something other than her on my lap. I sit on the couch with my computer on a lap desk to do my writing. She sits at the other end staring at me, and when I look up at her she turns away. It’s as if she’s saying, “Mommy, how dare you have that thing on your lap. That’s my place.”

Esther loves visitors. When people come to visit, she runs to them and stands on her back legs begging for attention. When people sit on our couch, she goes from lap to lap for pets. She loves people. When we go for walks, she allows all the neighborhood kids to give her pets.

Esther is a very quiet and well-mannered dog. She hardly ever barks, and when she does it surprises us. She doesn’t bark at me when she’s hungry. Instead, she jumps up and down on me like I’m a trampoline. She loves to give me kisses. She also thinks she must clean me by licking my clothes.

When I cry, she lays her head on my chest and nudges me until I pet her. When I was laid up from surgeries, she sat at my side and refused to leave me. My husband had to feed her on the couch beside me and carry her outside to go potty. She follows me around the house even to the bathroom. She lies beside the tub when I take a shower. At night she sleeps in her own bed and when Lou goes to work in the morning, she gets in bed with me and sleeps beside me.

One day Lou and I went to our great niece’s birthday party and when we came home, we saw blood in her crate. It was a Sunday, and no vets were open, so I called the emergency vet. They said to make sure I got her into my vet the next day, but my vet was booked. I called all over Erie until I found a vet that would take her. The vet examined her, got a urine sample, and took a sonogram. They showed us the sonogram image. Our baby girl had a stone in her bladder the size of an egg. She’s only a thirteen-pound dog. They gave us medication and told us of a prescription food to help break down the stone.

A week later she was still bleeding a lot when she peed, so we took her back. The vet took a urine sample to send to a lab and said her stone was getting bigger and she needs surgery. My husband’s hours were cut badly at work, and he just started a second job. Money has been tight. Paying for her surgery would be a struggle, but we are willing to do anything to get our baby better. So, we started a Gofundme account. So far, we have raised $700.00 of the $1000.00 we need.

Esther is our baby and my therapy dog. We will do whatever it takes to get her better. Esther’s love and snuggles keeps me standing in the light of recovery.

If you would like to donate towards getting Esther better, here is the link to her Gofundme account. Fundraiser by Aimee Eddy : Help Esther get surgery (gofundme.com)

I’m sure you have been wondering how I have been doing on the editing process of my manuscript. I know my family, friends and customers are always asking about how my memoir is coming along. My parents are waiting to read it, but I’m making them wait until my book is published. I admit the process of editing is taking longer than I expected, but I’m lucky to have and had two wonderful editors.

The editor I’m working with now, Catherine McLean, is very good at finding the small details I didn’t think about and finding cause and effect. Cause and effect is when one action causes another one. It’s like when a child falls, causing her to scrape her knee and cry. It seems simple, right? In writing a story, it isn’t so easy. Catherine seems to find a lot of problems with cause and effect in my manuscript. In some cases I must rearrange a sentence and in others I have to add a few words or a new sentence. This leads to a lot of thinking and writing and rewriting until I get it right.

Some chapters have few errors, and some have many. Editing is a lot of work. When my first editor, Kathy Otten, sent back my manuscripts with her edits, I thought I had done an awful job at self-editing. I also wondered if my memoir was any good. I had to remind myself this was just another part of the process of making my memoir even better. Once I did the edits, I thought it was in good shape until I sent it to Catherine. Catherine found things wrong that I didn’t even think about like the color of my shirt, how I could see the closet at night in my bedroom, and of course cause and effects.

I asked Catherine if my memoir was any good after I saw all her edits. She replied that my manuscript was worth her and my time. She complimented me on how I was able to fix problems with just one sentence. She told me I’m a fantastically good writer. Her encouragements makes me feel better about my writing and the process of editing.

I just finished editing chapters 28 and 29. Hopefully Monday and Tuesday I will be able to work on editing chapter 30. Once I send the three chapters back, I will only have two more chapters to edit. Wait! Don’t get too excited. After I’m done with the last two chapters, Catherine will go through the memoir a second time to look for any other mistakes and to tie up any loose ends. I just hope in the second round she will not find too much for me to fix.

I have my query letter written. A query letter is like a sales pitch to publishers. The letter tells about my memoir and my qualifications to have written it. I must make the finishing touches on it. When my manuscript is done with the editing process, I will send the query letter and three chapters to a publisher. If the publisher likes what he or she reads, he or she will request the whole manuscript.

