It has taken me an embarrassingly long time to realize that I am not a low-maintenance creature.
You would think this would have dawned on me earlier. After all, I make my living around animals, and when it comes to animals, I understand this concept instinctively.
If you own a Belgian Malinois, an Arabian horse, or some kind of emotionally unstable exotic bird that can solve puzzles and hold grudges, you already know that not all creatures are built the same. Some are hardy and uncomplicated. Others are intelligent, sensitive, high-drive, or finely tuned. They require enrichment. Movement. Proper nutrition. Mental stimulation. Social interaction. Rest. Purpose.
Neglect those needs, and things start to go sideways.
A stalled horse develops anxiety and behavioral problems. A working dog without a job begins redecorating your house with its teeth. A parrot without stimulation starts pulling out its own feathers. We understand this. We don’t shame the animal for it. We simply recognize that this particular creature has certain care requirements if it is going to thrive.
Oddly enough, it took me years to extend that same understanding to myself.
For most of my life, I treated my own needs like moral failings. If I felt exhausted, overwhelmed, isolated, restless, or depressed, I assumed it was because I was lazy, weak, disorganized, or simply not trying hard enough. I kept thinking eventually I would evolve into one of those easy, low-maintenance people who can thrive on four hours of sleep, gas station food, constant stress, no social connection, fluorescent lighting, and pure caffeine-fueled determination.
Unfortunately, that has not happened.
What has happened is that I’ve slowly begun realizing that self-care is a lot less about luxury and a lot more about proper animal husbandry.
For me, a healthy life requires certain conditions.
I need enough sleep. Not because I’m lazy, but because my brain and body simply stop functioning well without it.
I need time outside. Horses help with this. So do dogs. There is something regulating about fresh air, sunlight, dirt, wind, and living creatures that don’t care about your productivity levels.
I need meaningful work. Not just busyness. Purpose.
I need creative outlets. I need projects. I need novelty and learning and things that engage my brain before it decides to start chewing on the furniture psychologically.
And despite being an introvert, I still need a herd.
This one surprised me the most.
Left entirely to my own devices, I can isolate myself far too much. But every week, I spend time with a group of church ladies who are kind, funny, thoughtful, and genuinely caring people. And every single time, I leave feeling better. More grounded. More human.
It turns out even introverts are still social animals.
The older I get, the more I think many of us are suffering because we keep trying to live like low-maintenance creatures when we simply aren’t. We ignore our need for rest. We deny ourselves enrichment. We isolate ourselves from community. We live indoors under artificial light, eat terribly, sleep poorly, never move our bodies, and then act shocked when our mental and emotional health starts deteriorating.
And unlike with animals, we tend to interpret our unmet needs as personal failures.
A horse weaving in a stall is stressed. A dog destroying furniture is understimulated. But a human being struggling with burnout, exhaustion, anxiety, or depression is often told they simply need more discipline.
I don’t think that’s always true.
Sometimes the creature is not failing.
Sometimes the management is.
That realization has changed the way I view myself. Not with self-pity, but with compassion and responsibility. Because understanding the needs of a sensitive, intelligent creature does not mean indulging it endlessly. It means caring for it properly.
A high-powered horse still needs boundaries and training. A working dog still needs structure. But good trainers don’t punish animals for having needs in the first place.
They learn the nature of the creature in front of them and adjust accordingly.
I think humans deserve that same kind of thoughtful care.
At least, I’m finally starting to believe I do.