I Found Myself

Chapter 8: Paws and Reflect

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After a year of living in Milwaukee with my mother, I thought I had found some semblance of stability. It wasn't perfect, but it was safe. I was working at a busy veterinary clinic in the heart of the city, which kept me on my toes. The work was demanding, filled with constant motion—appointments, surgeries, treatments, and emergencies. The energy of the clinic was infectious, but as much as I loved the fast-paced nature of the job, there was a part of me that knew I was still searching for something more.

I had spent so much time running away from my past and the pain it held that I hadn't really stopped to ask myself what it was that I truly wanted. I had been focused on survival for so long that I never gave myself the space to think about fulfillment, purpose, or happiness. But as I worked with the animals in the clinic, I started to feel a pull toward something different—a deeper desire to make a difference in the lives of animals and people alike. The way animals could heal, comfort, and provide unconditional love stirred something inside me.

And so, after some contemplation, I decided to change my career. I wanted to become a veterinary technician. I wanted to help animals in a more hands-on way, using my knowledge and compassion to make a tangible difference. I enrolled in a local college and began my studies in veterinary technology.

The first semester was everything I had hoped for. I loved the curriculum, the practical skills I was learning, and the people I was meeting. I felt like I was on the right path, finally doing something that felt true to who I was. But somewhere along the way, something started to shift. I couldn't put my finger on it at first, but I began to notice that working with animals, the very thing I had believed would bring me peace, was starting to stir up emotions I didn't expect.

It was like I had put my whole heart into healing the animals, and yet there was still a part of me that felt empty, a part of me that couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Why, if working with animals truly helped people heal, did it still hurt so much for me to care for them? Why was I left feeling drained, emotionally overwhelmed, and even a bit numb at times?

The more I reflected on it, the more I realized something I had been avoiding for so long: despite all the progress I had made, despite all the work I had put into my emotional healing, there was a part of me that was still broken. The child inside me, the one who had been ignored, abandoned, and hurt, was still crying out. That pain, that trauma, was buried deep within me, and no amount of working with animals could fix it.

It was a revelation that shook me to my core. I had spent so long focusing on external changes—moving away, changing jobs, shifting careers—that I hadn't given myself the time or space to confront the emotional wounds I was carrying. I had assumed that by building a new life, I would somehow become whole again, but that wasn't the case. The wounds were still there, still raw, still influencing my choices and actions.

I began to question myself: Why am I not feeling complete yet? What am I missing?  Working with animals had been a balm for my soul, but it wasn't a cure-all. It was helping, yes, but there was something deeper that I hadn't fully addressed. Why was I feeling so disconnected? Why did I feel like there was something else out there that I needed to pursue in order to find the peace I was looking for?

For the first time in years, I found myself hitting a dead end again. I had no answers. I had no clear direction. I didn't know what to do anymore. The path I thought would lead me to fulfillment seemed to be falling short, and I felt lost again, trapped between the life I had built and the emotional healing I still so desperately needed.

I had made so much progress, but the pieces didn't quite fit together yet. It was as though there were parts of me that hadn't caught up to the person I was trying to become. I felt disconnected, not just from the world around me, but from myself. The trauma, the pain, the years of uncertainty and self-doubt—I couldn't outrun it anymore. It was like I had finally reached the edge of what I could handle on my own.

The more I tried to fix things on my own, the more I realized I couldn't. Not completely. I had come so far, but I wasn't finished yet. There was still more work to be done, and it wasn't something I could simply learn or fix in a classroom. It was something deeper.

At the time, I didn't know where to turn. I felt so close to a breakthrough, yet so far from true peace. The career I had chosen was a step in the right direction, but it wasn't the ultimate answer. Working with animals made me feel like I was doing something good in the world, and I did enjoy the work—but why didn't it feel like enough? What was missing?

It was then that I had a thought that seemed to cut through the fog: Maybe I wasn't meant to be healed by animals alone. Maybe there was something more I needed to understand, something more I was supposed to discover about myself.

And in that moment, I realized that I was on the edge of something profound. I had spent so many years running from my past, from the trauma and pain that still lingered, but it was time to confront it. It was time to stop hiding from the parts of me that were broken and embrace them. Only then would I be able to move forward, truly and completely.

I had always believed that healing would come through external circumstances—through changing jobs, moving away, finding the right people, or working with animals. But now, I knew that real healing came from within. It wasn't about fixing the past or pretending it didn't matter. It was about learning to accept it, to understand it, and to give myself permission to heal, however that looked.

I didn't know where this journey would take me, but I felt like I was starting to understand something important: Healing wasn't linear. It wasn't about checking boxes or achieving goals. It was about understanding myself, confronting my inner demons, and finding peace in the most unexpected places.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was on the right path. It wasn't a path of quick fixes or easy answers, but it was the path I needed to take to become whole again. And though I didn't know exactly where I was headed, I knew that I couldn't keep running anymore. I had to face what was inside, no matter how difficult or painful it might be.

I could feel the momentum building. I was beginning to trust that everything I had gone through—everything I had survived—was leading me toward something greater. Maybe it wasn't just about finding peace for myself, but about helping others find their own peace too. It was a thought that lingered in my mind, and as I reflected on it, I realized that perhaps that was what I was meant to do. Perhaps my true calling wasn't just to heal animals but to help people heal as well.

But for now, all I could do was keep moving forward—one step at a time, even when the road seemed unclear.