Let’s talk about healing.
And heeling.
And why one involves inner peace and the other involves being emotionally leash-trained by someone who may or may not know what they’re doing. In the chaotic kennel of modern relationships, we all eventually face the existential question: Am I here to heal… or heel?
Dogs Heel. Cats Heal.
If relationships were animals, dog-people would be the ones loyally waiting at the emotional door, tail wagging, ready to try again. Cat-people? They’ve blocked the door with a plant stand and are watching you silently from the windowsill of detachment.
Dogs heel. They’re trained to walk just behind, eyes on their person, ready to obey. Cats? You can’t train a cat to heel unless you’ve got treats, a PhD in reverse psychology, and zero self-respect. To “heel” in a relationship often means you’re adjusting yourself constantly—following someone else’s emotional lead, keeping pace with their comfort, obeying their silences, their half-apologies, their breadcrumb texts. It’s not loyalty. It’s low-grade behavioural conditioning. And somehow, you’re the one doing tricks for scraps.
The Emotional Sit-Stay
You know you’re in heel-mode when:
- You apologise for being “too much,” even when you were just enough.
- You wait for messages that never come, then jump when they finally do.
- You adjust your tone, your plans, your truth—just to avoid conflict.
That’s not healing. That’s performing. That’s “good dog” behaviour in a relationship where you should be a fully formed, emotionally sovereign mammal—not someone else’s project.
Meanwhile, the Cat Is in Therapy
Cats do not heel. Cats ghost you from across the room. Cats go to therapy, process their abandonment issues, then return at 3am for a snack and a nap in your laundry pile. They don’t perform. They don’t beg. They don’t contort their sense of self for someone else’s comfort. Cats teach us boundaries. They’ll accept affection—if and when they want it. They’ll show up, but never on command. And when something hurts them, they hiss, hide, or walk away like royalty exiting a disappointing peasant village.
And let’s be honest: when it comes to healing, that’s not such a bad model.
Training Isn’t Love
Control masquerading as connection is subtle. Someone doesn’t need to yell or demand to put you on an emotional leash. Sometimes all it takes is your desire to not lose them—and suddenly you’re sitting, staying, waiting, hoping. But love isn’t obedience. Love is consent, not conditioning. The difference between healing and heeling is agency.
Healing says, “I’m working on me.”
Heeling says, “I’m shrinking for you.”
Be the Cat (Even If You’re a Dog)
You can still be loyal, generous, warm, and silly—traits we adore in dogs—but without rolling over every time someone offers the illusion of love. You can fetch respect, not red flags. You can wag your tail in relationships where you’re not expected to heel every time someone claps. So if you’ve found yourself confused in a relationship, ask: Am I healing? Or just heeling? And if the answer is the latter, maybe it’s time to hiss, stretch, knock something off a table, and walk away.
*Thank you to KH and HK for the dog photos!
FrogDiva Thoughts 