Where to Put the Sad Stuff
The classic example of the veterinarian’s need to compartmentalize is the instance of moving from an appointment where you’re helping a family say goodbye to a beloved pet, straight into the new puppy or kitten exam. In the first appointment, you’re sharing someone’s grief and their loss, though not to the same extent. Sometimes there’s some personal loss there too, if you’ve known your patient for some years, or have been working closely with them to fight disease or palliate painful symptoms. And then next on the schedule you go see a happy, excited family with their newest addition of a wiggly puppy or kitten. You clear your red eyes, you take a deep breath and you start the discussion about vaccines, diet, house-training, spaying and neutering, deworming, external parasite control, nail trims, dental home care, all the things… You have no choice, this is the job and you do it with grace. You set aside one event, and all it’s associated feelings so you can go do something else that needs to be done in a timely fashion. The puppy’s owners would never guess that you’d just helped the family in the exam room next door (or the car parked beside them during these strange times of COVID-19) though their saddest visit to the vet.
You do this because you must. It is your responsibility to help your clients and your patients in the best way you know how, and that includes putting aside your own feelings about things, meeting your clients where they’re at and offering your best medical advice, and then guiding them through decisions to help best meet their pets’ needs.
But what happens to all the stuff you compartmentalize? Where does it go? Because we all know it doesn’t just leave. It sure would be nice if all the difficult feelings just exited silently out the back door of your brain when nobody was looking, but that’s not how it works. Those thoughts and feelings stay there, they accumulate. The distant ones fade, but they’re still there. And they have a tendency to crop up when we’re at our most stressed and therefore least able to deal with them.
So, what if we could create little rituals, small ways to pay respect to our feelings, to our responsibilities, to our patients, so we don’t have to carry them around with us? Knowing that at some point during the day or the week, we’ll be able to sit, or walk, or run, or lift heavy things, or do whatever it is that helps you feel better, makes it easier to move between appointments. And, more importantly, makes it easier to let things go so they don’t pile up and then sneak up on us unexpectedly like an overflowing dumpster of sad feelings. We’ve got to let the pressure off every once-in-a-while or it’ll stop us from being able to do our jobs and enjoy our lives. And, though our jobs are hard, we certainly deserve to like what we do and to not have to take it home with us.
Here are some ways I work through things that I can’t deal with in the immediate moment:
I exercise every morning, for 15 minutes. That’s literally all I have time for, but I can manage that. I do pilates because I like the combination of moving my body and focusing on my breath. I also love yoga and running, and horse-back riding and swimming and skiing but it’s not the season for those right now for me. But 15 minutes of Pilates on my mat in my living room does wonders.
I allow white space in my day. This one is SO HARD for me. Most days I feel like there are zero minutes in which I am awake and not doing something: working, prepping food, walking the dog, scooping the litter box, paying bills, reading updated COVID-19 protocols, etc, etc, etc… But, I’ve found little places in my day—while I’m in the shower, as I’m falling asleep, when I’m making lunch in the morning, when I’m driving—to turn off the radio and the TV and the podcast app and just let my mind wander. (Don’t get me wrong, I love a good podcast and I get so much value from listening to the thoughts and words that others are sharing, but, I can’t process and integrate any of that brilliance if I don’t give myself some time and space in which to do it).
I make up my own little rituals and mantras to help with transitions throughout the day. For example, when I’m driving to work, just before I get to the clinic, after I’ve spent the rest of my 10-minute drive giving my brain free reins to problem solve, I say a few words to help me shift gears and start my day. This keeps me from carrying any stressors from other parts of my life into work and sets me up to know I’m doing my best. So today, I offer you this:
May your mind be quick, may your hands be steady, may your senses be sharp, may your heart be open and may your words and your message be what your clients need and may they land with compassion and understanding.