“I’m entirely focused on making sure he doesn’t get hurt.”
“Do you think that’s helping him?”
My yoga teacher often asks students to assist one another as we work on handstands. I had been doing this for a few years when we had this exchange. Safety is essential when helping someone attempt a handstand and I had mastered the art of avoiding handstand mishaps. My teacher was pointing to an area for growth.
To the person attempting a handstand, I was communicating “I won’t let you get hurt.” Ironically, transmitting this message isn’t the best way to ensure that someone doesn’t get hurt. Nor is it the best way to help them advance their practice.
When attempting a handstand, it’s important to know that you are safe. But when assisting a handstand, safety is a starting point. It shouldn't be the only point.
When I practice yoga, I often experience fear. For example, improving standing backbends, a practice that may lead to a full dropback,
requires playing with the edge of comfort. A wise student learns how to play this edge without getting injured.
As a parent, I have struggled with my unhelpful responses to fear. When my children climbed higher than ever before, I had to suppress my instincts. My children trusted their abilities and were unafraid. I wanted to yell “Watch out!” or “Be careful!” or even “Come down from there!”
My children knew themselves well. If I followed my instincts and yelled out warnings, I would be suggesting that they shouldn’t trust themselves. I would be communicating that they should be afraid. Transmitting these messages as they were testing new limits would have made them less safe.
I have had to work hard not to transmit my fears to others. This is especially challenging for me when others are fearful. I feel their fear and become afraid for them. If I’m not careful to bury my fear so deep that it can’t be recognized, my empathic fear may reinforce their original fear. It’s a vicious cycle.
I was recently confronted with my tendency towards fear when my wife and I adopted a puppy. We had met her briefly and were drawn to her kind, affectionate energy. Our beloved lab mix had died 10 months before and the best guess was that this dog was a lab mix too. We were excited to welcome a new dog into our family and arranged to pick her up a few days later. When we brought her home, our first impressions were confirmed. She was fun-loving, affectionate, smart and kind.
After twenty-four hours with her, it was clear to me that she wasn’t a lab mix. She was a pit bull.
If pit bulls are raised to fight, they can be vicious fighters. Our puppy got along with every dog and person she met. And we weren’t going to raise our dog to be a fighter. Most pit bulls are wonderful pets.
Still, pit bulls inspire fear in many people. I have internalized some of this fear myself. I’ll sometimes ask if it’s okay to pet a dog out for a walk with its owner. I’ve never asked to pet a pit bull.
I went to bed that night distressed. I had adopted a lovely, smart, kind, affectionate puppy. And I had doubts about whether I should keep her. My doubts had nothing to do with the dog and everything to do with my own shortcomings.
I’ve become quite good at hiding my fears from other humans. But dogs aren’t as easily fooled. Dogs smell fear on humans.
I imagined that whenever I would introduce my dog to another person, I would watch to see whether the person showed any signs of fear. I would be afraid that they would be afraid. And I imagined that my dog would sense my fear and being a loyal friend, might come to my defense. I was afraid my fear could put others in danger.
Maybe the experience of owning a pit bull would lead to personal growth. Perhaps I could finally become the sort of person who doesn’t allow someone else’s fears to become their own. But maybe not.
I wasn’t willing to take the chance that my inappropriately transmitted fears could lead to my dog becoming aggressive. I returned the dog to its foster home the next day.
All dog owners need to manage situations where someone is afraid of their dog. Pit bull owners need to manage these situations with virtually every new encounter. The dog we adopted could become a wonderful pet for the right sort of person. But I’m not the right sort of person.
I am less fearful than I used to be. And I have reduced the frequency with which I communicate my fears when doing so is unhelpful. But confronted with the prospect of owning a pit bull, I had to look at myself with unflinching honesty. Was I capable of the emotional growth necessary to become a good pit bull owner? I was quite confident the answer was no.
I like to think of myself as emotionally intelligent, capable of adjusting my responses to meet the needs of the situation. It was hard for me to give up on a sweet puppy because of my emotional limitations.
Assisting other students in handstand, working on standing backbends, and other aspects of my yoga and meditation practice, have helped me become more familiar with fear. I have learned to distinguish between fears that are well-founded and those that should be overcome. Fears that hold me back have diminished. But they haven’t disappeared.
My fear of fear is not well-founded. Ideally, it should be overcome. But I chose to pay attention to the possibility my fears would put others in danger.
Recognizing my shortcomings keeps me, and others, safer. I may never be the right sort of person to own a pit bull. But perhaps I can learn to become a little less afraid of fear.
Sounds like a tough situation. But you are a savvy enough dog owner to understand the silent and often unanticipated synergy between a dog and it’s human. I for one have loved two very different dogs who both developed a fierce protective reactivity to strangers. I can’t not be part of their calculations. You would never be off the hook.