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I have a childhood history of compliance. I was the good girl who always did what she was told, and went along with what the adults wanted.
From a very young age, I learned that there was no point asking for a pet, because "we are not pet people". As a child of immigrant parents, I understood instinctively that we couldn't afford all the extras that pet-ownership required, and I would watch with curiosity at the mix of disgust from my mom and longing in my dad whenever the subject of pets came up with other families.
That longing is finally starting to make sense to me.
My dad died three years ago and some hidden stories have started coming out of the shadows.
I am starting to learn that my dad had a special relationship with animals.
He grew up on a large acerage in Tanga, Tanzania, rich with mango trees and places for him and his two brothers to climb and roam, and they had a couple dogs that would come and go, dogs he would secretly feed and play with.
He went abroad to Pakistan for university and got his degree in animal-husbandry, and wanted to work with animals as a career. I think he was really excited about working with animals on a farm or even as a veterenarian, but since those dreams never came true, I never learned all the lingo associated with my father's hidden wishes.
There's a reason those dreams never came true.
Wanna hear more of the story? Here we go.
My parents got married in Pakistan in the early 70's, and when they moved to London, England, they started applying to emigrate to Canada. Ten years went by as they watched brothers and sisters around them set off for a new life and Canada as my parents waited for their papers.
In the meantime, my dad started planting seeds for his dream to own a farm. The day came where his loan was approved by the bank and the farm he had been coveting was up for sale.
Two days later, the immigration letter came, saying they had been approved to move to Canada.
What a moment that must have been for him. I have been pondering it as I sort through his old paperwork, the dozens of letters he wrote explaining why he would be an asset to Canada, and the dozens of rejections that came.
But finally, the "YES" letter had come.
He left his dreams behind as he stepped on the plane and brought his family to the country where we'd be reunited with all our relatives.
It took ten years, and when the moment came he did not hesitate.
But something in him must have cracked a little as he said goodbye to the farm that was almost his.
When he arrived in Calgary, he got to work, putting in long hours at the 'smoke and gift shops' the family had established over the last decade, and slowly and deliberately, his love for animals moved to the edges, relegated to a parrot we loved for a few months before my mom had enough of the squawking.
So from my youngest days, I squashed any desire to have my own pet and adopted my parents' approach to animals: they are expensive, dirty, and should stay outside (including the parrot, who eventually flew away one day).
I never even let myself want a pet.
My father's squashed dream became my new normal.
And then, four years ago, I met a dog. The kind of dog that presses re-set on your heart. It was an incredible adventure learning how to love an older dog through her final years, and last summer, she crossed over the rainbow bridge. My dad got a chance to meet her once when he came to visit us in the Shuswap for a family reunion. I remember his eyes lit up as he interacted with her, and he would watch her intently as she moved slowly through the house, as old dogs do. My dad had started losing his memory, but when it came to Baby, he was sharp as a tack.
He couldn't believe we had agreed to having a pet in our home and kept asking, "Are you sure you can afford this?"
After he died and then she died, I thought I was done with pets, done with the longing that I used to see in my dad's eyes.
But I've been working on myself the last year, especially on the part of me that gets stuck in compliance and people-pleasing. The part of me that doesn't ask for what I need because it might inconvenience someone.
The part of me that learned early to squash my dreams.
And then, last week, I met a kitten. The kind of kitten that presses re-set on your soul and leaves you breathless and confused about how you suddenly became a cat-person from one 5 minute encounter.
And that's the beginning of my new story.
This tiny cat has been teaching me about the opposite of compliance - how we can just want what we want with no apologies.
She is teaching me that curiosity, learning, play, and rest are equally important, and there is a time and flow to each of them.
She is teaching me that defiance is also not really necessary when we know who we are (watch this week's video for more about compliance and defiance!)
She is teaching me that maybe I do love animals in that deep, reverent way that my dad did, and maybe I was wrong about being a pet-person.
She is teaching me that I am evolving.
As you step into your own evolution, what is changing in you?
What are the things you swore you'd never do that you find yourself enjoying?
What are the changes you are noticing that you can't really understand or explain, but simply feel in the deepest part of your bones?
Join us for a Wednesday evening meditation if you want to evolve alongside others who are ready for a new way. (And your eyes will be closed so whether your're a pet-person or not, you won't be distracted by all the fur-babies around us!)
Yours in A New Story,
Dr. Saira
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