“Do you really need your dog?”

“Yes, I really need my dog.”

I tried to convince myself I did not need her to come back to school with me in the fall. I told myself that I would be fine returning to campus, a place full of thousands of people I did not know, all in a hurry to get where they were going. The very same place I had left months ago because I felt endangered and overwhelmed by the hyper-alertness I felt. Now I feared the attention that would inherently exist by walking through campus with a dog. I did not want to have to answer people’s questions about why she was there, and receive their judgmental looks when I replied “She’s my service dog” because I did not look disabled. I have PTSD.

Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) does not just affect war veterans who have been exposed to combat. PTSD is the body's response to traumatic events, whether the stress reaction is because of combat or sexual assault, or really anything that demands a body to go through a traumatic amount of stress. Research has shown that 30% of sexual assault victims will experience PTSD after the event. Sexual assault related PTSD symptoms are categorized by: re-experiencing the trauma, social withdrawal, avoidance behaviors and actions and increased physiological arousal characteristics. Each experience is unique; the prevalence and combinations of symptoms vary depending on the survivor. Just because the disability is not as visible as being in a wheelchair, does not change the impact this stress disorder has on the survivor’s every day life.

Yet, somehow dogs have the power to ease the toll PTSD has on a survivor’s life. My reality was that since returning home from school, I had spent almost every waking hour with my dog. She reminded me that I still had value even if the value I felt was coming from a dog. She eased the anxiety of being around people and softened the effects of the depression. While at first the panic attacks would come without warning, I soon learned some of my triggers and I focused my attention on loving her instead of avoiding everyday life. How could I ignore her little nose appearing right by my side when my heart would begin to race? I have found that love is the opposite of fear and anger. Being able to love her took away the power fear and anger had over me in those moments of terrible flashbacks. Sitting on the floor running my hand through her fur reminded me that I was breathing and feeling, what happened was done and that I had made it through.

As time goes on and I am able to heal, I am able to sense when a panic attack is on its way and meet it with logic. But this ability to apply reason to my fear only exists because I am grounded. My dog helps keep me grounded. She keeps me present in my body in moments where I feel myself disassociating to cope. Being able to take care of her allows me to have something other than the overwhelming feelings to focus on; her care provides routine and a schedule that makes tasks like caring for myself easier. My priority becomes self-care because if I do not take care of myself, I would be unable to care for her.

When she is by my side, I know I am not alone. Wherever I am, I feel safer knowing she is with me. Her sheer presence provides me with a sense of security that no weapon could ever provide. With her constant company, I have been able to receive her comfort and loyalty that no human could ever give. Being able to trust someone, even if that someone is my dog, is a huge step in my recovery. Right now, having her with me is how I am able to navigate in the world.

So, yes I need my dog.