Are Dogs & Kids Just Mirrors of Our Own Energy?


So… my boyfriend has been insisting that we get a shock collar for the love of my life. (No way. Ever. Not gonna happen.) When I went searching for kinder options, I was floored to find myself looking in the mirror.

I should preface this blog by saying: I don’t have kids. Unless you count my three pups, which I do. Let me introduce you:



12-year old son of my boyfriend whom I adopted posthaste the moment I met him. He’s a silky soft Chiuahua who is both mean and sweet and highly introverted like his mom. I’ve never met a more regal dog and yet he follows me around like I’m the pied piper. He’s highly food motivated and would do anything for a piece of popcorn or a nibble of cheese. Beef? Forget about it. His favorite place in the world is cuddled up next to me on the bed. (Under the covers, of course.)



5-year old Yorkshire Terrier. Even folks who don’t like dogs, love So-Kr8z. Warning: He will lick the back of your throat with his Gene Simmons-esque tongue if you let him. He’s addicted to licking sheets and chomping on squeaky balls. He doesn’t play fetch. Nope, he plays keep away. He’s more emotional than I am sans hormones, and barks at a grain of dust, hence my boyfriend’s idea of the shock collar.



6-month old French Bulldog. She’ll put anything into her gaping maw: pebbles, cotton, sticks, my arm. She likes to bound off our bed, stumpy limbs outstretched before she lands on the floor to bite her brother’s tails. She races around the house like Mario Andretti, her big bum sliding into bookcases and knocking things off tables until So-Kr8z catches her and puts her in her place.



So… there they are—the loves of my life, but back to the non-high-voltage options. I found an article by Cesar Millan in which he said that barking is how dogs communicate. Indeed, yet for the past couple of years I swear So-Kr8z has been desperately trying to tell me something BIGGER—perhaps we have a ghost, or there’s a meteor hurtling toward earth, or maybe it’s been too long since his last trip to the S-paw.

“Bark, bark, bark. There’s a grain of sand. Danger! Bark, bark, bark. There’s a leaf blowing by. Danger! Bark, bark, bark. There’s a cell dividing somewhere. Danger! Bark, bark, bark, bark.”

Cesar went on to say that you can’t cure a dog from barking when your energy is frustrated. Oh, wow! You mean chasing So-Kr8z around the kitchen island in my robe screaming for him to shut up, while Chloé chases me and bites my ankles with her puppy piranha teeth, isn’t the right energy? He goes on to say, “your dog will mirror your energy…. take a moment to curb your own internal barking first.” Ah… I knew this. It’s no different than becoming the lead mare in my horse whispering experience with Koelle Simpson and Martha Beck. If my energy is insane, his will be too. For years I’ve told anyone who would listen, “So-Kr8z is very emotional. He wears his emotions on his sleeve.” Hmmmppfff, didn’t I just actually state that in my description of him above? “Hello there, mirror, nice to see you again.”

A few days later, forgetting all I knew, I watched Sancho guard the food bowl and bare his canines when So-Kr8z came near it. So-Kr8z whined and barked, “I’m starving, man. Cut me some kibble.” I couldn’t understand why Sancho was so protective. There’s never a moment in time when the food bowl is empty. He can have all the food he wants, day or night. The dogs actually have more food in the house than we do.

A few minutes later, hungry, I observed So-Kr8z going after every toy that Chloé picked up, regardless of the fact that there are always, at all times, at least thirty-plus toys on the floor. If she has a squeaky ball, So-Kr8z doesn’t care that there are five identical squeaky balls within a foot of him. He wants the one Chloé has. I couldn’t help but think: Sheesh. I don’t think dogs are very LOA savvy. It’s as if they believe there will never be enough, despite the abundance of evidence that there is always plenty.

Oh, you bastard of a mirror! I spend most days, at one point or another, worrying about not enough. There’s not enough time. I need to do this and this and this and this. I’m in school full-time. I coach all day. I run another business besides. I need to go to the store. I need to cook dinner. I need. I want. There’s not enough. I should.

And… not enough money. The bills are paid, but what if I don’t have enough next month? I have a plethora of clients, but what if they stop showing up? I have a beautiful home, but what if I end up living in a van down by the river, “eating a steady diet of government cheese,” despite my lactose intolerance? But what if? End up. Not enough.

[tweetthis]”‘Mirror, mirror on the wall,’ who has the most issues of all?”[/tweetthis]

Me? Or my dogs?

I’m guessing it’s not so different for parents raising kids. But, pray, do tell. Do you have experience around this with your children – furry or otherwise? How does your energy and your thoughts affect their behavior?

For my visual peeps out there:


The Helper


All signs point to the fact that I’m a helper.

A giver.

The right-hand.

Over the past twenty-five years I’ve taken test after test and read book after book: Myers Briggs, Enneagram, Linda Goodman’s Sun Signs, astrology, the color code, you name it, and continually found that I’m the helper. Hell, I was even born on the same day as Mother “Fucking” Teresa.  Oh, and Mother Teresa is also an INFJ. (Just hammering it home, people.)

Type 2 on the Enneagram: The Helper

According to this site, “Twos are warm, emotional people who care a great deal about their personal relationships, devote an enormous amount of energy to them, and who expect to be appreciated for their efforts. They… thrive in the helping professions… Helping others makes Twos feel good about themselves; being needed makes them feel important; being selfless, makes Twos feel virtuous… Because Twos are generally helping others meet their needs, they can forget to take care of their own. This can lead to physical burnout, emotional exhaustion and emotional volatility.”

