The incredible support of a service dog

I have a major disability.

It doesn’t matter what it is. I could have anything that impairs basic functions of life, like breathing. walking or thinking. I could have cancer or lupus or epilepsy. I can be schizophrenic, bipolar, or have PTSD.

There’s a common medicine for all these things.

You may ask me: “what are you talking about? These conditions all require different medications! How can they possibly ALL have a medication in common?”

Ok, you got me, it’s not a medication you can inject, swallow, or stick to you arm. It actually does nothing for curing any of these conditions but it certainly makes my life easier.

I have a service dog (YAY, PUPPY!)

I’m not kidding, I say that to him all the time; apparently random people in the street think it’s fun to say too when they see him but you know what? He should be celebrated. My dog has saved my life more times than I can count and I’ve only had him a few months.

Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Carolyn, and my dog’s name is Asriel. I am 20 years old and I was diagnosed with severe depression, anxiety, and panic disorders last year though I have been suffering with them since I was about 17. Asriel is 8 months old and has been training to be a service dog since he was 6 weeks old in June.

A bit about my journey towards getting Asriel.

I nearly died in April. I don’t say that lightly or for the sake of drama – I walked pretty close to the edge of ending my own life due to a massive depressive episode I was suffering through at the time, and I ended up in a mental health ward for roughly two weeks on a self-harm watch. Let me tell you, nothing makes you reevaluate your life more than being watched 24/7 and only being given plastic utensils for meals.

It was a couple of weeks after I got out of the hospital that I made the decision to look for a support dog. After doing some research and talking to some other people online who had service dogs for similar reasons I decided I was going to buy a quality puppy from a breeder and train my dog myself.

I had several reasons for doing this, the first and foremost being that I didn’t have time to be on a 6 year waiting list for a fully trained service dog from an organization and I definitely didn’t want to pay $20,000 for one either.

I ended up buying Asriel from a really tough older women who lived alone and had been breeding German Shepherds for over 20 years. Her dogs were all tested for health issues before breeding and the litter I chose had several Canadian and American champions in their lines. He cost me $2000 and I don’t regret a single penny of it because I ended up with a smart, sassy little pup with a ton of spirit and a great sense of humor. He’s pretty darn good looking too.

What it’s like having a service dog:

In a word? Liberating. I being able to take my dog everywhere with me, I love that he has a job to do and does it well, and I love being able to leave my house knowing he’s got my back. There are a few drawbacks but they’re definitely worth it.

First of all, having a service dog is like wearing a sign that says “LOOK AT ME, I’M DISABLED!” in a big neon letters about your head. Apparently I’m also wearing a shirt that only other people can see that says “please ask me all about my personal medical problems” because I get at least one person a day getting a bit too nosy for my liking.

FYI: it’s rude to ask what someone’s dog is for. It’s like asking what kind of underwear a random stranger is wearing.

I will admit to enjoying discussing how pretty my dog is because I love him so completely that I just want to annoy other people by talking about him all day long. When I’m having a good day I really like talking about service dogs in general and education people about them, and I find most of the other handlers I know do too.

I’m gonna do the next bit of an FAQ to save some time:

Frequently Asked Questions about service dogs

Q: How long does it take to train a service dog?

A: About two years.

Q: Can any dog be a service dog?

A: No, very few dogs have the temperament and physical ability for it. They need to be physically sound (blind, deaf, and three legged dogs need not apply) and they need to have calm loyal natures. They have to learn an incredible number of behaviors and tasks and perform them flawlessly while fireworks are going off and a marching band is going by. Not that that happens often, but the point is they need to be able to ignore food, other dogs, people, and other inexplicably scary things going on and remain focused on their handlers. If they get distracted it can prove perilous to their handles.

Q: How many different kinds of service dogs are there?

A: I have no idea and frankly every service dog is tailored specifically to their handler so every one is different. There are a few common, generalized categories though: alert, guide, mobility, and psychiatric.

– Alert dogs let their handlers know when the handlers condition is flaring up (blood sugar drop/high, seizures, anxiety attacks, etc.) and they can also include hearing ear dogs that alert their handlers to sounds that the handler cannot hear.

-Guide dogs are the ones that everyone knows, as they are include seeing eye dogs. They literally guide their handlers around obstacles and keep them away from danger.

