The Dog Whisperer Helped Me Tame the Men in My Life

418316686 29c95408b7 m The Dog Whisperer Helped Me Tame the Men in My LifeWhile lying on the couch a couple of months ago channel surfing in the middle of the night I stumbled upon an episode of The Dog Whisperer. I love dogs so why not catch up the show that helps bad dogs go good. As I watched the show I found myself intrigued by the advice Cesar Millan gave the dog owners – a naughty or out of control dog is really a reflection of its owner. I woke the next morning and realized my relationships with the naughty, out of control men in my life resembled many of the frustrated dog owners on the show.

“Giving [them] love alone doesn’t create balance in their lives. To control a powerful breed, you need to become the pack leader and establish rules, boundaries, and limitations. ” – Cesar Millan

I had several men in my life and nothing but headaches. Sure, I’m still dealing pain and fragility left over from wounds past, but having folks suck me dry was not healing those wounds. Instead these wounds remained raw and bloody with new deeper incisions.

So, how did I flip the script? The flow of milk dried up cold turkey and I offered no discounted weaning plans. I had nothing to loose (only money, credit, and Tylenol to save) and there’s plenty of fish, sharks, starfish, whales, coral, sea lions and dolphins in the sea. I could have a new pain in my ass sitting on my couch within minutes if I wanted. So it was time for these boys to get it right or get to steppin’ because there’s only one pack leader in my life – me.

Needless to say, these boys didn’t take to the news easily. You would have thought I’d cut off their suppply of crack with all the kicking, screaming, denial, avoidance, bullshitting and tantrums that passed and are still going on but at a much lower screech.

I suffer from the eldest child syndrome – giving and not expecting much in return, but I don’t sit around tallying what I’ve given and/or received from friends, it’s just not how I operate. But when my friendship turns into a guy treating me like his mother, or he begins to take his momma anger out of me, or I become his personal ATM machine (why is this such a problem with modern men?), or I become his “imaginary” hoe, then bitches we have a problem.

I am in control of my life. I am responsible for me. If you need a favor, I’ll check my calendar to see if I’m free. Oh, look I’m not free. Find another friend to drag you along their coattails because I’m busy; doing me.

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