29/04/2025
What Dogs Teach Us About Ourselves
In this unnatural, complex, man-made world, so many of us are struggling. We live in a time where anxiety, depression, and mental health issues are more common than not. I remember moments spent when I was a bit younger in a busy pub, surrounded by people, watching the energy and intentions shift between conversations. I’d often think, “Wow, we’re all just broken people.” And yet, there we were—clinging to the comfort blanket of alcohol, feeling broken, but broken together. And somehow, that made it feel a little less lonely.
But what begins as an overconfident, booze-fuelled night of laughter and emotional connection is often met the next morning with a different kind of truth. That happiness and closeness we felt the night before can feel like it was borrowed from the following day. And when the buzz fades, we’re left with the quiet, creeping dread that often follows.
We tell ourselves never again. Next weekend we’ll be different. We’ll skip that extra drink. Head home at a sensible time. Maybe finally get on top of the housework or save that money for something more meaningful. We promise to think ahead.
But when Saturday rolls back around, we often find ourselves right back there—chasing that borrowed comfort, those short-lived connections, those brief moments of togetherness. And we do it knowing full well the emotional cost will be paid by tomorrow morning.
For me, drinking wasn’t about rebellion or recklessness—it was about meeting a need. In that moment, it felt like the only way I could truly connect with people. And that’s not weakness. We are chemically designed to seek comfort. Our nervous systems crave co-regulation, that steadying presence of another being. That’s why we reach for a drink, a friend, a hug, a laugh—because deep down, we’re all just trying to feel safe. To feel less alone.
Dogs are no different. When a dog barks for “attention,” paces the house, or destroys a shoe—it’s not naughtiness. It’s a need. It’s their way of coping, their way of reaching out. I might reach for a bottle, and the dog might shred a cushion. Different species, same instinct: trying to soothe something unsettled within.
For some of us, drinking becomes a way to fill a gap—a coping mechanism shaped by emotional wounds and unmet needs. It doesn’t make us broken. It means we’ve adapted. We’ve built emotional scaffolding out of whatever we could find. Sometimes that scaffolding looks like a warm coat of alcohol that shields us from the cold parts of life. We’re not choosing the bottle—we’re choosing survival. And dogs? They’re doing the same. Separation anxiety, reactivity, excessive energy—these aren’t "bad behaviours." They’re emotional strategies. They’re dogs doing the best they can with what they’ve been given.
Healing that pattern—at least for me—didn’t happen in one dramatic moment of willpower. I didn’t wake up one day and decide to change everything.. These patterns live deep in our nervous systems. They’re part of how we’ve developed, how we’ve learned to survive. What did happen was a gradual shift. Step by step, I started to slow down the cycle. The need didn’t disappear—but it softened. And slowly, I began to meet that need in ways that didn’t hurt me the next day.
This mirrors the dog world so perfectly. Just like we chase quick fixes in our own lives—“I’ll quit next week,” “I just need more willpower” we do the same with dogs. We want the one training session, the magic cue, the shortcut that makes it all go away. But just like us, dogs don’t respond well to rushed solutions. You can force a behaviour to stop, sure. You can use tools that suppress the symptom, like an e-collar or aversive training. And on the surface, it might look like success.
But just like a hangover after a night of borrowed joy, there’s a cost. Suppressing a dog’s behaviour without understanding the root cause creates neurological fallout. You may see fewer outbursts, but underneath, the emotional need still lives on—untouched and unresolved. The bond takes a hit. The trust gets worn thin. And eventually, that pain will find another way to surface. It always does.
