When Understanding Becomes Self-Betrayal

About animals, loyalty and the necessity of leaving
For a long time I believed I had to carry this. That it was my task to be understanding, to keep nuancing, to keep looking at intentions instead of consequences. That I should remember how much pressure my mother is under, that she means well, has so much experience with dogs and does so much for others.
But there comes a point where understanding is no longer a virtue, but self-betrayal. And we passed that point a long time ago.
I have lived for years in an environment where boundaries are structurally ignored, not only mine, but also those of the animals completely dependent on the people who are supposed to care for them. I see it every single day, and I can no longer unsee it.
When her dog Buddy shows his boundaries through tension, discomfort and overstimulation, it is not seen here as a signal that needs to be taken seriously, but as difficult behavior that must be suppressed. I no longer pull the dogs apart when they mount each other. It feels cruel. I have repeatedly told her the play itself indicates that it is too much. This is not harmless. This is not “just enthusiasm”. This is what happens when control becomes more important than attunement.
There are constantly daycare dogs here. Rarely is there ever a “no”. Not because it cannot be too much, but because saying no would require taking responsibility for boundaries. Instead, her own dogs are expected to adapt to an endlessly shifting, chaotic situation. Other dogs lie in their spots. There are no separate quiet areas. No clear structure. And when things go wrong, the environment is not adjusted, people just start shouting.
Her dogs and ours are structurally neglected within all of this. Her oldest little dog, Floor, gets forgotten in the garden while indoors the focus is on the daycare dogs, her own need to prevent conflict or on outside impressions. Floor often has to bark before my mother even notices her. Floor also still has to climb the stairs by herself even though she is old, vulnerable and has fallen down part of the stairs multiple times. When another dog overtakes Floor and she slips on the stairs, there is no protection, only a quiet “easy” directed at the other dog. Picking her up would be care. But care takes effort.
“Just loose dogs” are constantly brought into the house, despite knowing what that does to our dog. Fannar becomes completely dysregulated: he pants, eats poorly and loses his rest. When I mention it, the problem is not solved, it is moved. Then we are told we should simply have him neutered. For a daycare dog. Even though this is unhealthy for a dog in general, and in his case there are known medical risks because he already underwent abdominal surgery after a non-descended testicle. That knowledge exists. And still it is ignored. Because adapting to us would mean less control, less availability and less “being needed”.
The house itself is an extension of all of this. It smells like urine. Not once. Not temporarily. Structurally. Baskets, blankets, little clothes and the mat near the door: it is soaked into everything. Things are rarely washed, cleaning happens sporadically. My mother herself no longer smells it, partly because of smoking. But for dogs scent is not a detail. It affects behavior. It causes stress. Our dog Fannar becomes dysregulated because of it, we start gagging and become restless. Buddy urinates on our things. Maybe because those are the only things not smelling like daycare dogs…? Young dogs also urinate everywhere. Poop is left in the garden, even though it is walked through four times a day, two of those by my mother’s boyfriend.
As if that is not enough, all of this is constantly justified through stories that shift depending on what is needed in that moment. About a daycare dog that behaves aggressively it is said that she is angry and afraid of people and therefore needs to be here precisely with someone she is not afraid of. But yesterday that same dog was supposedly “crazy” about her and “so attached to her”.
It is not about which version is true. It is about the story constantly changing so nothing actually has to change in the situation itself. If there is criticism, the dog is pitiful and has nowhere else to go. If validation is needed, she is special and very sought after.
That is not thinking from the perspective of what a dog needs. That is a savior narrative in which being indispensable becomes more important than rest, safety and real attunement.
And all of this is hidden from the outside world through volume. Through loudly calling across the street. Through the image of the involved, experienced dog sitter.
Seeing what goes wrong is one thing. Having to live inside it while being expected to normalize it is something else entirely. I constantly stood in the place where I had to choose between being honest and keeping the peace. Between taking my own perception seriously or making myself doubt it. That is not a neutral position. It wears you down.
I am the one who sees the layer underneath. Always have been. For a long time I believed that was something to be proud of. That I was sharp. Sensitive. That I noticed things others missed. Only later did I understand how lonely that is. How heavy it is to be the only one seeing something is wrong while the outside world applauds.
What makes all of this so disorienting is that it is not one incident. It is that what happens is never truly acknowledged. What happens is constantly explained away, laughed off, moved elsewhere or made bigger than it is not, so nobody has to take responsibility. It is living inside a reality continuously rewritten while you are standing in the middle of it. That does something to your trust. To your perception. To your body.
This is not only about dogs. It is about a pattern. About struggling to say no while having no difficulty placing the consequences of that onto others. About wanting to keep control while refusing responsibility for the impact. About care as a performance while falling short in its essence.
And about me. About how I kept making myself smaller to keep things bearable. How I kept explaining, suggesting, adapting, hoping reason would finally land.
But boundaries you constantly have to defend are not boundaries. Taking distance from all of this is not egoism. It is self-protection. It is recognizing that my nervous system, my body, my relationship and our dog were not made for continuous chaos, smell, tension and unsafety.
There is no conversation left that can solve this. No explanation that still fixes anything. What too often gets called “a difference in boundaries” is no longer misunderstanding. It has become fact. And facts do not ask for discussion, but consequences.
Our boundary lies here. We can no longer live in a situation where:
dogs are structurally pushed beyond their boundaries
stress is minimized and dismissed
responsibility is continuously shifted away
and our health and Fannar’s health are treated as “collateral damage”
We have to leave here. Not “someday”. Not “when things calm down”. But because staying is damaging us further.
This is not punishment. Not an attack. Not revenge. It is a choice for life. For rest. For safety. And for the first time, I no longer feel the need to defend that.