-Mobility dogs are those that help a handler move around. They can be trained to pull wheelchairs, brace themselves so their handlers can lean on them to steady themselves, retrieve objects, push automated door buttons, or help pull their handler along to make walking easier.

-Psychiatric dogs are those that help with mental disorders and they are kind of a mix of all the other categories due to the complex nature of psychiatric disorders.

Q: Can I take my dog everywhere with me because they make me feel better?

A: No. You need to be professionally diagnosed with a condition that inhibits a major function of life. In the States, the law is very specific about what defines a service dog and they have to perform at least three tasks that mitigate your disability. In Canada the laws are pretty vague – in fact only Alberta and Ontario have defined service animal laws. Here in Ontario I have to have a written prescription from my doctor.

Q: Do service dogs have to wear vests?

A: No. Nowhere in North America is there a law stating that a service dog needs to be marked as such. In the States, if your dog is unmarked, you can only be asked two questions: is that a service dog and what tasks does he/she perform. In Ontario if the dog is clearly marked then you don’t need to have the prescription on you, but be prepared to be asked for it if your dog is going naked for the day.

Q: Is there a certification or registry for service dogs?

A: No. In no state or province is there a certification or registry. Yes they will show up if you google them and yes they are all scams. These scam sites really harm the ability of a service dog team to go into businesses because if the first experience that business has of service dogs is a team with a fake ID then they expect them from the rest of us too.

I hope you’ve all learned something today and you’ll take away the information you’ve learned and share it in honor of International People With Disabilities Day. If you have any questions please comment or e-mail Asriel and I asrielthesd@outlook.com and we’ll be happy to help in any way we can.

You can learn more here:

• Service Dog Central
• ADA Service Animals (US Only)

– Carolyn Strung

Mental Health & Diabetes – An Interesting Connection

Today is World Diabetes Day and this week is Mental Health Awareness Week. We are excited to have an incredible blog here by Heather Gomez; when we asked Heather to write a blog for us about her struggles with diabetes, we had no idea how much it would tie into our series on Mental Health Awareness week in addition to bringing awareness to diabetes.  I am very excited to share this with you – check out Heather’s bio and website below as well!

By Heather Gomez

I spent the majority of Christmas holidays of 2005 curled up in a ball on the living room couch, tears streaming down my face. I felt empty, purposeless, isolated, and hopeless. My parents, concerned that I might be depressed, took me to my family doctor who ran a series of blood tests to first rule out anything physical. It was only days later we got the news that something physical was indeed wrong; I was diagnosed as a Type 1 Diabetic at 16 years old. The doctors I spoke to were of the opinion that, with the correct dosage of insulin, I should be feeling better in no time.

Six years later, I sat numb and partially sedated in front of a psychiatrist in the mental health ward of my local hospital, detailing the crushing crescendo that had evolved from those same feelings that began back in high school. I spent three weeks in the psychiatric ward, heavily medicated and glassy-eyed. When I emerged I had five new medications and a formal diagnosis – Major Depressive Disorder.  I was referred to a 12-week outpatient therapy program through the hospital, where I was followed by a psychiatrist. Medications were tweaked and weekly dialogues with a therapist ensued. Depression and diabetes were becoming a reality.

Eventually I was referred to an eating disorders clinic, where I attended group therapy sessions twice a week, and regularly saw a counselor, psychiatrist, and dietitian. My time at the eating disorders clinic was extremely enlightening, and I developed a keen sense of self-awareness through candid discussions. As I shared my frustrations, anxieties, and stressors week-to-week with the group, I noticed my diabetes would frequently take center stage. I had never thought of my diabetes as a particularly “bad” part of my life – it was just who I was. Yet when I openly and honestly shared, I found myself referencing my defunct pancreas and its related demands on not just my body, but also my mind, heart, and soul.

As I began to piece together my experiences with mental illness, I discovered other anatomical parts of my body – not just the organ floating in my skull – were part of the bigger picture. Yet for so long I had quarantined the two issues – body and mind – from each other. If my blood sugar was high, I would take more insulin. If I was feeling suicidal, I would practice positive self-talk. Of course, neither of these are bad things, but they were only addressing one fraction of the puzzle in each case.

Unfortunately, this partiality was, and is, common practice among my healthcare providers. When I visit the endocrinologist, I am treated as a diabetic. During my time in the psychiatric ward and during appointments with therapists, I was treated as a mentally-ill patient. Rarely have I been treated as both simultaneously, and this is where the problem lies. In my specific case, diabetes and mental health are not mutually exclusive.

