Why I Never Gave Up—And What a 20-Pound Dog Had to Do With It

It started on one of those days. You know the kind.

Parkinson’s was winning. My meds had clocked out early. My joints were staging a mutiny. And the only thing louder than the silence in my room was the question ringing in my skull:

What’s the point of fighting so hard… if no one’s even here to notice?

And that’s when I heard it.

Click-click-click.

Tiny nails tapping across the hardwood.

A cold nose nudged my shaking hand. And just like that, Millie jumped into my lap, curled into a tight little circle of warmth, and let out the softest sigh I’ve ever heard from a living thing.

No speeches. No pity. No awkward attempt to “fix” me. Just presence. Just love.

And suddenly, I didn’t feel so invisible anymore.

Pets Don’t Cure Disease—But They Sure as Hell Save Lives

That moment wasn’t unique. It’s been repeated—again and again—for years now. On days when I couldn’t find my smile, Millie brought hers. When I lost my ability to speak clearly, she listened anyway. When the weight of chronic illness made me want to disappear, she’d lay on top of me like she was holding me down in this world.

Turns out, she was.

And here’s where it gets interesting…

There’s real science behind what she did for me. Every time she licked my face or sat in my lap, my body released oxytocin—the bonding hormone—and quieted down the stress chemicals that were chewing through my sanity. Studies back it up: people with pets have lower anxiety, fewer depressive episodes, and better emotional recovery during trauma.

But if you’ve lived through chronic illness like I have, you don’t need a research paper. You feel it.

Purpose Wrapped in Fur

On days I didn’t care about my own routine, I stuck to hers. Feed her. Walk her. Pick up the world’s tiniest poop with the world’s saddest little bag. Repeat.

That structure—that silly, sacred routine—gave me purpose.

Even when I felt useless, she still needed me. And that was enough.

Millie didn’t let me give up. Not because she barked it at me, but because she believed, in her quiet little dog way, that I was still worth showing up for. And once someone believes that about you… you start believing it, too.

Let Me Say This Clearly:

If you think it’s “just a dog,” you’ve never been saved by one.

They don't erase the pain. They don’t make the symptoms go away.

But they show up anyway. Every time. Especially when no one else does.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what healing really looks like.

---

If that stirred something in you… welcome. You’re my people.

I write about stories like this all the time in my newsletter, Voice Unshaken. It’s not all inspirational quotes and motivational fluff—it’s the real stuff. The raw, hilarious, heartbreaking, and hope-fueled mess that is life with Parkinson’s (or any chronic condition, honestly).

You don’t need to be sick to join. You just have to get it. Or want to.

Subscribe here → https://voiceunshaken.com/subscribe

I’ll meet you there. Probably with another story.

And definitely with fur on my shirt.