Fear of being misunderstood

what poop bags can teach us

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Penelope Jean Page, the model dog

Yesterday, I was walking to my local neighborhood park with my dog, Penni. From my house, it’s a half-mile walk to get there — creating a mile-long loop.

This being her time to get outside, sniff all the smells, and see all the sights, we take our time. We walk along chipped sidewalks and trees full of lush leaves at the beginning of July. Along a brick road framed by sidewalks, vibrant plants, and lawn decorations, we pass a few flower gardens where butterflies and bees are getting their fill.

Penelope (Penni for short) is a mix between a Yorkie and a Poodle. Her all-black fur has the softness of a Yorkie’s but the wiriness of a Poodle’s. Weighing in at about 12 pounds, she’s little. (And perfect!)

While incredibly fit and agile, she’s turning 11 years old this month and moves a little slower these days and deserves to enjoy her walk as much as I do. So we stop and wait for minutes at a time while she sniffs nearly every blade of grass.

Heading west, we turn left into the park where tennis courts sit in the middle of snaking sidewalks throughout the park. Just past the tennis courts, a little stone bridge adds charm to the scene but serves no other functional purpose.

At one point, Penni had just finished sniffing around a trash can near the bridge. As we continue walking, I hear a woman shout at me.

“Do you need a bag to pick up the poop?”

“Oh, no thank you!” I say. “She only peed, she didn’t poop.”

We continue walking, again. And I hear a second time:

“DO YOU NEED A BAG TO PICK UP POOP?”

“She didn’t poop!” I call across the park to the woman standing with her German Shepherd. “She only peed!”

“I SAW POOP!” This woman is now forcefully yelling across this public park.

“You can look for yourself! There is no poop!” I answer, in shock.

She shakes her head at me and continues walking.

I.

WAS.

LIVID.

Incensed. Infuriated. ENRAGED.

How could this woman believe that I would just leave my dog’s poop in the middle of a public park? I cannot overstate how much this interaction affected me. The encounter and her words “I SAW POOP!” repeated in my head over and over again as Penni and I finished the final half-mile home.

Now, please hear me: I recognize how hilarious and ridiculous this encounter is now as I type this. I was able to laugh about it with my husband last night until our stomachs hurt. But at the time, I couldn’t. I was profoundly impacted by how this woman viewed me now as a human.

One thought that even crossed my mind was that my leg sleeve of tattoos is very recognizable, and she would recognize me next time as that bitch who doesn’t pick up her dog’s poop — I was a woman obsessed.

As I angrily ruminated on this interaction once we were home, I was now profoundly annoyed with myself that this interaction affected me so much. WHY when I knew that Penni hadn’t pooped and this woman was wrong, was I still thinking about it? Why did I care?

Two things came up for me:

1. my fear of being misunderstood

2. my diminishing capacity for being around people

First, I don’t want this stranger to see me as someone so thoughtless of others around me. I need people to know I am a caring, progressive, and mindful human.

The niche is me

As it’s become normal for people to “be their own brand” online, we’ve learned how to cultivate the vision and vibe we want others to take from experiences with us. And when I fear someone has taken a different idea away from an interaction with me than the one I’ve carefully curated, my stress response starts ratcheting up. (My stress response is flight, so I want to get away from a situation like that as soon as possible to mitigate further damage.)

Here’s an important piece of this thought process: I agree with this woman! Of course, people should pick up their dogs’ poop.

But now I have to live with the fact that this woman thinks I’m not someone who believes that.

Second, I’ve recognized in recent years that my capacity to simply experience moments with others instead of not letting them affect my nervous system has greatly decreased. Whether it’s due to aging, living through a pandemic, working remotely from home where most of my interactions are online, or a mix of those and many other factors that make this world stressful to live in, I find myself affected by others more than I used to.

In a typical week, I drive to the gym, groceries, and maybe a local coffee shop. I’m not on the road as a driver often, so when I am, I’m shocked by how infuriating it is to drive around other people. (How do people do it every day?!)

A few more photos of Penni, my little adventure pup, on a hike, on a paddleboard, and in our skoolie.

I’ve discovered that binary thinking is my kryptonite.

• If a woman in the park thinks I’m wrong, that’s bad.

• If a driver cuts me off in traffic, they suck at life.

• If someone reads this essay and thinks I’m a bad writer, the world is ending.

• If I’m affected by an interaction with a stranger I meet on the street, I’m not capable of properly handling my emotions.

But there is no truth in these statements — and, there is also some truth! It’s a graded scale I move through, daily.

I’m learning to experience and observe my own reactions and learn from them. (Who would have ever thought I’d use the word “poop” so much in a Substack post?)

Poem of the Week

“I am now personally developed” a poem by Jordan Shea Page