The depressive symptoms I encountered throughout high school and university had been augmented by my diabetes. Likewise, the challenges of self-care for a chronic illness had been exacerbated by my depression and eating disorder. If I am not managing one sphere of my health well, the other will also suffer. Likewise, if I am making healthy choices to manage one illness, the other will almost certainly reap benefits as a result. It was in understanding this that I was, and am, able to achieve the greatest level of care for both illnesses that I live with.

Chronic illness is not merely a physical battle, nor are the effects of mental illness strictly resigned to the mind. If I have learned anything over the past eight years living with both diabetes and mental illness, it is that I can’t manage one without managing the other. Periods of depression will always negatively exert themselves on my will to properly self-care, just as the daily grind of blood testing and carbohydrate-counting will mentally exhaust and discourage me at times. I can’t undo either condition, but I can consciously choose to do my best to manage the deficits of both body and mind. As I do, I am striving to raise awareness among healthcare workers and fellow patients about the link between mental health and chronic illness. It is my hope that our healthcare system will get to a point where both body and mind, the physical and the mental, the seen and the unseen, are delicately considered despite the nature of a diagnosis.

Thank you so much, Heather, for your contribution to Ugly Ducklings!  You can find out more about Heather and her journey by visiting her blog Bigger Than My Body.

Looking for a place to talk about a mental illness?

In honor of mental health awareness month, I wanted to take the time to tell you about Stigma Fighters.

I am 35 years old. For as long as I can remember I have suffered from panic attacks and depression. My moods were like a roller coaster. Some days, I would wake up in a cold sweat with my heart racing. I was terrified. It was as if someone was chasing me and trying to harm me, only there wasn’t anyone.

It was just me.

The fear shifted, changed and morphed over time. I was afraid of contracting a terminal illness and dying. Then I was afraid of starving to death because I had no appetite.

That was panic.

There was also depression. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I couldn’t bathe myself for days. I stopped talking. I stopped laughing. I couldn’t laugh. I forced myself to do the things I “had” to do like go to school (and at later points in life work) but everything felt wrong.

I felt wrong.

The worst part about feeling this way was that I couldn’t tell anyone about what I was coping with. It was a secret. My mom and my best friend were the ones who knew the deepest darkest parts. For the rest of the world, I had to fake being normal. I had to pretend that everything was okay.

Finally, something within me snapped… in a positive way. I was tired of pretending. In my 30’s I wrote a piece for the Huffington Post about how it feels to live with a mental illness and have to hide it. It was called Fighting Against The Stigma of Mental Illness. Readers wrote to me thanking me for my honesty. I then realized that we are missing a crucial piece of the mental health puzzle in our society.

So many people are living in fear about people finding out they have a mental health issue. So I started a community called the Stigma Fighters where people could break their silence and share their stories.

I encourage you to read the stories of the brave human beings on Stigma Fighters. They are living with bipolar disorder, depression, postpartum depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder, PTSD and more.

Stigma Fighters is becoming a non- profit too! There will be chapters of Stigma Fighters at colleges and universities across the United States. If you want to share your story, please consider doing it on Stigma Fighters.

– Sarah

Sarah Fader is the creator of the popular parent-life blog Old School /New School Mom. http://www.oldschoolnewschoolmom.com Sarah is a native New Yorker who enjoys naps, talking to strangers, and caring for her two small humans and two average-sized cats. Additionally, like about six million other American adults, Sarah lives with panic disorder. She is currently leading the Stigma Fighters campaign which gives individuals with mental illness a platform to share their personal stories. Through Stigma Fighters, Sarah hopes to show the world that there is a diverse array of real everyday people behind mental illness labels. Find her on twitter @osnsmom

Rest in Peace Robin Williams

Don’t you feel like you just lost a long-life friend?

Someone who taught you how to laugh, how to cry? How to laugh and cry at the same time?

Robin Williams passed away yesterday, August 11th, and according to media reports, he had been fighting some depression demons for a long time.

You think that people who are always doing funny things and making people laugh are just showing the rest of the world what they are experiencing inside… well, sometimes it’s just their own way to cope with the problems and aches they have inside.

