We recently bought a puppy. She is an Irish wolfhound, the type of dog I have wanted since I was about 14 years old. We had tossed around the idea of getting a dog in the last 6 months, but every time we decided against it, because I was addicted to having company, it was a big commitment, or we weren’t sure that having an animal dependent on us was a loving choice. Two months ago though, when David searched ‘Irish wolfhound puppy’ on gumtree, there was a flush of puppies for sale and I decided I wanted one. When I made this choice, I did so despite feeling that it probably wasn’t loving and was because of my addictions, but my soul feeling was ‘screw it’ I don’t care, this is what I want to do, this will make me happy. I was so bent on this course of action that I consciously ingnored any signs or suggestions that exposed my error! The other consequence of my choice was that I pulled away from my partner and got angry if he challenged my decision. This made it difficult for David to know whether he actually wanted a puppy or whether he was just trying to please me, make me happy and avoid my anger, which meant that he wasn’t excited about it.

We picked up the puppy, and boy was she cute. She was quiet and gentle, and so cuddly. She travelled in the car with us for days, just sleeping on my lap. We fell in love with her. When we finally got home though, I was so tired from our trip and exhausted from seeing my parents that when Aoife (pronounced ee-fa) started biting at my legs and my clothes, seemingly continuously, I just got angry and frustrated with her. She kept me awake at night (big problem for Sorcha), left puddles of wee through out the house and wanted constant attention. Typical puppy behaviour, but I felt like I couldn’t handle it. I spiralled down in to what could only be called some sort of postpartum depression. I hated Aoife, I wanted to take her back, sometimes I felt like I wanted to kill her! It terrified me and I felt awfully guilty about the choice I had made and my regret. I felt like I was being punished for ignoring the lessons I had learned about love and attempting to go my own way. Because it is what I have always done, and was taught to do, I buried my anger down deep and ignored and denied it. The idea of feeling my anger and letting even a little of it out terrifies me, so I listen to my fear and hold it in. Big mistake… Denying my anger has caused my chronic fatigue to come back, something that has been almost non existent recently, and I have been panicking. Obviously though, I have acknowledged these issues and things are improving. Acknowledging that I am angry, and that I am scared makes such a difference.

So that is the beginning of Aoife’s story…