Tending to Tenderness

Yesterday I was scrolling through social media and stoped on a friend’s post from a veterinarian sharing about how the most difficult part of the job was when pets were euthanized without their human family present. It implored pet owners to show-up for, and especially at, the end. It gave a heartbreaking description of eyes desperately searching sterile rooms they didn’t understand or want to be in for the familiar gaze of their person(s) when they needed and deserved to have it most. This post had tears streaming down my cheeks.

Because we’re currently sleep training a nearly 10-month-old (see previous 2 posts) I then thought about why I was adamant we not use a method where we’d leave our baby alone in distress. But it took awhile and finding the right support before we tried any method that involved any crying. I had hoped and searched for a way there’d be no crying or distress but when we tried those variations it wasn’t working all that well and not sustainable.

I don’t want to judge the owners of those pets too harshly. We don’t know their lives and surely each of their circumstances are unique. What I do know is that a factor that likely played a part is an inability to tolerate their own distress. As we support our baby learn to sleep in a new way that is less symbiotic and more autonomous we’re attempting to thread that needle of communicating he’s not alone, safe, and cared-for while also giving him the space and freedom to rumble with building a relationship with himself. All of himself, including and especially when it’s difficult because I want him showing-up for a full human life that may, one day, include a dying animal.

All of this then made me think about Susan Cain’s new book, “Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole.” I can’t wait to start reading it (and now that I’m getting my nights back hopeful that’ll be sooner-than-later) but from listening to her recent conversations with Brené Brown on the podcast “Unlocking Us” know it’s about the inextricable connection between joy and grief. About how our attempts to bypass the most difficult parts of being human lead to missing what truly brings us the most delight. When we can’t be with what’s hard we can’t be with what’s tender — and being human and human’ing is tender. And this tenderness is good.