Don’t ever hesitate to reach out if you feel depressed

“I’m sad”. We all go through moments when we cannot deal with our inner feelings and we look for ways to escape. Perhaps we can’t seem to see an exit door. Here, at Ugly Ducklings Inc, we have been fortunate enough to create a supportive community, where people in need might come to us and ask for advice. At the same time, we have some amazing group of people who are willing to say some words of encouragement at the moment they most need it.

• Ariel got some help recently
  
• And so have our dear ugly ducklings who have shared their stories with us.

After the sad news of Robin Williams’ passing, and how everyone has felt touched by his leaving us, it is very important that we reinstate, and encourage you to look for someone who can help you, as there will always be someone willing to be there for you. As Sky Williams said in his video “A message to the Depressed”, always try to look for someone who is near you, a friend, a therapist, a relative. If not, you can try the different hotlines available.

We have a list of resources that you can turn to if you need to. Just click here.

And to all those who have been in close contact with depression, either because of a friend, a relative, or because you yourself are suffering, this message is for you…

“I’d like to live in a world where happiness is as easy as buying a soda in a vending machine. But it’s harder than that.”

Special thanks to The Telegraph and MindFullUK for sharing this beautiful video.

How telling her Ugly Duckling Story changed her life

We are still in awe with this beautiful post by Emily, whose Ugly Duckling Story we shared a couple of months ago. Here’s part 1 of Beautifully Made. Make sure you leave comments for her below!

Ever since I shared my story with Ugly Ducklings Inc, my perception on events have changed and many of them I saw mirrored in my daily life.

The idea of Beautifully Made came up about a year ago, but I really had no basis for it when I was still battling within myself. However, I decided to re-launch this cause recently because the timing was finally right.

After I finally got my story out there it has been easier to smile and I want others to be able to feel that joy as well. Recently I revisited my old church where many teenage girls were talking about their life problems and that is when I realized that maybe the deep scars only brought by those closest to you are not that uncommon.

There were a massive amount that were abandoned by their fathers or were abused and each of them seemed to be taking it out on themselves. Whether with cutting, an eating disorder, or drugs, they were experiencing shame and pain beyond measure because of what someone else had done to them.

What Beautifully Made was created for is a safe haven for these young ladies to share their stories and gradually come to the point of acceptance. Teaching them that what may have happened was never their fault and to try and teach them to love every part of themselves.

When someone has hurt you to the point of destroying a large part of you, there is a space of darkness that eats you alive.

Only when you accept what happened, forgive whoever had done it, and release that pain can you really go forward.

That is the objective that I am trying to accomplish with this growing group. No story is too deep and damaged that you cannot recover from it.

The core of what we stand for is within Psalm 139, it is a very good projection of what we will all try to understand about ourselves and the world around us.

We are starting as a small group meeting at a friend’s house and a Facebook page, but I am hoping that we can make the idea spread.

This is not just a problem in the small state of North Carolina, it is worldwide. Even giving just the smallest bit of hope to those going down similar paths that we have previously walked through can mean all the difference.

Even if you are still recovering from old wounds you can help influence others for the better.

I guess I’m just trying to say that whatever you have been through or are going through, every piece of you is beautiful.

– Emily

Emily is 20 years old, and lives in North Carolina. For years she struggled with depression, an eating disorder, and self-harm.  About five years down the line she decided to share her story in the hopes of helping others with similar struggles.  After the idea came about, the rest is history.

National Anxiety and Depression Awareness Week – Ellie’s journey

It is Anxiety and Depression Awareness Week in the United States, and we got this beautiful post by Ellie. Check out what her advice is to all those who need to live with it every day and lead a happy life. Make sure you leave a comment below in case you have questions for her.

I was diagnosed with anxiety three years ago and have been living with it every day since.

Before I was diagnosed, I wasn’t really sure what was wrong with me. I had been struggling with going to college and talking to anyone but I thought it was because I just got out of my first relationship.

But it was much more than that.

Living with anxiety daily is definitely a struggle, but despite what people may think, there are days where you don’t notice it and you can be genuinely happy.

But there are days when you get so low and sometimes there’s not even an actual reason for you to feel that way.

Other times there can be a trigger, whether it be something small like seeing an advert or something big like an argument with someone.

For me personally, I get very anxious at night and find it hard to sleep. Other people suffer more during the day or throughout the day.

But despite the struggles that I face, there’s a lot I have learnt from having anxiety.

