By Lindsay

I write this post to remind you of this simple truth: you never know what someone else is going through.

In 2017, God brought the most special dog into our family. We adopted her from the Prince William County animal shelter. She needed us, and we needed her. We renamed her Thea on the drive home from the shelter. I believe God brought Thea to us to help me through a difficult season of life.

From 2018 to part of 2020, I was in the thick of it.

I was dealing with having to wait to have children because we were not financially ready, then infertility and a miscarriage when we were able to start trying. I was working a mentally and emotionally taxing job five days a week in close quarters to a coworker who was nasty to me everyday. Getting through the work week drained me.

The bright spot of my daily routine was my time with Thea. I woke up before work and we went for walks in the quiet cool of the beginning of the day. I went home on my lunch break to let her out and do a short walk. After work, I rushed home to walk her, then fix dinner, then cuddle her and watch TV to zone out after a long day. Thea was my emotional support through the tough times. She had the most amazing demeanor and spirit.

Those who know me very well know that I am a mama through and through. It’s just who I am and how I am. We did not have human children while we had her, so Thea became my baby. When I struggled with the weight of infertility, and when I miscarried our first baby, she laid in bed with me while I cried for days. She brought me so much comfort, joy and purpose on days when I felt like I had none.

When I left for work in the mornings, I would go outside right when I had to leave. I learned quickly my timing mattered, because our next door neighbor would stop me to talk if he was outside when I was leaving.

The way I ran my morning schedule meant that I didn’t have time to talk, so I never lingered and I was short in replies. But, he never seemed to notice the subtle hints I made.

What made it even more difficult was that literally every time he spoke to me, he complained about his children. Being in the trenches of infertility, hearing someone be so negative about their children was difficult for me.

He did not know me well enough to know what I was going through. I knew that not everyone viewed children as I did, as special miracles knitted together by God. Worthy of being cherished, not a burden. So I tried to let it roll off my back. But one day, I hit my limit.

This particular morning I was a few minutes behind. I was rushing out to my car, hoping to avoid him. Timing was not on my side that day. “Good morning!” I said with a tone indicating the greeting was a passing formality, not an invitation to conversation. I ran to my passenger door and threw my bags in. He returned the greeting then ranted about his children and complained about being tired as I ran around to the driver door to get into my car. “Yes, I’m tired too,” I said in reply as I started the engine and buckled my seat belt. I was about to say have a good day, then shut my door and reverse out of my driveway. He turned around from his car, looked me in the eye, made a face and said in a condescending tone, “Dogs don’t count as kids.”

I froze for a moment. While I knew that he didn’t know we had been trying for a baby with no luck, it struck me hard. It felt like a slap in the face, a reminder of all the negative pregnancy tests.

I hadn’t compared the two. I was just returning his last comment back at him to get on with my day.

From our conversations, it did not seem like he was grateful to have his children. I knew parenting would not be easy, but I was up for the challenge. I would be so grateful for God knitting together just one baby for me. This man had two and literally never said one positive thing about them to me. Maybe he did cherish his children and mornings were rough for him. It still seemed like a harsh and unkind response.

The mental and emotional weight I was carrying snapped the feeble the supports my heart sat on that morning. Being a mother was something I wanted so badly, but I didn’t know if it would ever happen. For all I knew, our dog would be the closest thing to us having a child.

All I could do is roll up my window and leave. After that, I unapologetically avoided conversing with him whenever I saw him.

On another occasion, my husband and I posted a photo on social media of him carrying Thea upstairs for bed, captioned with something to the effect of about her being tired and Daddy carrying her up to bed. A friend of my husband’s girlfriend commented an eye rolling emoji with the comment, “Someone needs to have a baby.”

I didn’t know if my husband had told his friend we were dealing with infertility. If his friend new, I didn’t know if he had told his girlfriend. If she knew, I hoped she wouldn’t have been so callous.

But there it was, yet another bucket of ice water over my head, the longing stinging my heart.

Thea being my baby was how I was dealing. She loved the attention. Was it really hurting anyone, or warranting such insensitive comments?

No.

On the other side of being blessed with human motherhood, I can say having human children is quite different from pet parenting. But, it doesn’t change the fact that a dog can hold a very special place in your heart. If you don’t have human children and you feel that your dog is like your child, I respect that. Dogs have the intelligence of human toddlers, so it can make sense to label them that way. While some people would disagree with that or may struggle to understand, they should still respect the dynamics of your family.

So if you notice that someone is treating their dog like their child, it may very well be because their dog is their child. Maybe they have not been able to have their own human children, or maybe they had a human child who passed away. You may not know them well enough to know their circumstances, so keep that in mind before making potentially abrasive comments.

My point is this: choose to be kind.