How my dog healed my trauma

A reflection on trauma, abandonment, and the loyalty that rewired my nervous system.

The Belief I Carried in My Body

Some wounds you have to spiral around a few times to get to their core.

Like a circumambulation around a sacred mountain that people do on pilgrimages.

With each round, you clear a little more karmic weight.

First spiral, you are unconscious of the wound.

The next spiral, you become conscious of it, but may not know how exactly to heal it.

In the last spiral (which you will do quite a few times), when you become aware of what’s needed to heal the wound, you need to take a risk and let the love in that will repair it.

This story is about one of those moments when I completed the full spiral.

It happened on an ordinary day, in the shower, while my dog Leo was sitting in the sun outside, watching for animals crossing by our back fence, faithfully guarding his turf.

Usually, I take him inside when I’m going to be busy so that he doesn’t get into trouble, but on this day, I decided to give him some freedom and let him stay outside while I quickly took care of myself.

I got in the shower and started to lather my hair. I let my mind wander, and a memory surfaced.

One I hadn’t thought of in a while, but still held weight to it.

During an EMDR session years ago, I recounted the “greatest hits” of the worst moments of my life. As I rattled off scene after scene, my therapist, a warm maternal presence, murmured almost to herself:

“Gosh… the abandonment in this case is just so unheard of.”

Abandonment? The word hit me like a foreign language.

What she saw as abandonment was, to me, just the reality of the situation.

Sure, I had been left at some of the worst possible times you could leave someone, but that’s just life.

People leave. Sometimes suddenly.

Sometimes, it will be the people you depend on the most.

Sometimes, it will be when you most need them to stay.

This is just the way it is.

That was the belief I carried in my body and psyche, unconsciously, for many years.

---

---

The Rite of Passage of Loss, Betrayal, Abandonment

As I stood in the shower, that memory opened a portal to another insight:

How the word abandonment ties directly into the core wounds of the Pluto in Scorpio generation in evolutionary astrology (which I am a part of): Loss. Betrayal. Abandonment.

I thought about how those three themes echoed through the worst experiences of my life.

The loss of safety, security, and innocence, the betrayal of trust, the shock of being left by those who were supposed to care for me.

I remembered what it felt like to be completely alone, fending for myself, in survival mode for many years. Not knowing I was in survival mode, using an endless stream of toxic relationships and various drugs to cope.

Thirteen years later, life looks much different now.

The journey to where I am now involved a long process of working on my physical, emotional, and spiritual health.

I began to heal the wounds of low self-worth that made me seek out relationships that mirrored the chaos of my family dynamic.

I started working on what I call “the betrayal bond”: being drawn to people who weren’t trustworthy but who echoed the patterns I was familiar with.

In nervous system terms, my neuroception (the nervous system’s automatic and unconscious process of detecting safety, danger, or threat) was WAY off.

My body was wired to find dangerous people enthralling and exciting.

Eventually, the same experiences that traumatized me became what I would expose myself to, again and again, because it felt like a familiar hell.

Safe people and situations were barely a blip on my radar.

They felt uncomfortable and alien to me.

But with time and healing, with trauma therapy and somatic work, I rewired this.

Now, I can better read people.

The ones I keep close with are people whom I can trust.

I pay attention when something feels off.

I don’t rationalize it. I trust my body.

I’m also no longer drawn to drama. It’s no longer exciting like it used to be, it’s draining.

I’ve learned to find comfort in what used to make me allergic to a situation or person: consistency and stability.

Chaos no longer feels like home.

---

Rewiring the Attachment Wound

Back to the shower. And speaking of neuroception.

Suddenly, I had the subtle sense… something’s “off.”

Something dropped into my gut. My heart’s pace slightly picked up.

I thought of Leo. I haven’t heard him bark.

I had seen him wander around in the bathroom a while ago to check on me while I was in the shower. But not a peep since then.

I quickly turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel to check on things. With my hair still dripping, I ran out to look for him.

As I exited the bedroom, I noticed our front door was wide open.

Swinging in the wind.

Panic hits.

Leo was gone. He could be anywhere.

I was still in a towel, heart pounding. My husband, Bernhard, wasn’t home.

