🐾 How My Dog Helped Me Heal

I didn’t adopt Daisy to save her.
If I’m honest, she saved me.

It was one of those chapters in life where everything felt broken.
A loss I wasn’t prepared for.
Sleepless nights.
A silence in the house that rang louder than any noise.

I wasn’t looking for a dog — just walking past the shelter on my way to nowhere in particular. But something made me look through the glass. And there she was.

A small, mixed-breed pup with soulful eyes and a calmness that felt… safe.

I sat down outside her kennel. She padded over and pressed her head to the bars.

I cried.

Bringing her home wasn’t magic at first.
I was still hurting. Still trying to breathe through the ache.
But Daisy didn’t ask questions.
She just stayed.

When I didn’t want to talk to anyone, she listened.
When I didn’t want to move, she nudged the leash into my lap — gentle, patient.
When the nightmares came, she curled tight against my chest like a weighted blanket made of love.

She didn’t try to fix me.
She just reminded me how to feel safe again.
How to laugh.
How to walk slowly.
How to show up — one little tail wag at a time.

Over time, the pain didn’t vanish… but it changed.
Softened.
Made space for joy again.

And somehow, in helping her learn trust, I was rebuilding mine, too.

I thought I was rescuing her.

But really…
she was leading me home.