• I’ve learnt that putting on a brave face is sometimes not always the best thing to do because talking to people about what you’re going through is very important. Even if they don’t quite understand, it can be very therapeutic.
• Although, if you feel as though no one in your family or friendship group will understand, then talking to a professional is very important.

My counsellors helped me so much and taught me meditation routines:

• Breathing in through your nose for seven seconds then breathing out of your mouth for eleven seconds.
• If you practice these at a time such as when you wake up (or whenever you’re not feeling anxious/as anxious) then these will help for when you do get anxious and feel yourself panicking.

Surrounding yourself with negative people has an effect on your mental health, so toxic relationships/friendships can make your anxiety flare up.

But whatever the case, if you feel as though you do have anxiety, then please see a doctor. It is my advice to you.

I hope this can shed some light one what this issue really 

– Ellie

Ellie is one of the Original 10 of Ugly Ducklings Inc, and is our guest blogger for National Anxiety and Depression Awareness Week. She lives in the UK, and is currently studying college. If you think you suffer from anxiety or depression, and need to talk to a professional, check our Resources page to contact someone that can help you.

A Woman Who Inspires Jenn

We’re almost finishing our blog series for Women’s History Month, and today we are publishing this piece by Jenn. Today we posted a #Ducklinspiration that said: Life is Breathtakingly Beautiful. Jenn is going to show us here why this is true.

 

Anyone who has read my story submitted to the Ugly Ducklings knows a little bit more about my life than the average Joe around me day to day. And if you find yourself wondering what this has to do with inspiration, then let me just get right to it. February 12th, 2008 I lost my little sister to suicide. February 12th, 2008 I was left to deal with the repercussions of her actions. In fact, everyone who knew Nicole was left behind to deal with the decision she had made. The only person who wasn’t… was her.

A lot of people are quick to say that suicide is an extremely selfish act and in so many ways it is. But from the point of view of someone who has dealt with the aftermath, I am here to say that everyone is welcome to their opinions. But, unless you’ve been there… unless you’ve lost someone close to you because of suicide, please try not to judge the ones who have tried and succeeded in taking their own lives. And more importantly, please try not to judge those who are left behind and the way they choose to deal with it. Once again, you’re probably thinking “This is depressing as hell! How is this supposed to be inspirational?” I promise I’m going to get there.

When I first lost my sister, I grieved just like anyone else. I cried. I panicked. I denied. And then I barely got out of bed for two weeks. After that, I began to have a lot of anxiety. And then, I got angry. I was forced to go back to work and deal with people who had no clue who I truly was. Who knew nothing about me whatsoever, aside from the fact that we worked together. But so many were quick to offer their condolences and just as many were completely clueless as to what to say or whether or not they should say anything at all! I was fine with that. I just wanted to be left alone. Finally, one day someone asked me about her. Someone had the guts to ask me what had happened and they wanted details.

To a random person, this may seem rude. Or in fact, in may just seem as if someone was just being nosey. But I wasn’t offended in the least. I thought to myself “Finally! Someone wants to *talk* about her! Someone wants to know about Nicole and they’re genuinely concerned about why she took her own life.” So I started talking. And once I did, I found that I couldn’t seem to shut myself up! And I thought, you know, I even feel as if a weight was being lifted off of my chest. I didn’t have to carry around that burden of being one of the only few who truly knew what had happened and what had led my sister to choose to do what she did. More and more I found myself just openly speaking about what had happened. I found myself explaining what she had been going through in the months leading up to her final day. And it felt good. You might be wondering, “How in the hell can it feel good to talk about death? How in the hell is *this* inspirational?”

You see… every day, my little sister is my inspiration. I wake up every day and realize that even though she is gone, I am not. I am alive and I am alive for a reason. Losing my sister could have left me empty. It could have left me without hope. But the funny thing is… I don’t feel empty. I didn’t lose my hope. Or my faith. Or my belief that no matter how bad today might be, there is ALWAYS the chance that tomorrow is going to be the best day of my life. My sister, Nicole, inspires me in ways that I can’t even begin to put into words. I carry her with me everywhere I go and she inspires me to be the best person I can possibly be. And given the opportunity, I will talk until I’m blue in the face about her, and what she went through and how I got to where I am today! If I talk about her, if I talk about the options she had, the obstacles she faced and the decision she made… it might inspire someone else to think twice about how little they feel their life means.

