disjointed and disfigured thoughts at 12:30 am.

she’d been defined all her life. different identities swirl in her rearview mirror.

prescription bottle caps unscrewed, empty glass bottles, cold beds, and bloody wrists.

her rearview mirror is dark and foggy, clouded and shattered. the pieces threaten to cut at her skin, they tear at her clothes.

twenty six years of life, twenty six years of being told who she is, of where to go, of all the things wrong, of all the the things right. why does everyone else’s opinion matter so much?

in love with her own potential, unable to make it a reality.

tears flow, eyes swell, breathe catches. she longs for adventures and dreams of hope.

the keys are in her hand. its her choice.

she rips off the rearview mirror and presses on the gas.


Emma Bear.

You know those “crazy” dog moms that kinda inwardly make you cringe? The ones that get shirts printed with pictures of their dogs face on it? Or the moms that constantly have dog hair on them and don’t seem to care about lint rollers because they are just constantly covered in hair? Or how about the moms that always seem to answer social invites with, “yeah but can my dog come?”

Well Hi! I’m that dog mom! Okay so the above paragraph may be exaggerated a bit but thats only because my dog, Emma, doesn’t like social invites…or people really. She likes me and thats about it. She prefers to stay at home, curled up on the couch with absolutely no new or strange people around her. She does love to leave her hair literally EVERYWHERE and trust me when I say that I have used about 10 lint rollers in one month. Yep. I have tried pretty much everything actually; lint rollers, tape, vacuuming every day, kicking her off the bed every 5 minutes, hair spraying my pants, dramatically running away from Emma when I’ve just put black leggings on… you name it, I’ve tried it. It doesn’t work. Her hair just magically appears on my clothing in mass quantities. There seems to be a certain point in “dog mama” life, where you just stop caring. When a friend or stranger inevitably says to you “Hey, you, um, have some hair on your pants…” You simply respond, “Yeah. I have a dog.” *Shoulder shrug*

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So why am I writing this post? Well let me give you some context. I recently moved Emma from San Bernardino County, California to Humboldt County, California; one of the driest climates to one of the wettest. To say the move has been difficult for her would be a bit of an understatement. Emma is eight years old, and from the time that my sibling rescued her as a puppy, she has always been anxious, untrusting, and shy. She is also goofy, playful, talkative, loving, and smart. But it is the anxious side of her that has been on display since moving her to Humboldt. I knew it would be a big transition for her and I had planned everything I could beforehand to make it as easy as I could, but unfortunately she just has never acclimated to life in Humboldt and it has started to take a toll on her. So the decision has been made to move her back to San Bernardino County to live with my mom again and this dog mama’s heart is breaking.

This post won’t interest everyone, and thats okay, but for me, I simply wanted to write about Emma. Because its Emma that has revealed to me the depths of Abba’s love for me. Abba has used one of his creations, a goofy and anxious little pup, to show me love and loyalty and companionship on days and through years that I was unable to receive it from anyone else. In the days after my suicide attempt, some 4 years ago, there were days I didn’t get out of bed or have any social interaction with anyone. But Emma was there. I spent my days watching Netflix with her by my side, her little body warming my side and continually keeping me company. In those days, my thoughts for myself were only full of shame, hate, and disgust… I look back and realize that if it wasn’t for Emma, I don’t think much would’ve changed in my life. Dogs don’t see the shame, or the disgust or all the reasons you hate yourself; they see their owner and their person and they love them. Abba loved me through my dog, because I was so full of hurt and hate that I, at this time, couldn’t receive love if I knew it was actually coming from Him. So Emma loved me, because thats what dogs do. They love you, without questions, without doubting you or without restraint, they love you. God was and is faithful enough to know how to love.


