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Our Sovereignty as Healers

Tuning In

There is a frequency that exists just below the noise of our "to-do" lists and the frantic management of our environments. As a dog trainer, I learned early on that the dogs don't listen to our words as much as they listen to our state of being; they truly mirror the vibration we carry into the room.

Now, as I transition from dog trainer fully into my work as an animal communicator, astrologer, and healer, I am finding that the "pack" I lead is no longer comprised of just the four-legged ones—it’s the internal landscape of my own soul.

The Mirror of the Pack

When my dogs are restless, or when the energy in my home feels scattered, I’ve learned to stop looking outward for the "fix." Instead, I look at my own inner chart.

Just as a planet at the 29th degree is gathering all its wisdom before a massive shift, we often feel a "pressure" right before we birth a new version of ourselves. If I am micro-managing the dogs, I am usually micro-managing my own anxiety.

From Management to Resonance

True healing—whether it’s through Reiki, the stars, or a conversation with a creature—doesn't happen through force. It happens through resonance.

The Dog Trainer knows how to command.
The Healer knows how to be.

When I step into my sovereignty, I am not just "controlling" my environment. I am clearing the space so that the Blue Earth can speak through me. I am setting a boundary—not as a wall, but as a container for my own peace. This is where the work shifts from external correction to internal alignment.

The Sacred Pause

Today, I choose to sit in the quiet. I choose to let the laundry wait and the dogs settle into their own rhythms. In this "loafing," I am actually doing the most important work of all: I am tuning my soul.

When we stop trying to "drive" the outcome, we finally become available for the insight. We hear the whisper of the Progressed Moon; we feel the shift of the Sun into the heart’s home; and we finally hear what the animals have been trying to tell us all along:

"You are already home. Just be."

HEART TO HEART

Peace

To the one who feels like they are "failing" their dog because they are simply exhausted: I see you.

I recently worked with a client—a brilliant, neurodivergent soul—who had already been through three trainers. He was overworked, overstimulated, and vibrating with the fear that he was "not enough" for his dog.

Neither he nor his dog needed another list of commands: They needed permission to breathe.

As an Aries, my natural instinct is to do: charge, fix. But the 8th house has taught me that the most profound transformations don't happen in the "doing"—they happen in the being.

In the work of talented canine consultant Matt Beisner (The Zen Dog), there is a beautiful, hard truth: We are not training dogs; we are healing relationships.

If you are overloaded, your dog is living in the splash zone of that dysregulation. They aren't "disobeying" you; they are reacting to the weather of your nervous system.

When I talk about Mindful Regard as introduced by The Trust Technique and Sally Utton (Ease & Grace) I’m not talking about a trick. I’m talking about "Quiet Connection" as the radical act of sitting with your dog and observing until the level of emotional thinking by both of you regulates

To my neurodivergent clients, and those simply carrying the weight of the world: Your sensitivity is not a defect; it is your superpower. It is the very thing that allows you to "hear" your dog when they whisper.

But that same sensitivity means you get overloaded.

If you can only give your dog five minutes of calm today, give them that. Five minutes of regulated, quiet presence is worth more than two hours of high-stress "obedience" training.

For today, stop trying to "correct" the behavior and start noticing the emotion. When you feel that surge of anxiety—the "I’m a fraud" or "I can't do this"—stop. Put the leash down. Ground your feet. Your dog isn't judging your progress; they are waiting for your peace.

We aren't looking for a "perfectly behaved" dog. We are looking for a relationship where both ends of the leash feel safe. And that begins with us.

Catch me doing something right!

The dog was sitting behind the baby gate, quietly alert and gently present.

The human was at her kitchen counter focusing on the list of transgressions "Oliver" had performed which had caused her to call a trainer in the first place.

"Chews on the leash ... jumps up on people ... won't come when I call ..."

"Wait, wait wait!" I interrupted her with a shake of my hand rand poked her to turn and look at Oliver. "Look at what he is doing right, right now!"

She turned and looked and chuckled, and said, "He's so cute." Turning back to her list, she continued: "He also ...."

I wouldn't let her go there, and I poked her again with my elbow. "The essence of conscious training is catching our puppers doing something right, whether intentionally or inadvertantly!"

I brought her attention to Oliver again and I approached him and gave him a treat and said, "Good Wait!" He was quite pleased with himself, and even more pleased that I had caught his goodness in action.

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Everything about Conscious Dog Training seems antithesis to what we know about relating to others.

When we ascribe human qualities on to our dogs, we do them and us a disservice.

They are sentient beings, but they are a different species and they learn more through association rather than connectivity. (Yes, they can connect outcomes to behaviors and conditions but in a different way than we do.)

So when we interact with our dogs in a conscious way, understanding as best as we can how THEY see the world, we can gain a little more rapport, cooperation, and fun with them!

So we train "backwards," -- what goes with what -- beginning at the end.

When you intereact with your dog after reading this, notice when your pup is already in a sit, and reward them with a delicious treat and say, "Good sit!"

When your pup is already laying down, reward her with a piece of cheese and say, "Good down!"

When your dog is walking by your side on the way to the back yard, bring a treat down to his mouth (don't make him lurch upwards for it), and say, "Good With Me!")

And then, finally, try it with yourself!

This is something both humans and canines have in common: We respond much better when we catch ourselves doing something right than by trying to berate ourselves into doing better. I did a good job showing up today; how about you?

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