Today was difficult.
While on a film shoot for work, I suffered from a trauma response to some early childhood crap that was kicked up recently. The trigger happened at home, followed me into the office like a stowaway, then decided to “flower” just before I had to get to work.
As with most trauma responses, everything happened without so much as a warning and without a shred of grace or reprieve.
Thank goodness for Paris.
Paris (pictured above) is a slow-moving, deaf, 15-year-old Labrador without a care in the world. Turns out, she was the resident “best friend” at the home where we were filming and I immediately found myself sprawled out on the floor, eye to eye, nuzzling into her muzzle and exchanging affection.
Paris is not a professionally trained support animal, but I nevertheless soaked up her energy like a thirsty sponge.
I‘m pretty upset by what happened to me today. But I’m grateful that Paris was there. And I’m grateful that I knew well-enough to get on the floor, look her in the eye, and draw strength from her.
You should know, none of this made any sense to me until the day was almost over and I could hide somewhere and unpack things. That’s when I realized what was happening.
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