I just found out that Golden Retrievers are the most sensitive dog breed. They have more emotional intelligence than any other breed. That’s why they are usually hospital volunteer dogs etc. They are just the most in tune with human emotions.
That to say, I believe I’m a Golden Retriever Woman™.
More cuddly, biddable, emotional, codependent and intense. I thrive on connections and do what it takes to make it a good connection.
The Golden Retriever Woman™ attracts the type of partner who likes someone who is doting, easier to manipulate and who wants to make the man happy. They want someone who will absorb his opinions, his world, his lifestyle. She becomes his companion dog.
No stranger to dating, I’ve dated 20 guys. I know, I’m a whore. (I didn’t sleep with all of them, Steve).
At a certain point in 85% of those relationships, he would start criticizing me or compare me to other women or get frustrated at me seemingly out of nowhere. It was almost like he said “bad dog! look what you did! you are a bad girl!”
I was being trained. Controlled. Molded. It happened almost every single time. I see it so clearly now.
So these men want to be the big planet in their universe. Central, important and grand. They want their Golden Retriever Woman™ satellite moon orbiting them in a frenzy, like a little emotional Roomba, making sure that everything is ok. Bumping into his moods or boundaries and self correcting. She’s eager to please and senses his needs before he speaks them. She fetches his slippers and his dreams.
Even if her energy, her work, her cleaning up is how he is able to rule his little kingdom, he gets the praise. He gets the accolades. He keeps her small, constantly moving around him, constantly worried that he’ll be unhappy. And if she stops orbiting, the planet notices… but not because he values her autonomy or magic – because he misses the convenience.
Over time, he gets bigger. She stays the same size or becomes smaller. That is how it is designed. Our society has trained these men to believe that they are the authority, they are in charge, they are the planet, their opinions are the only ones that matter. The women are the moons. That’s how it is. Step into your role and tell your little moon how to be. Society rewards these satellite women, the helper, the sweet one, the patient one who supports his rise while orbiting invisibly. We get approval, told we are selfless, low maintenance, the illusion of safety and community, you get love when you are pleasing and agreeable. You get to solve his problems and that makes you have purpose and feel needed, even if you are never thanked. You know you poured into this little system to make things better, that feels good (for a while).
So one day, after decades of being his moon, I became the hardest dog to train. I became a glorious Shih Tzu. And I knocked my moon out of orbit to become by own Shih Tzu planet.
So now he and I were orbiting OUR sun, I wasn’t orbiting him orbiting the sun.
And I said… hey… I thought you liked me because I was your companion, not because I was easy to control. I thought you would be happy and proud of what I am becoming!
He looked at me like I was a disgusting POS, promptly forgot my decades of service and immediately went moon shopping.
And what if we were both planets, co-creators? Whole, luminous and collaborative?
What if we were both planets, each with a gravity, a vision, a fire. Not orbiting each other, but building a solar system together.
Aligned, not attached. Side by side, not one beneath the other. Imagine what we could create if one of us didn’t make the other disappear.
Imagine ASKING someone to make themselves a moon just to keep you happy?
Imagine expecting someone to dim themselves, to revolve around you, just so you could feel big and important.
Imagine knowing that they threw out their one life just to make your life better.
There is no way this planet loves this moon. Receiving services, sacrifice and mindless care is not love.
Let her be a planet.
