#OpenConversations #MakingLivedExperiencesMatter Zorro is back home again after his second try at living independently. Maybe he’s realised, as many of us eventually do, that interdependence is the truth beneath all our talk of independence. He stood right outside the door, next to his untouched bowl of food and water. He waited at the doormat, not entering, not withdrawing and I just stayed there, calling him in. He kept howling, and for a moment I worried he might be hurt. Then I pulled out his favourite chicken gravy, the litmus test. He howled even louder, as if saying, “Give me that outside too.” That’s where the boundary appeared. Chicken gravy is served indoors. Dry food can stay outside. Maybe he was trying to tell me, “I want both, the freedom of outside and the warmth of your chicken gravy.” And maybe I was saying, “You are free, and I’ll still feed you, but not with chicken gravy.” Eventually, he walked in. Now he’s asleep after all that protest, while Cashew and Zara sulked in silent judgment, refusing to include him. It’s a whole social system playing out in fur. And watching them, I realised how much this mirrors the human world. From Zorro’s view, I might be the controlling mother who trades love for obedience. From mine, he might seem the manipulative one who returns only for comfort. But perhaps neither of us is mean. We’re both just trying to live within our limits, navigating connection and autonomy in our own ways. The harm begins when we start naming each other, “mean,” “stubborn,” “dependent,” “selfish.” Words become weapons, then identities. Over time, to protect ourselves from shame, we start naming ourselves first. “Yes, I’m difficult.” “Yes, I’m too much.” We claim the label before someone else throws it at us, a shield against judgment that still cuts us quietly inside. We see this everywhere. Neurodivergent or neurotypical. Disabled or nondisabled. These too are binaries that flatten a whole spectrum of being into neat categories. When the world keeps sorting us, we learn to sort ourselves, sometimes before anyone else can. It’s a survival act, but it comes with a cost. Because in all this labelling, the complexity of who we are gets lost. We stop being fluid, evolving, layered beings and start performing our labels just to stay safe. What if we stayed with the complexity instead? What if we didn’t rush to name or defend? What if we could hold multiple truths, even conflicting ones, in the same space, like Zorro and me, figuring out boundaries, needs, and care without turning each other into caricatures. If our true aim is to understand and connect, then we must stay open. Open to learn. Open to unlearn. Open to the messy, beautiful in-betweens where real connection lives.
