My Core Truth: What My Fur Babies Taught Me About Parenthood
For those of you who have been following my healing journey, you know that my life has been focused on unlearning toxicity. The most grueling part of this process was recognizing the toxic patterns I had internalized, especially concerning family dynamics.
My journey took me deep into the core of my wounds this year, uncovering a truth so central to my early life that its absence often left me feeling the need to be utterly alone.
To those who knew me before, it’s no secret that children were never part of my future plans.
It wasn't that I was against kids—I genuinely adore children—but I struggled with the idea of bringing new life into a world that often felt fragile and suffering. I had witnessed enough pain, struggle, and chaos to feel that perhaps I shouldn't contribute to creation. How could I support someone else when I struggled to support myself?
I grew up seeing the messy, toxic side of family life: the yelling, judgment, and control. I saw dynamics where children were viewed as competition or burdens rather than blessings. As a reflection of this, I often wondered:
How can a parent see their child as anything but a gift?
How can some refuse to spend time with their own kids, or see them as obstacles instead of the beautiful souls they are?
How can a parent utter words like, "I should have let you die a long time ago"?
Witnessing this made me doubt my own capacity. Honestly, I doubted I would ever make a good mother.
Even as I wrestled with these anxieties, one thing was always certain: I always wanted fur babies. They’ve been at the top of my life’s list, my little light in the midst of life's uncertainties.
What I’ve realized is that love isn’t about perfection or societal expectations. It’s about patience, growth, and choosing to see the beauty in every connection. And I discovered that capacity for love, not in the traditional sense, but through my role as a pet parent.
To me, everything we do with another soul is a partnership—and a pet parent is absolutely a parent: a caretaker, a protector, a friend. We potty train, feed, comfort, and bond with them. Their love isn’t much different from that of a human child’s.
When I look at my two fur babies, I see beautiful souls who deserve curiosity, freedom, and unconditional love. They remind me daily of what unconditional love truly looks like.
On bad days, when my patience is tested, I am grateful when they return home safely, reminding me of the bond we share. Their presence has become a profound gift: a reason to fight for myself, a reason to grow, and a reason to love more deeply.
In toxic dynamics, I’ve seen how ruthless people can be in denying the love of a child or a pet. Even with my fur babies, it hurts when I am denied the chance to spend time with them or care for them due to external hardships. It is a reminder of how precious and fragile those bonds are and how short the time we get to spend together on Earth.
For me, the moments of regret aren’t because I see my fur babies as burdens, but because I sometimes feel I haven’t provided enough or perhaps failed them in some way. But that feeling is also a teacher.
And from this reflection, I’ve concluded something about my capacity to love:
Love isn’t transactional. It’s about caring despite the hardships, about giving even when tired, and about finding joy in the simple act of being present. It is a commitment to becoming better every day.
As for whether I’ll make a good parent. Honestly, I don’t know. It’s another aspect of the self-mastery journey. But judging by how my fur babies turned out, I believe I have the capacity to love deeply and to learn along the way.
Love isn’t perfect; it’s imperfect in the most beautiful ways. This unwavering bond shows me that love's true gift isn't certainty, but the continuous opportunity to grow, to learn, and to build something meaningful.
