Oh, Sweeet Grizzz!

 What happens when you are supposed to love someone but you don’t, who pays the price for that?

Where did this narrative start around “supposed to”? What is behind the stigma of not loving a perfectly lovely human being or a handsome chocolate lab looking for a home? Who is this judge who makes us bad for not writing the Hollywood ending to the relationships in our lives?

Last week, a dog named Griz came to live with me as a foster. Griz is a perfectly lovely gentleman: a 5-year-old chocolate lab whose owner can no longer care for him. And he seems to be itchy and a little protective, and he has an annoying habit of barking at me for treats, but it’s nothing one can’t work with.

And I love dogs.  I am 100 percent a dog person. And I have wanted a dog.  I wanted one during last winter of Covid, but my housing situation wouldn’t allow that. I love having their heartbeats nearby, the fur therapy, the love looks.

So, this situation with Griz seemed super promising.

And all week long, I waited to swoon. To fall in love. To bond to this sweet guy who seems to have been dropped into my lap.

But that hasn’t happened. 

And I have felt a little like an ogre: heartless and icy. It makes me uncomfortable to tell people I don’t think I want to keep him.  I have wondered, in my less self-kind moments: what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I love this dog?

And I woke up this morning with a tight chest, and I thought: I’ve felt this way before.

It was a nauseating thing for me to say out loud, but I felt this way about being married, towards the end.  I wanted so desperately to feel the “right” kind of love, something sustaining, aligning, nutritious. I put a proverbial smile on my face and hoped it would do its work. I planned good trips and tried for quality time. I took myself to therapy. I switched from romantic stories in books or movies to gritty, bloody detective stories and Game of Thrones to knock out any false expectations of Hollywood endings.

And I couldn’t make myself feel any different.

And not feeling the love I want to feel is certainly inconvenient for Griz – and has caused very real pain in the realm of humans. But not accepting, not surrendering to the reality, and feeling shame and guilt: that harms only me. And the price for that: we live in the space of lonely, not lit up. We live in the space of tolerating, of soldiering on.

By saying no to Griz, I am honoring my heart and speaking my truth, and I am trusting that he will find a home where he is adored and loved. And I am on a journey to forgive myself over and over for letting my heart inform me.

Where are you living a “supposed to”? Who’s the Griz in your life? Let’s talk.