On Valentine’s Day 2025, our 30th wedding anniversary, we celebrated by bringing home an 8-week-old labradoodle puppy. Thirty years together, and we’re still making questionable decisions… like starting all over with a dog infant. I dubbed her my “luvdoodle,” and we named her Sophie. She was absolutely adorable and seemed to be perfectly happy, adjusting well to her new home environment.
Until bedtime, which proved to be a challenge.
Following the breeder’s advice, I attempted to “furberize” her by placing her in her crate in the kitchen, leaving the heart sound noise maker on before going to bed. At 1:30 AM, her cries woke me. I rushed her outside; she needed to poop. Back in the crate, she slept until 4:10 AM, when the crying started again. This time, she needed to pee. When I tried returning her to the crate, she had other ideas; it was playtime for her. “Sorry, Sophie, Grandma is too tired to play,” I said. Desperate for sleep, I wrapped her in a bath towel and tucked her into bed with me.
The next night, I steeled myself and tried the “let her cry it out” method again, but Sophie’s reaction was swift and intense. I walked away and waited for a while to see if she would give up and fall asleep. But instead, her plaintive howls grew louder and louder, piercing the darkness. I’d had many puppies before, but this was the saddest cry I’d ever heard. It didn’t sound right; something felt different. I worried she might have been caught in the crate and injured.
When I checked on her, she wagged her tail and appeared fine, but I intuited that she had significant separation anxiety, and forcing nighttime crate training might only exacerbate it. So, I put her in a small portable crate, placing it right next to my side of the bed within arm’s reach.
Suddenly, I was transported back 27 years to when I struggled to establish a structured sleep routine with my baby, using—and soon abandoning—the Ferber method. The sound of his cry cut through me to the core. It was too excruciating. Too traumatizing.
I heard about the Ferber method during my early motherhood years. It is a sleep training technique coined by Dr. Richard Ferber and is designed to help infants learn to self-soothe and fall asleep on their own. This approach requires gradual steps and isn’t as radical as it sounds. Proponents of this method argue that it can lead to improved sleep habits for both the baby and parents in the long-term. However, critics contend that it could be emotionally damaging to infants and may negatively impact the parent-child attachment bond.
Coming from Japan where soine (co-sleeping) is very common, the Ferber method did indeed sound radical and even counterintuitive, going against the instinct of responsive caregiving. But in my case, there seemed to be an additional factor for not being able to implement this technique. In the end, I resorted to installing an Arm’s Reach Co-Sleeper. This device functions as an extension to the parents’ bed, allowing them to safely sleep in close proximity to their baby. Although it worked as a short-term solution, it spectacularly backfired in the long run, causing both my husband and me to develop full-blown insomnia for years to come.
Undoubtedly, my intense discomfort with both my puppy’s and baby’s cries reflects hallmarks of complex trauma: hypervigilance and emotional dysregulation, manifesting in a lower threshold for stressful or emotionally charged situations.
People with complex trauma often develop a heightened sensitivity to others’ needs as a survival mechanism
Typically stemming from childhood experiences where their needs were routinely overlooked or ignored, people with complex trauma often develop a heightened sensitivity to others’ needs as a survival mechanism. This can lead to excessive people-pleasing behaviors, where they prioritize others’ needs at the expense of their own, perpetuating a cycle of self-neglect. This imbalance can lead to burnout, emotional exhaustion, and an inability to effectively care for others. It is critical, therefore, to learn how to balance sensitivity to others with proper self-care and self-preservation.
Sophie, the puppy, seems to be a light sleeper, just like my son used to be when he was a baby.
“I explored and chronicled the impacts of these difficult parenting experiences through the lens of my journey with complex trauma in my upcoming memoir, The Pond Beyond the Forest: Reflections on Childhood Trauma and Motherhood, due to be published in October 2025.
Sophie, the new puppy, seems to be a light sleeper, just like my son used to be when he was young. Hopefully, though, Sophie won’t be nearly as challenging as Wally the Wallaby we once tried adopting ten years ago… but that’s a story for another day.”
Photo credit Author
Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.
Shigeko Ito is a Japanese immigrant and holds a Ph.D. in education from Stanford University. She currently works at a Montessori preschool and lives in Seattle with her husband of twenty-eight years and an eighteen-year-old toy poodle. She is seeking representation for her debut memoir, The Pond Beyond the Forest. You can follow her writing at shigekoito.com.
