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You Can't Divorce The Dog: A True Love Story

Max was The Dog for me. If you're lucky in life you get one of those; The Dog. The one who is your everything. Friend/lover/therapist/child/soulmate. The one you get when you're young enough and maybe it's just you and The Dog and you belong to each other and the relationship changes you and shapes who you become and, yeah, there will be other dogs you love but there will never be another like The Dog. The one that was there for all of it. The one you grew up with. It's a once-in-a-lifetime deal. Forever grateful to Serge for writing about our guy because I can't right now.

Read You Can't Divorce The Dog: A True Love Story over on Babble.

Don't Know How To Live Without Him

Serge and I had the privilege of holding our Maxie boy in our arms this morning as he left this life. Sinatra played softly and the morning sun streamed through the window almost illuminating his body as he took his last breath. 11 years. Don't know how to live without him.

Kid Wranglin'


Other People Are Not Medicine

"I have been attempting to plug the holes in my personality with other people for my entire life. It’s high time for that to be over. I need to accept myself for who I am and really be OK with that or else decide what I can’t be OK with and work on fixing it. I’ve had a negative monologue about myself running through my head for so long I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. But I need to stop seeking others to counterpoint the negativity and do it myself. Be my own best friend. Accept myself and fix myself, if I can."

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The Most Important Thing I've Learned In Therapy So Far

After years of avoiding therapy, I started seeing a therapist right around the same time Serge and I separated. Sitting (lying?!) on a couch, bemoaning my fucked-up childhood, held no appeal to me as I’ve seen far too many people use crappy childhoods as an excuse to behave badly. What’s done is done, I reasoned. I've got enough brains to sort through the fallout resulting from the stereotypical smorgasbord of issues I’ve been jamming into the tattered suitcase that is my proverbial baggage. Why go back and—like tonguing a sore tooth—revisit pain?

Except at this point my suitcase is heavy as hell and it’s an older model—no wheels.

Turns out, while managing to be astoundingly insecure, I was simultaneously wildly egotistical. Because, as you may have already guessed, when it comes to attempting to sort out why we do what we do on our own our brains are tainted by the fact that they’re in our heads which renders us generally unable to view certain situations with the proper perspective. Like someone facing options after a cancer diagnosis, we are in desperate need of a second opinion.

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