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I didn’t expect my injured dog Ajax, a spring snow hike to Pratt Lake, and an outdated inner critic named Gooky to teach me the same lessons. But this week, they did. While it’s been emotionally trying to see my 11-year-old trail companion go through such pain, two well-received teaching engagements and a close look at the stories I’m telling myself have taught me six valuable lessons worth sharing.

Ajax’s Injury

It’s hard to keep positive and upbeat when your best canine friend yelps whenever you come near him. Or worse, turns or moves away when you’re trying to pet him. Yesterday I finally gave up trying and let him bask by himself in the sun, first making sure he had food, water, and shade. I’m unsettled by the fact that all of our usual rhythms are off. But from everything I’ve read, canine instinct is to try to heal in peace. I’m trying to give him space and let him be without fearing human intervention that might cause more pain.

My inner critic has had a heyday. “You suck at dog parenting.” “You should be doing more.” “Why haven’t you gotten a second opinion?” The longer I stayed at home the louder my critic, until I finally took my pack and went for a walk. I came back refreshed and clear-headed… and better able to deal with us both. No surprise, walking in nature revitalized me.

THRIVE CLUE ONE: When my inner critic, Gooky, says “You suck,” it’s a clue for me to step outside and give myself a break. She never follows.

Nourishment Before Chores

The second clue came this morning in the yard. I had Ajax off leash in the front yard waiting for him to do his business. But after fifteen minutes without success, I grabbed a broom and swept the front walkway and driveway. My husband lured him inside with medication hidden in chicken chunks. But not before a few timid steps away, unsure what we were really trying to get him to do. My heart broke when I saw him gimpy-limp upstairs, clearly not wanting to weight the front right paw.

Gooky launched into me with, “You couldn’t even tell whether he needed to pee. You went outside to mow. You’re lazy. Why aren’t you doing what you set out to do?” Irked, I listened to my stomach grumble. Probably why I burst into tears watching him climb the stairs. “Later,” I told my inner bully, moving the mower to a safe place. “I’m hungry.”

THRIVE CLUE TWO: When criticism spikes after choosing self-care, growth may be nearby. In this case, recognizing hunger signs and taking care of them first allows me to take better care of those around me. I have in the past ignored it, but now I’m paying attention.

The Inner Critic

As I continued through the weekend, I realized that the inner critic is there to help me in some way. But I caught myself realizing that she’s kind of behind the times. She uses programming that has since been updated tenfold. In a rare moment of humor, I wrote in my journal, “She may mean well, but her methods are terrible,” followed quickly by something a little kinder: “We may all be in this together. But I’m the driver.” I sent her to a corner to sulk, aware that she wasn’t going to get her way this time.

THRIVE CLUE THREE: Gooky is running on outdated programming. I am at the helm.

Guilt as Teacher

I’m feeling guilty about leaving my dog behind with my husband. About leading every Tuesday. About going to the mountains, rain or shine. Why, when they give my soul energy? Nature gives me something nothing — or no one — else can. As for several upcoming backpacking trips – how the heck can I do them when my dog is injured?

Close on the heels of such guilty thoughts was the realization: backpacking will build me back up so that I can face whatever obstacles I have at home. I can’t not go to the mountains. And there’s my next clue.

THRIVE CLUE FOUR: If self-care triggers guilt, it may be exactly right. Denying myself access to the mountains will cause resentment – toward my dog or anyone who requires it of me, whereas self-care will bring me back at 100% capacity.

Backpack Doubts

My inner critic doubled down and tried another tactic. “You haven’t done your strength training this week.” I almost rolled my eyes at this point. I knew exactly what the ego was getting at. To myself, I argued, “No, but I DID mow the entire yard, vacuumed the whole house, did my plank rope row circuit, and I hiked 12 miles and gained 3000′ Friday with 20 pounds at an average moving pace of 2.3 mph. Including snow. That first backpack is only 10 miles and 1200′ gain. In two days. At 1.5 mph. I could do that TODAY and be fine. So back off.”

I sent her to suck her thumb and sulk in the corner. She’s not getting away with her antics anymore. What this taught me is to look for proof. My inner critic is remarkably adept at telling lies. But now I’m catching on to her ways. And when she starts telling lies, I have a new clue.

THRIVE CLUE FIVE: When the critic questions readiness, look for receipts. Ferret out the stories. Recognize the falsehoods for what they are: fear excuses.

Engagement as Medicine

Perhaps the most profound realization hit me shortly thereafter: Gooky never appears on the trail. Not when I’m out in the elements, leading other people through whatever obstacles we face. And not when I’m fully immersed in whatever I’m doing. 100% engaged. Over the past 18 months I’ve tried to channel whatever it is that makes me so alive in the mountains and add it to my teaching, coaching, and city life.

Whenever I’m teaching, within minutes of starting, I’m usually fully engaged. Tuesday night I spoke on Zoom to 21 participants about “Reluctant to Ready: Inspiring Change in Your Participants.” I fell in love with group facilitation. And Wednesday night, my husband and I spoke to 46 participants about increasing hiking speed. I felt in my element. Friday on the trail, with very few others out hiking until we were coming down, never once did I doubt that we should be out there. Only when I got home and started worrying about my dog’s health did my critic have a heyday.

THRIVE CLUE SIX: Where Gooky disappears reveals my medicine. She doesn’t hike with me. She doesn’t seem able to follow me onto trail, into rhythm, into authentic effort, or into helping others. Maybe that’s a clue worth trusting.

Older Dog Comforts

I don’t have all the answers to how to navigate through my current situation. There will be grief and pain. I recalled spotting an older dog in Asheville in the front yard across from my parents’ house years ago. I used to think, “How sad. Where are the owners? Isn’t it lonely?” Now, my own dog sits or lies outside for hours, soaking in the sun, watching the clouds, and listening to the birds. Not yelping or cowering.

When I checked on him an hour ago, he gave me two little tail wags before turning his nose to the sky, squinting in the bright sun. He doesn’t LOOK like a dog in pain. He looks… content. And maybe that’s one of the best lessons I can get from this week — that experience softens judgment. Years ago I pitied that dog. Today, I watch Ajax resting in the sun and realize solitude can also be a comfort. This week, I was thriving more than surviving. Hopefully Ajax will soon be, as well.