Finding a publisher takes a lot of research. My friend and mentor, Amy Bovaird, gave me information about a publisher who specializes in memoirs. I am also researching other publications just in case I get the dreaded rejection letter. Rejection letters are also a part of the publication process. Even J.K. Rowling received rejection letters until her first Harry Potter novel got published.

I’m getting closer to finishing the editing process, but as you can see, I have a long way to go until I hold my published book in my hand. Since high school I have dreamed of having a book published, and I am determined to make that happen. In time I will hold my book, Escape to the Family Garage: Family Love Overcomes Bullying. The title could change. Sometimes publishers change the titles we authors have given our manuscript.

I will strive to get my memoir published and make it a success when it is published. My writing helps me help others and is a form of therapy to me. It helps me stand tall in the light of recovery.

Times are tough. There is a lot going on in our country and in the world. First Covid spread across the world, then shortages plagued our businesses, then people fighting over politics raided the capital, then Russia declared war on Ukraine, and inflation and rising gas prices struck many countries including ours. All of these have taken a toll on people, creating worrying, anxiety, fear, and sadness. Worries plague us all and hit those with mental illness even harder.

I’m a worrier. My husband is always reassuring me that things will be okay. My friend Cheryl says we do a kind of song and dance. I text her my worries, she reassures me with texts, and we do this several times until I calm down. Everything I worry about always turns out for the good and Lou and Cheryl say, “See, we told you everything would be alright.”

When Lou and I were first married, the worries were so bad I would lose sleep, have anxiety attacks, and fall apart. With therapy and my support system, the worrying had gotten better and less debilitating. This year those debilitating worries are threatening to overtake me again. We’ve been having a tough time financially. Things at Lou’s job have changed, and this has taken a toll on our finances. On top of that we’re still paying on some bills from when I had back surgery, our furnace is squealing, and other bills are adding up.

My worries have become like a nagging voice in my mind telling me negative things, obsessing on the same things, making things out to be worse than they are, and embellishing the problems. Once the voice of my worries gets started, it refuses to stop. My muscles tighten, my chest aches, my anxiety heightens, and I lose sleep even with sleeping medication. The voices shout at me, ramping up my fears, and I feel like curling up in a ball. It’s so agonizing to fight the voices. My whole body feels the power of a small worry that turns into a huge one.

In 2020 I started a business by chance. While laid up from back surgery I coped by woodburning Christmas ornaments, and when I said I would give one to a friend, she offered to buy it. Before I knew it, I was selling ornaments, plaques, canvas wrist purses, and much more. I started a group on Facebook to sell my work and my business: “Aimee’s Woodburnings” was started. I love to woodburn and it has been my coping technique through some of my surgeries and is now helping me cope with the worrying.

During Christmas I sold forty-two ornaments. Then during January my sales slowed. In February they began to pick up. This month I have had several orders plus an order for twenty-five crosses. I can’t draw anything but stick figures, so I use patterns to create my designs. There is nothing more exciting to me than the challenge to come up with a design my customers would love. Sometimes I cut patterns and use several of them to create a design. This gets my mind thinking about other things then my worries.

For the crosses I use stencils to put the words “He’s Risen” across the middle of the cross and stencils to decorate the top and bottom half of the crosses. Woodburning relieves my stress and keeps my mind occupied. I get excited when a customer requests something special. My mind starts thinking of what patterns I can use to fill the request. It feels like I have reached a euphoria. I flip through my patterns, I pick the patterns I need, I make copies on my printer, I cut them and position them, and I tape them and carbon paper to the wood. Finally, I trace them to the wood and then I burn them. All of this takes concentration which keeps the worries away.

The money from my small business was originally meant to go towards getting my memoir published, but during these hard times it has helped with groceries and necessities. My small business has been helping me fight my obsessive worrying from getting too overwhelming, and it has helped us out financially. I just love how an idea or a pattern can transform into a beautiful piece of work. It brings me joy to sell my work to people who can give them as gifts or use them to decorate their homes. With each woodburning I feel my worries drift away. I get so engulfed in my work I forget what was bothering me in the first place.

What crafts or activities in your life makes you happy? What things do you like to do that keep your mind occupied? If you’re struggling with overwhelming worries and anxiety, turn to the things that help you cope and keep your mind busy. Find something you enjoy and when worries voice starts nagging you, do that craft or activity that distracts the mind and lifts your spirits. If this doesn’t help with your worrying and your having problems with anxiety and panic attacks, talk to a therapist or psychiatrist.

My small business is therapy to me, and I love doing it. Each order I get helps burn away my worries. Aimee’s Woodburnings helps me stand radiantly in the light of recovery.

If you want to know more about my business leave me a comment.