Now a days, I have a different mind and different eyes. I am happy and not the same person I was 4 years ago… and Emma is still here. She plays with me, she talks to me (I swear, you have to see it to know, but she talks), she gives me kisses, and she cuddles with me (and somehow knows when I’ve reached my limit of cuddling). I’ve always joked with my parents that Emma was “made for me” but I don’t think I’m actually joking. I think God knew I would need an Emma. A puppy that didn’t trust everyone, but wholeheartedly loved and trusted me. A dog that knew my mind and heart so well she knew when to cuddle me and when to just be at the end of the bed instead. A pup that, because she literally has her own anxiety issues, seemed to understand mine.

You may think I’m being dramatic, or overly sensitive. That’s fine. It happens. But just know that I know God’s love more now than I did 4 years ago, and all because of a dog. So is giving her up an easy thing to do? Hell to the no. But Emma took care of me for so long, its only fair that she gets taken care of even better now. So off to a warmer and drier winter Emma will go, with a huge backyard, lots of squirrels to chase, and a Nana that loves her just as much as I do. I’ll cry a lot over her for a bit, just giving everyone fair warning. But maybe, just maybe, God knows something I don’t and maybe, its just possible, that I’m finally in a season that I don’t need Emma anymore; even though I want her with me forever.

That’s all for now. Bye Friends.


I love personality tests. Ask any of my close friends and they could easily tell you that I can talk for a good couple hours about Meyer’s Brigg personality types. They would know that I can list off all the different personality types and give you character references for each type as well. Its a bit ridiculous really. I’ve always loved people, and I’ve always loved knowing how to love people. When I was in college, this translated into me learning more about their “personality type” and loving them off some invented formula that came out of that. Not hard to guess that my friendships in college were therefore fake, dishonest, and short lived, huh? Through the years I’ve kept my fascination with the way that people can be defined by “extroverted” or “introverted”, “judge” or “perceiver”. And within this last week I’ve realized how narrow this mindset has been.

When a friend of mine acted completely outside of what, I had decided, her personality type was, I had this realization that people may be more than what I could possibly learn about them from a personality test. That, just maybe, I had been putting people in a box, expecting them to be loved and cared for in one way, giving them only what I thought they “needed” instead of ever actually listening to the human being in front of me about what they wanted. This hit home hard when another realization came to mind, that I have defined my own being by this idea of having to be “extroverted” or “introverted”, of having to fall into some definite type in order to be someone.

Earlier today, when sitting on the couch feeling shame over the fact that I was alone and had no one to hang out with, I literally caught myself thinking,

“you’re suppose to be this big ol’ extrovert Katey. You’re suppose to have friends around you all the time and look at you, alone, day after day. “

When in the world did I start believing that being extroverted is what made me, me? That being a certain number on the Meyers Brigg scale defined “Katelyn McLaughlin”? Don’t get me wrong, I love that people know me as an upbeat and friendly person, because I am that! But even the friendliest of people have lonely and sad days, and THATS OKAY. So when did I start telling myself that it wasn’t okay for me to hang out by myself? Just like I tried to define people by personality tests and zodiac signs, I defined my own self by these things. Isn’t that how it always works though? How you treat others is a direct result of how you’re treating yourself.

I know this is kind of all a rambling mess but as I look around me and see people who society would define as “social outcasts” or “extreme introverts” surrounded by more friends than any extrovert I know, I wonder if we will ever stop trying to define people by anything other than simply who God made them to be. (<–Run on sentence alert.) Generally speaking, I love to be around people, I love to love people, and I love to laugh obnoxiously loud. But also, I love taking long drives, watching and analyzing disney animated movies (and probably crying over something in it), and sleeping in really late; ALL BY MY-DANG-SELF.

I refuse to keep shaming myself for these things. For not being what society says I am sometimes, or for not being who I’ve told myself I am for so long, whilst ignoring my heart’s needs. We’re all humans who may lean towards certain generalizations, but that does not define us and our identities are not found in if we like to be around people all the time or if we run and hide when the doorbell rings. I personally am both of those things, I love people but I run and hide when the doorbell rings. It doesn’t make sense, but who cares?! Boxes may be fun to climb in, but I don’t want to live in them. Not anymore at least.

Signing Off,

Miss ranting and raving, full of passion but without a lot of wit, kind but sassy,