This is a picture of my dog Milo during a hike on Bear Mountain. That hike, on the day of the eclipse and full moon on Jan. 10, was magical.

We spotted a few white-tailed deer, a woodpecker hole, bear tracks, a hawk, and more. But that I could take a picture of Milo standing off-leash like this on the edge of a drop-off, without having a panic attack, was the most magical part of the hike for me.

I’ll explain…..

Wanting to Trust

When we were about a mile into the hike, my partner suggested it was a good time to take our dogs, Lucy and Milo, off their leashes. He had done this during hikes without me, but I hadn’t done it yet because it made me too nervous (and it’s also not allowed on some trails).

“We need to trust them,” he said when I expressed my concern.

Because I’m an animal communicator, I connected with the dogs, and they echoed that sentiment. “Just trust us,” they said. “It will be okay.”

I reluctantly agreed, but I quickly felt happy that I did. As soon as we took them off their leashes, the dogs started thanking me for trusting them. They were so happy running free and leading us on the trail.

Soon, though, some fear and panic began to creep in. Something was holding me back from truly trusting—even though I wanted to so badly.

It didn’t make any sense to me: I’m an animal communicator, and my dogs were earnestly reassuring me that I could trust them. So why did I feel like I just couldn’t fully do it?

Trust, trust, trust, I kept repeating in my mind. That mantra, the earth under my feet, and the rocks and trees surrounding me helped me stay grounded in the present moment and enjoy the hike.

But all of that dropped away again when we lost sight of Milo for a minute or two. My stomach dropped, and fear and panic started washing over me. I imagined some worst-case scenarios. He ran away forever. He’s hurt. He fell down the mountain. A bear or a hawk got him.

An Unexpected Revelation

Milo ended up coming right back after we called him, but I was still really shaken. I tried to move on, but I suddenly found myself saying aloud to my partner, “My first dog ran away when I was little, and she never came back!”

And then I started crying uncontrollably.

At that moment, I was brought back to the time when our family dog, Tippi, ran away, and all of the emotions that came with it. The feeling of shame—thinking that it was all my fault. The feelings of helplessness, deep disappointment, and sadness when I realized she wasn’t coming back. The feeling of grief for years to come.

It was a good cry that I had on that mountain as my partner hugged me. It was one of realization, release, and relief.

I had never connected my hesitation to trust the dogs—the twinges of fear and the panicked thoughts of losing them—to that trauma I had experienced as a little kid.

At some point after Tippi ran away, I had decided that it wasn’t safe to trust dogs. I decided that their fate was completely in my hands and that I’d ensure they’d always be safe if I kept them on leashes. But as I stood on Bear Mountain, wiping my tears, I realized that it was an old story—and I didn’t have to believe it anymore.

Letting Go

I let that childhood story and the beliefs that went with it slide down the side of the mountain with the melting ice. (The lunar eclipse happened to be peaking at the same time, which was probably not a coincidence. Astrologists say eclipses help us shed what is no longer serving us.)

Soon afterward, I looked up and saw Milo standing at the edge of a very high drop-off. He said to me, “See? You can trust me. I’m okay.”

Instead of feeling panicked, I felt calm. The situation reminded me that animals are some of our best guides and teachers. I took a picture to commemorate the occasion.

It’ll take some time to work on building my trust, but I know that it’ll happen much more quickly now that I can see what has been holding me back.

Now, I can see the scared little girl in me who lost her dog. I can honor the trauma and pain that she went through and hold space for her in my heart. At the same time, I can let her know that she doesn’t have to carry it any longer. I’ll help her let go of that story and write a new one.

An Exercise for You

If you feel called to it, I welcome you to ask yourself the questions below when you have at least 30 minutes to yourself. Take a few minutes to do some journaling in response to each question. Don’t think too long before responding. Just write whatever comes to mind:

• Are you afraid of something, but you’re not totally sure why?

• When you feel this fear, do any early memories come up for you? If so, what are they?

• What story did you begin telling yourself as a result of these memories? What did you decide?

• Does this story and those beliefs feel true anymore for you?

• If you could rewrite the story, how would it go?