BY Julie Eddy

I will not be led

Astray or abused

By the vipers of

This world

Their tongues will strike

I will fight

With all my might

Until all the pain

Is gone

I shall shine

From within as the

Truth has won

This poem is written by my mother Julie Eddy. God has touched her soul with poetry. She is a wonderful woman who raised four children. She has eight grandchildren, two great grandchildren, and a third grandchild on the way. She loves antiques and has been married to my dad for fifty-one years. She is a kind woman who gives her heart and soul to her family and friends. I am honored to share her poem with you on my blog.

I’ve written about cognitive distortions in several past blog posts. When struggling with depression, it’s important to know what cognitive distortions are and which ones you struggle with. Many people struggle with a distortion called personalization. It’s when you put the blame on yourself for negative events that are out of your control. This type of thinking leads to a lot of guilt and anguish.

I’ve struggled with personalization throughout my life. In school I struggled with making friendships and when I did make friends, they either turned their backs on me or moved away. When a friend moved away, I blamed myself. My friends moved because I was a loser who deserved to be alone. My friends never wrote me even though I gave them my address because I was a worthless friend to them. Everything was my fault. This caused me a lot of guilt and internal pain. I felt that I wasn’t worthy of friendships. I caused them to leave me. What I didn’t take into consideration was that maybe their parents got better jobs and maybe they didn’t write because they lost my address.

In seventh grade my uncle was in an accident. When I found out about the accident, I wished he’d be injured so kids at school would pay attention to me. When we got the news, he died I automatically blamed myself. I was convinced for the longest time that I was an evil person who wished her own uncle dead. I struggled with this for several years. In eighth grade I struggled with it so much that I thought I was having a mental break down. The guilt and anguish of taking the blame ripped me apart inside. My uncle was run over by a man who had been drinking, yet I blamed myself. It took a school therapist to help me see I was not to blame.

For the longest time when plans with a friend or family member got canceled, I would have a break down. I’d go on a self-destructive path of blaming myself and punishing myself. They canceled because I’m boring to hang around with. Who would like to do something with such an awful person like me? It’s all my fault they canceled. I would curl up in a ball and cry and berate myself. I would try to figure out what I did wrong to make the person not want to be around me. I didn’t even consider that maybe an emergency came up or the person wasn’t feeling well. To me the only possible reason for the plans ending was because I did something wrong.

Blaming myself for things that were out of my control put a lot on my shoulders. I internalized the guilt, the self-hate, and pain. The feelings tore me up inside. Years of blaming myself for the negative events in my life took a toll on me. It led to a lot of crying, to self-injuring, and self-berating, and it was all unnecessary. I tortured myself for no reason.

It’s hard to argue distortive thinking. When the mind is sick, it feels like you have lost all control of your ability to think and reason. Your mind takes on a life of its own. You feel like you’re trapped within its evil wrath, but you’re not. You can fight your thoughts. It’s not easy. First step is to Google cognitive distortions or get the book, Feeling Good The New Mood Therapy by David D. Burns, M.D. and identify the cognitive distortions you struggle with. Once you have identified them, talk to a therapist about how you can learn ways to change this type of thinking.

In therapy I talked about how I used personalization. We talked about situations where I blamed myself for something bad that happened. My therapist helped me learn to reason with myself. I’d write down the situation in my journal and then I would write out the reasons why the event could have gone wrong. Like when my uncle died, I wrote down: a drunk driver ran him over, a wish can’t kill a person, I had no control over how my uncle died and could not have caused his death. Therefore, I was not to blame for his death. It was an awful accident that was out of my control.

My friend canceled our plans to meet for dinner. In my journal I wrote down: she could have been called to work, she may have had a family emergency, her car may not have started, or she may not be feeling well. Writing down the reasons my friend could have canceled helped me avoid guilt and pain.

This sounds easy, but it’s not. Just writing these down doesn’t just make those feeling burning inside you disappear. You also must fight your urge to blame yourself. You have to remind yourself repeatedly that you are not the blame for things that are out of your control. Battling the sick mind is very hard, but you can do it. A therapist will also have other ways you can change cognitive distortions. Your mind doesn’t have to control you: take control of it.

I still find myself struggling at times with cognitive distortions and when I do, I journal, and I talk to my support system. I stand in the light of recovery because I’m willing to fight and take control of my mind.

EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DOGS

We have all heard of service dogs who help disabled individuals with such tasks as being the eyes for a blind person, helping a person in a wheelchair reach things, helping someone with walking, and so on. There are also emotional support dogs who help people with mental illness. These dogs must be prescribed by a mental health professional like a psychiatrist, psychologist, or a therapist. These dogs develop a special connection with people who struggle with mental illness. They give them something to focus on, they give compassion, they help ease anxiety, they give companionship, and much more.