Ya think?

Here is how most of the relationships in my lifetime have played out, with friends, families, boyfriends, the post man, the clerk at the gas station, the teenager bagging my groceries, my dog…

My Refrain:

What do you need?

I’m here.

Let me get it for you.

I can jump that high. Count on me.

I can cross those level 10 rapids wearing my tattered pea coat and purple galoshes, you just relax. I’ve got this.

Hmmm… that doesn’t feel so good to me but here it is anyway. Take it, I’m yours.




Refrain ad infinitum.

Ah, you’ve hurt my feelings but I don’t want to inconvenience you or make you feel bad by telling you. Besides, I’m probably just being ridiculous. I want to be sure your feelings aren’t hurt. I can handle anything so it’s better if I hurt than if you hurt.



I need something. Someone to talk to. I’m suffering. I’m not happy. I’m burnt out. My feelings are crushed. Oh, but Dear God, I can’t ask. I would never ask. You need to be a mind reader and know that I’m not doing well. Just like I sense, intuitively, when you’re not doing well. Your intuition should be as developed as mine.

I get nothing. (And yet I’ve asked for nothing.)

I’m hurt.

I withdraw.

I’m done. I sever ties with an x-acto knife and deathly precision.

Myers-Briggs Type INFJ

According to this site, “While instinctively courting the personal and organizational demands continually made upon them by others, at intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent “givers.” As a pattern of behavior, it is perhaps the most confusing aspect of the enigmatic INFJ character to outsiders, and hence the most often misunderstood — particularly by those who have little experience with this rare type.”

The end.

New relationship.



Hamster Wheels

I’m ready to get off the helper hamster wheel, folks. Don’t get me wrong. I love me; my personality; my nature. I own it. It’s what enables me to serve the chock-full-of-Amazeballs clients that I work with. It’s meant that I’ve been a great friend, a great girlfriend, a great human bean (much of the time.)  But it’s also meant that I often feel unfulfilled, empty, alone and miserable.


Because I expect people to be psychic. I assume people are as intuitive as I am, that they should feel  and sense what I’m feeling like I do for them. I don’t ever ask for what I need. Shit, often I don’t even think about what I need until it’s too late and I realize that my cup is dry as a bone even though I never asked for a drop to parch  my withered soul.

My dear friend, Lissa Rankin, first clued me in to my neurosis when she was talking with me about negotiating sacred contracts. When you’re in a sacred relationship with someone it’s important to ask for what you need, to have permission to say no when the other person asks something of you that doesn’t fill you up, and to practice acceptance when the person you’re asking something of says “no.”

Holy shit, how healthy is that? I hardly knew what to do with myself.  I could see that my relationships, up till then, had been full of my giving to others and their needs and my silence of my own needs.  I realized that, while I was happy to be there for friends who needed me, I had never actually said, “I need for you to listen to me on something I’m going through.” Or… even plainer.  “I need a fairer ratio. We can chat about your ‘issues’ for 45 minutes but I need at least 15 minutes to vent my own frustrations.” No, instead I would sit for hours on the phone, listening and holding sacred space and was lucky if there was a “how are you doing” at all. Even when I was going through big shit in my life. Like when I had just had organs removed and couldn’t sit upright and I didn’t ask to talk about it. Instead I spent three hours listening to the woes of a relationship with an asshole that wasn’t deserving of my friend in the first place.   But… the “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” is on me. Because I never asked. Because I never considered the fact that relationships are simply contracts.  Contracts that need to be negotiated and, over time, renegotiated if they’re to have any shelf life at all.  Wow, people. Big stuff, eh?

I don’t know about you but I’m pulling out my red felt-tip marker and going over my contracts posthaste. What sacred contracts do you need to revise?

The Gift of Clearing Clutter


I’ve never been more in love. Since I was a tiny tot I’ve been an organizational freak and used to line up all my patent leather Mary Janes with level precision so that I could hide crackers and Halloween treats in them. My shoes are still lined up, though I now keep the crackers in the cupboard and the Halloween candy has its own drawer, so when I saw this 2012 Declutter and Organize Calendar on I nearly passed out with joy.

Why is this the #1 gift you can give yourself in 2012? Well, I wrote about it a bit here but suffice it to say that when you’re surrounded by heaping mounds of crap it affects so many areas of your life; your spirit, your mental health, your ability to get stuff done, your energy levels. There are even health benefits in decluttering. Clearing your space of clutter opens you up energetically to expand (and even to receive more – though do you really need another pair of Jimmy Choo’s?) Read more

Money Is Just Energy, Dummies

Featured on 9/13/2011

You know those money issues you struggle with?  The ones that keep you cash poor, that have you maxing out your credit card each month, that keep you from asking for that raise every year? Yeah, those are the ones.  Well, here’s a little something I learned recently – those beliefs and issues surrounding money start WAY earlier than I ever would have imagined.

Case in Point:

A few weeks ago, as I was crawling towards the coffee pot early one morn, I happened upon my three nieces (along with one of their small neighbor friends) planning a summer job.  Pink, red, and yellow construction paper was strewn all over the front porch and markers were tossed aside – lids off – to dry in the sun that was already baking the concrete.

I stopped, wiped my bleary eyes, and asked what they were doing. Read more