My journey into recovery was fueled by a phenomenon known as ‘helping profession burnout.’ Two years ago, I traded my lifelong career in the non-profit sector for the chance to pursue a lifelong interest in working with dogs. True to my neurotic nature, I over-planned my new life, from dog training school through what would prove an enlightening journey into the promise of capitalist self-determination and the freedom of self-employment—crash landing me into an acute bout of depression and alcohol rehab. My alcohol abuse was nothing new, but the lack of structure in my new life proved fertile soil for an already flourishing addiction.
Though I’m comfortable with my decision to return to the daily grind and now spend my days assisting cancer patients at a non-profit agency, I still accept the occasional after-hours canine client. Much to my dismay, I have found that dog training offers little solace from the day-to-day challenges of social work. After all, it’s no small charge motivating an animal to change its behavior. And that’s just the problem with the humans—the dogs are no picnic, either.
