I finished it. In my past two posts (here and here) I’ve been writing about my experience refinishing an antique vanity. I finished it!

Almost. I have now cluttered the top surface with stuff, and the drawers are all still empty. So, it hasn’t reached the point of finished and functional, but all of the painting and sanding and lacquering is done!

At one point in this process, the drawers were all out of the piece and leaned against each other and the walls of the hallway. I didn’t know how I was going to start working on this piece. The drawers seemed to be in the way somehow, but other than that, whatever was happening or not happening in the upstairs hallway was a complete mystery to me.

I asked my husband, Ryan, for help.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” I made a large circular gesture with my hand toward the general area of the mess. “This. This isn’t working for me. I don’t know why.”

“I think we should move the drawers downstairs so you have more space to paint.”

“Okay.” I said. We started moving the drawers downstairs to the front room and lo and behold, there was space to move around and paint everything.

It seems like such a small problem with an obvious solution. But, for me, it wasn’t small. This was the thing that finally set me into motion on this project. I probably wouldn’t be finished with this project if I hadn’t asked for help.

Here’s the thing. When I asked for help, I didn’t really know what the problem was, and I couldn’t really think clearly enough to come up with a solution. It just felt...bad. When you are having trouble identifying a problem, how can you possibly come up with a solution?

Problems wax and wane in perceived severity based on stress, surrounding experiences, and more. The urgency of problems is vulnerable to the pressures of time, plans, and obligations, but also to our lived experiences and how we’ve thought about problems in the past. What counts as a problem in our lives is a subjective matter, shaped by our own expectations and desires, which are thrown into relief against social and cultural standards.

I’ll give you an example. My dogs all bark. Loudly. Only sometimes does it feel like a problem. It’s usually the worst when they’re barking for their dinner at the end of the day. They’ve heard the predictable sounds of food-making: the opening of the refrigerator door, the thud of the food container on the kitchen island, the drawer opening to get a spoon. They start to bark, excitedly. All six of them. I’m usually very tired and hungry (the kind of hungry where you’re also angry) by that point in the day and supersonic barking reverberating against my eardrums is particularly tortuous, even though I do love that they get so excited about dinner. “I should really do something about this,” I think to myself. “I’m a dog trainer, I’d be so embarrassed if anyone knew this is what my life is like.” I contemplate running away from home. The next morning, while they are all sweetly snoozing, I will somehow forget that I ever thought the barking was a problem.

Thinking about and conceptualizing problems is a skill, and it’s a skill that is sometimes elusive and clumsy.

When it comes to dog training, dog guardians can usually identify any number of problems.

“My dog will not do a nose target.”

“My dog can’t stay.”

“My dog doesn’t listen to me.”

And, most of the time, people can tell a story about that problem.

“My dog will not do a nose touch, unless we are in one room of the house and I have hot dogs. I think he’s scamming me for better treats.”

“My dog can’t stay. I think she has separation anxiety and wants to be near me all the time.”

“My dog doesn’t listen to me. I need him to understand that I am the leader and I am in charge and he is not.”

Dog trainers are frequently faced with conceptualizations of problems that may be based on erroneous or incomplete interpretations of behavior. Competent dog trainers are adept at helping people tell different stories about behavior, stories that are based on evidence and not assumptions, stories that are conducive to helping us align our expectations of our dogs’ behavior with what is possible and kind. These stories about problems form the foundation for change. Sometimes change is an adjustment in training criteria or parameters, sometimes it’s a change in our own expectations, and sometimes it's a multi-faceted overhaul.

When it comes to thinking about problems in dog training, one of our go-to refrains is that we should not think about what behavior we’d like our dogs to stop doing, but reframe the problem to think about what we want them to do instead. Take that negative “stop that” and turn it into a positive “do this.”

While this is effective, it’s hard to make this reframe work when you’re having that particular sort of inertia around identifying problems.

“I don’t know what I’d rather my dog do instead, I just feel so terrible when he barks and lunges. I can’t even think straight in those moments.”

“I’m not sure I’m giving my dog enough of what he needs to live his best life. I wonder if he’d be better off living with someone else.”

“I don’t know what is wrong, I just feel like things could be better between me and my dog.”

These are all real concerns that have been voiced to me as a trainer.

What the problem may be and how we feel about the problem are separate but equally important. Those experiences of inertia are important, too. They give us necessary time and space to pause, even if they feel shapeless and uncomfortable. It’s okay to ask for help, even if you don’t know what the problem is or how to think about it.

Whatever it is, you’ve got this.

XO, Joan and all the (barking) dogs