The Call
My body jolted—the leash went taut in my hand as Sophia pulled me down the stairs.
Just in time, I caught my balance.
Something in me snapped,
and rage ripped through me seemingly out of nowhere.
I turned on her and raised my hand. The muscles in my arm tensed under the restraint as I caught myself.
I sat on the stoop, frozen in disbelief.
Sophia sat next to me, resigned to the fact she would not be chasing the squirrel she had her eyes on.
Who was I becoming?
How could I have let myself get so close to the one line I vowed I would never cross?
The fact that I didn’t hit her didn’t matter, the urge alone was enough.
A voice I hadn’t heard in a long time pleaded with me, I need help.
I got a dog because I wanted to love and be loved in an uncomplicated way.
I’d romanticized the responsibility of caring for a puppy, especially in a big city.
Most days she was alone in my tiny apartment, and I’d come home from work to find couch stuffing scattered across the floor and puddles of diarrhea, even when I commuted home on my lunch break to walk her.
Our life together was not ideal, and most of the time, I felt like I was failing her.
Before Sophia, my heart was muted.
As a little girl, I buried my truth deep inside because when I spoke it, it was violently rejected.
I learned to be agreeable.
To not stamp my foot.
To turn away from my inner knowing, because trusting it was dangerous.
I exiled myself from the garden that made me me.
I broke my spirit to survive and carried its fractured remains.
Somehow, I was highly functional.
Two jobs to make ends meet.
A mask of normalcy.
If anyone had really looked, they would have seen it, the drinking, the food for comfort.
A woman floating through life in a terrarium fear had built.
I walked the crowded streets of the Upper East Side as if my body moved without me.
Holding my breath.
Panic pressing in.
A city with its own relentless heartbeat.
My soul screamed.
I refused to listen and ignored the dread that greeted me each morning.
The moment on the stoop quaked my world.
I began to remember the chaos and the volatility I’d run from.
Six hundred miles away from home, I naively believed distance was all I needed to be free.
I was wrong.
The library of unprocessed pain I carried was spilling out, uncontained.
Would I lose control?
Become the monster who inflicted it on others?
Would I do to Sophia what had been done to me?
It was time to reconcile my truth.
To excavate what had happened to me.
I knew I couldn’t do it alone and found a therapist the following week. Even though I hadn’t made much progress in therapy before, I was desperate to try again.
I’d willed myself asleep.
Sophia was begging me to wake up.
Soul Echo
I understand this now:
my love for Sophia was a catalyst for change.
The possibility of inflicting pain on her became my wake-up call,
when my own pain wasn’t enough.
The tension in our relationship wasn’t a punishment or a sign of failure. It was my soul asking for something truer.
Sophia was the threshold,
the initiation into reclaiming the disowned parts of me.
Not only the shadows of grief, rage, and pain,
but the radiance of gratitude, hope, authenticity, and joy.
Sophia was the way back to my essence.
Heart + Soul Inquiries
Where in your life have you mistaken pain or discomfort as a punishment—or something to avoid—rather than an invitation for change?
Where have you normalized pain and suffering?
If you were to see your pain as an invitation, what truth would you need to accept or embrace?
This is an opportunity to explore with curiosity. As you reflect, notice how the mind may begin to negotiate your value or well-being—trying to make sense, justify, or protect what is.
Remember, the soul speaks speaks first through love, before the mind rushes in with fear. Trust the love.