My mind flashed back to a time I searched for hours for dogs that went missing from a community I lived in, only to find them miles away.

But this wasn’t the countryside; our neighbourhood had traffic.

I screamed, “LEO?!”.

Nothing.

Just the wind howling outside.

No little paws clicking on the floor, running to find me.

I felt the wave of panic rise even further.

Oh my god…he’s actually gone.

As I stood frozen in my towel, the reality sunk in: I must get dressed and search for him. My nervous system was in full crisis mode.

“LEO?!” I shouted again.

I ran through the house, searching for him in each room.

Then, I stopped in my tracks, adrenaline still coursing through my body.

I looked out the window. Into the backyard.

Two little beady eyes in white fur stared back at me, looking alert, concerned, and a little confused.

“LEO. Come here right now.”

He quickly trotted in. I knelt down and hugged him, half-relieved, half still trying to calm down from the immense fear that was still rushing through my body.

And then it hit me.

The very wound I had been reflecting on in the shower had just been activated.

The abandonment wound.

In these moments of crisis, my nervous system was still wired to expect the worst-case scenario.

I start crying, overwhelmed by emotion.

Leo gently put his paw on me and began licking my tears, like he always does when I’m upset.

And in that moment, I realized: he’s not going to leave.

Even with the door wide open. Even when I fully expected him to.

He didn’t leave.

At that moment, I realized this dog was the secure presence I had long desired as a child. He didn’t bolt, even when the door was wide open.

I cried even harder.

This little dog just healed one of the deepest wounds I’ve ever carried.

---

---

A Love Without Conditions

If someone asked me what lesser-talked-about tips I have for healing trauma, I would honestly tell them, get a dog. Or a cat.

Of course, I recommend this only if you’re an animal person, like me, and only when your life is stable enough to support it.

I’ve tried many things: lots of therapy, psychedelics, meditation retreats, living in community, endless books, workshops, and somatic work. Some were more effective than others, yet they all unlocked different puzzle pieces.

Finding the right therapist helped me give language to the things I’d experienced.

It also helped me stop normalizing unhealthy behaviour, in myself and in my relationships.

The right therapist helped me connect the dots: what happened, how it shaped me, how it echoed in my relationships now, and gave me the space to feel what I had long suppressed and avoided feeling.

Being married also healed a lot in me, too.

But we also triggered both of our deepest attachment wounds.

The path to where we are now was certainly not easy; it was another spiral around the wound that I had to take to heal it. That is a story for another day.

Yet, a dog is quite different. They are less complex than a human relationship.

They carry less baggage, more unconditional love, and a simple presence.

They show up the same way daily, and hardly ask for anything in return except for you to do the same.

They offer routine and grounding, some of the simplest medicine for people who grew up not knowing what to expect next.

I gave Leo the things I had never gotten: secure attachment, unconditional love, and stability.

And then he gave that right back to me— and more.

---

The Incredible Synchronicity of Healing

Some moments in life seem divinely orchestrated like this: the wound opens, and a series of experiences unfold that offer healing to that wound.

Sometimes, these moments are quiet and ordinary, like mine in the shower. Other times, they’re larger and more dramatic, like after a breakup or a profound loss.

Seemingly random yet meaningful moments lined up to make this happen: I left Leo outside that day, and the door was uncommonly unlocked for some reason. It was a very windy day, and I was in the shower, reflecting on the core wound that I would shortly be given an opportunity to repair.

A series of synchronicities unfolded from these uncommon events.

Murray Stein, a Jungian analyst, often shared that synchronicities are deeply connected to our individuation. They’re not just coincidences, but moments of inner and outer alignment, where internal psychic experiences lead to external events.

Moments like these remind me that we are not moving through life alone.

That some deeper intelligence is always guiding us…back to who we really are.

Maybe you’ve had a moment like this, too—or perhaps a whole series of them.

If you have, I would love to hear from you in the comments.

These moments are not always loud. Sometimes it’s a windy day, an open door, a memory resurfacing in the shower.

Some wounds we spiral around for years.

Until one day, we reach the center.

Our work is to keep our hearts open,

to notice these moments,

to let life in,

to let love move us,

even if it breaks us a little open along the way.

---