My little sister is and always will be my number one inspiration in life. Even if no one else can understand how… I will always say her. Just because she lost a horrific battle doesn’t make her any less of a hero to me, or any less inspirational. Her actions and her story could change a million lives. Or even if it just changes one… then, her loss will not have been in vain. But I have no doubt that her story will change lives and inspire others.

After all… she changed mine!

– Love to you, ducklings!
Jenn

Jen is 33 going on 19. She describes herself as a loner, but makes friends very easily! She spends most of her time talking to her friends on Twitter, goes to work and whenever she has free time, she writes.

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Greetings Ducklings and Swans!

Why a penguin? It’s quite simple, really. Penguins, aside from the obvious stuff like being super-cute, snazzily dressed, eccentrics of the bird-world and probably in possession of a great sense of humour (anyone who lives in Antarctica must surely need one), are awkward and ungainly when they’re out of their element.

But, once in it, they become elegant, agile and graceful. For me, it’s not so much about becoming who I am, because I’ve always been my own person (and I strongly feel that the point of living life is to become ever more yourself), but about finding where you belong.

So, for this first Letter from a Penguin, the story of how I came home to a place I’d never been and fulfilled my dream of being a trans-Atlantic transplant.

I’d been an Anglophile for as long as I can remember, now whether that’s because one of my first memories is of wishing I was Mary Poppins (and she’s the subject of a whole other letter) or because I am half-English anyway (and that’s yet another) or some other, completely different reason, I’d always felt drawn to this…

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,–
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
– William Shakespeare, King Richard II, 2.1

So I was the kid, who when asked ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ was likely to reply ‘in England.’ I never really fit in America, the garrulousness, the over-friendliness, the expansiveness of it all, kind of rubbed me the wrong way. Why couldn’t people realise that the only acceptable small-talk between strangers is the weather (unless one of you has a dog with you, and then you can talk about the dog)?

Where was the snark and the sarcasm and the fine art of understatement? How did no one realise that ignoring everyone else is actually good manners? And then when I was sixteen I visited England for the first time and realised there was an entire country with people like me in it! Hurrah! I wasn’t as awkward as I thought; I was just in the wrong place. I arrived in London and knew I was home.

My mother realised that there had been a profound change in me and over the next two years, as I struggled with teen stuff and we worried I had depression which was diagnosed as an anxiety disorder and I started therapy (more letters!), she planned a trip back to England for my eighteenth birthday.

Boxing Day, 2000. I was standing on the top of one of the towers at Warwick Castle looking out at as the countryside disappeared into a lavender purple twilight and knew, without question or doubt, with a sudden calm certainty, that I would live and die and be buried in England. That was my future; all I needed to do was find my way to it.

My second year at university it all went to pieces. I’d thought I was in love with my degree in costume design and was excited by my first assignment as an assistant designer. Then there was an emergency in the designer’s family and I had to step up and take over the show and, although I thought I had done well, there was back-stabbing and politics behind the scenes and the year didn’t end well. I left not wanting to go back, it was no longer the life I wanted.

Shortly before the term finished I saw the film The Hours for the first time (that’s another letter). My friends were worried that I was identifying with Virginia Woolf a bit much, but there was a message in there that I needed at that time: you have to choose life. And it was time for me to reclaim mine.

Things looked better after the summer and I did return, with the knowledge that I wouldn’t be a designer and a plan: I was going to spend my final year studying abroad in England. Convincing my advisor to let me go was just the first battle I fought, but by then I had a lot of determination behind me and I was willing to fight to go home if I needed to.

At the end of that first year in England I knew I couldn’t go back, and I began working on ways to stay, a graduate work programme, a masters degree, and so one year led to another and another and then I was applying for what’s known as ‘indefinite leave to remain’ and I became a British resident. I had found my natural habitat and I wouldn’t have to leave.

So what’s the point behind this story? Find your home, your natural habitat, your element. It could be where you were born or an ocean away. It could be a career or a hobby rather than a place. Be willing to work for it, to stand up for it, to defend it and fight for it. Know that the road may not be easy, but it will be worth it when you get there.

Find your water and take to it like a penguin!

– Catherine
If you fancy a chat, tweet me through my dog’s Twitter account @ChloeAnneChi.

PS: Catherine sent this first letter as her Ugly Duckling story. But they developed into a series. You’ll find more Letters from a penguin in our blog. We’d like to thank her for deciding to publish them in our site.