All dogs give endless love; they give you a reason to get out of bed and they seem to know when you are sad, hurting, or sick. Dogs are very good at sensing what their human owners are feeling and what they need. Any dog of any age can be an emotional support dog. They are not technically emotional support dogs unless prescribed, but if your dog gives you the emotional support you need, then she or he is to you your emotional support dog.

Someone I know was recently prescribed an emotional support dog. This made me think of the dogs I’ve had in my life. They weren’t prescribed to me, but they gave me the emotional support I needed to deal with my depression, anxiety, and Borderline Disorder. Each dog supported me in different stages of my illnesses. They gave me the love, comfort, support, and strength to face mental illness.

My first dog came to me during one of the darkest times in my life. I was living with my abusive ex-boyfriend. He had a dog that he protected fiercely but didn’t take good care of. The dog was a pest and often flea-ridden. I couldn’t stand the dog. When my boyfriend brought home another dog named Daisy, who had been sprayed by a skunk, I was mad. She was a dachshund whom the neighbors found wandering the neighborhood. She was determined to be my dog. She nudged my hand with her nose until I pet her, she followed me around the house, and slept beside me.

My need for Daisy’s comfort grew the more abusive my boyfriend became, and the sicker I got. When I lay in bed with no willpower, she nudged me with her nose until I got up. She gave me endless love and snuggled in my arms when I cried. She was determined to show my boyfriend she hated him by pooping under his desk, ripping things of his apart, and even nipping at him. When I was hospitalized, she wouldn’t eat and that gave me a reason to get better so I could come home to her.

After Daisy passed on it took me a while before I was ready for another fur baby. When I was ready, my parents told me if I picked out a dog, they would help me with the costs for adoption. I found a picture of a rat terrier named Brandi online. My mom took me to see her, and I just knew she had to be mine. Brandi was a younger dog than Daisy and required more exercise and play time. She kept me active. She gave me a reason to go for walks, to play fetch, and to keep moving each day. She gave me extra attention when I dipped down into depression episodes. I was past the worst of my illness when I got Brandi, but I was stuck in an endless loop of depression. Brandi gave me a reason to keep fighting.

Brandi didn’t like men, but when I started dating my husband Lou, she warmed right up to him. When we got married, I had a hard time being alone when Lou was at work, and I worked later or had days off. I had difficulties adjusting to the new life I was living. Brandi gave me companionship. She made the lonely days more bearable and gave me a reason to get out of the house by giving her walks. She gave me something to focus on.

After Brandi passed my heart broke, but Lou knew how much I needed the strength, love, and support from a dog. He saw a dog on the news and recorded the section about the dog. When I came home from work, he showed me a clip about a Jack Russell named Elli. I just had this feeling she had to be mine. I had my sister-n-law take me to the animal shelter a half hour before it opened so I could make sure I was the first to adopt her. Jack Russells are known to be a high energy dog, but Elli was so mild and loving. She was much smaller than my other dogs and loved to cuddle.

I was working towards recovery when Elli came into my life, but I was struggling with obsessive worries about finances and other things. I began having anxiety attacks that made me sick. Elli’s endless love and snuggles gave me comfort. She knew when I was having a rough time and she snuggled right up to me. The feel of her soft fur beneath my hand and her warm body in my lap helped ease some of my anxiety. She gave me strength to find help for my anxiety attacks. As I went through tests to rule out other medical conditions and started on medication to help with my anxiety, I had my Elli to snuggle up with. She gave me strength, comfort, and support.

Six months after Elli died, we found Esther at an animal shelter. Once again, I saw her and knew she was the one I wanted. Not too long after I got her, I had a tendon repaired in my ankle. Each day I lay on the couch and she lay beside me. When my husband tried to get her to go outside or eat, she refused to leave me. My husband had to carry her out or feed her on the couch beside me. Since she’s been in our lives, she’s stuck at my side through breast cancer, back surgery, and carpal tunnel surgery. For each surgery she has brought me comfort with the emotional roller coasters the surgeries put me through. She snuggled up to me when I cried over the loss of my breasts. She always knows when I’m hurt, sad, sick, or just need extra attention.

If your therapist prescribes an emotional support dog, then find the right dog for you. Even if you’re not prescribed one, then find a dog of your own. Dogs are great emotional support. If you’re not a dog person, investigate another pet.

My dogs were never prescribed to me, but they were and are my emotional support dogs. Each one played an important role in helping me reach recovery. I stand in the light of recovery with Esther at my side and the memories of my Daisy, Brandi, and Elli in my heart.