In Piero Ferucci’s book, The Power of Kindness, he tells this story:
“I once had a psychology client who was a kleptomaniac. She held a prestigious position, yet had an irresistible desire to shoplift…..she understood that her compulsive desire to steal was a rebellion against the lack of trust, for in the house where she grew up, everything was under lock and key, and each family member distrusted all the others. The locked cabinets continually told her, we do not trust you. We are afraid you will steal. You are dishonest.”
I am reminded of something similar in my own life. My dog Salem is awesome. He does what I ask him and more. But sometimes when I leave the house I close doors because I don’t want Salem on the bed, to eat my husband’s office work or because there is something he might get into. Salem rebels by magically finding paper products, usually it’s a post it note pad, and shredding it. Actually, I think he sucks on it, then gnaws at the edges and finally gives it a few good bites so there are punctured holes and then displays it in the middle of the room.
I’m beginning to wonder if Salem is trying to teach me a lesson, one of trust. If only I trusted Salem, would he not leave hair on the bed spread? Would I find him taking a nap amongst the papers on the floor in the office? Would I arrive home only to find him completely fine, his entire body wiggling as he wags his tail letting me know his unconditional love?
What happens when you trust?