“People want what you have.”
A friend said this to me the other day. She was referring to my unusual career path, that of veterinarian and animal communicator.
It stopped me in my tracks, because she was right.
Once upon a time, I wanted what I have now. I wanted to know everything my vet knew; I wanted to understand why she was choosing a given treatment path. And I wanted to be able to talk to animals.
Be careful what you wish for.
You’d think that understanding the fundamentals of veterinary medicine would make you feel more at ease when thinking about your pets. If your dog started coughing, for instance, you’d have a good idea whether it was something that needed urgent attention, or whether it could wait. If your cat was excessively scratching its ears, you’d know how to treat it. Your knowledge would alleviate your fears.
All that is true, and yet…
It’s been my experience (and that of most my veterinary friends) that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
Hear your dog cough once and your mind immediately runs through all the possible scenarios for said cough, then fixates on the worst possible–and often least likely– of those possibilities.
“Definitely cancer,” you think, ignoring all rational thought.
Kitty scratching her ears excessively? Probably some obscure auto-immune disease that’s resistant to treatment, and not something simple, like ear mites.
Maybe rational thought goes out the window only when it comes to your own pets. That’s understandable, surely. But that’s not the case when dealing with other people’s pets, is it?
I suppose that’s true. I’m quite rational when it comes to other people’s animals, and can walk them through possible diagnoses in a very linear fashion. Everything’s fine, right? Oh no.
When it comes to other people’s animals, there’s always that nagging thought, “Am I missing something? Am I doing this right?”
It’s impostor syndrome, and though I know it’s a feature of many career paths, I’ve never felt it as strongly as I do in my current roles.
High school teacher, National Park ranger, computer geek, graphic designer, movie theater manager, writer, board member…all positions I’ve held with nary a hint of impostor syndrome. But when it comes to helping people with their animals… hoo boy!
Being an animal communicator must help, though, right? You’d understand an animal from the outside in AND the inside out.
I wish I could say that my experience of animal communication was as straightforward as watching a movie or reading a book. That the information is clearly there on the screen or the page.
Instead, it’s more like seeing a jumble of paper shards torn from the pages of the book, or small bits of film on the cutting room floor. And it’s mixed in with detritus from my own life, so I have to sift through the information as it arrives, to determine whether it’s even from the animal and if so, what it means.
On more than one occasion, I’ve thought, “I must be making all this up!”
I’ve chosen not one, but two careers that come with a heavy dose of impostor syndrome. And I think, ultimately, that impostor syndrome may be a good thing. It keeps me humble. It keeps me from adopting the “my way or the highway” attitude that is so pervasive in medicine.
Although I’m getting much better at coexisting with the feeling, occasionally it still gets me down.
So my friend’s words were a much-needed reminder. Once upon a time, I didn’t know much about either veterinary medicine or animal communication. I wanted to know what I know now. I’ve worked hard to get here, and I should give myself some grace for that.
Once upon a time, I thought the spot where I am now was the top of the mountain. Now I can see that it’s just a slightly better vantage point, and I still have miles to go.
