The opposite of bullying is belonging

A few weeks ago I shared on Facebook something I almost didn't publish.
Something personal about bullying and intimidation in dog sport. Part of me wanted to keep being quiet, pretending it wasn't happening. And that it had never happened. Part of me wondered if I was somehow responsible. Maybe I'd done something wrong. Maybe I just needed a thicker skin.

I pressed publish anyway.

And then something unexpected happened.
Hundreds of messages arrived. Not from people wanting to debate what I'd written. From people saying the same two words.

Me too.

These were in the public messages, but also in private. I had nearly a hundred private messages fro people who's hearts were touched by this.

People who had spent years making themselves smaller. Staying silent. Walking on eggshells. Shrinking to the only size that certain people seemed willing to accept.

Reading those messages made me realise something.Because I always learn so much from you.

This isn't really a story about bullying.

It's a story about belonging.

The opposite of bullying isn't toughness. It's belonging.

For so many of us, dog sport began as something beautifully simple. We fell in love with working alongside another species. We discovered the joy of partnership, of trust, of building something completely unique with our dogs. I certainly started doing dog sports with Shanti, the Aussie who made me get 'serious' about dog sports because I loved learning with her. I loved watching her learn and connecting with her deeper than ever. The more I taught her, the more I connected and the more I learned.

And then somewhere along the way it got difficult. 

Politics. Cliques. Status. Power dynamics. The feeling that we had to prove ourselves before we were allowed to belong. And then pressure for prizes crept in.

And slowly, often without noticing, we stopped trusting ourselves. We started looking outside for permission. To the trainer. The judge. The experienced competitor. The loudest voice in the room.

Little by little, we stopped belonging to ourselves.

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About being too sensitive

I've been told my whole life that I'm too sensitive. And I'm too weak.

Perhaps you have too.

For years I believed it.

Now I see it completely differently.

Sensitivity is what allows us to notice the tiniest shift in our dog's expression. To sense when something feels off before we have words for it. To hear what isn't being said. To stay connected to our own values when the crowd is pulling us somewhere else.

Sensitivity isn't weakness.

When it's grounded in courage, it becomes one of our greatest strengths.

Because courage isn't about being fearless. It's about staying open-hearted when it would be far easier to close down. Integrity isn't about being perfect. It's about letting our actions reflect our values even when nobody is watching. And trust is built every single time we choose to listen. To ourselves. To our dogs. To each other.

The culture we create

The most hopeful thing I've taken from all those messages is this.

The vast majority of people in dog sport are kind. They are generous. They love their dogs. They want dog sport to be welcoming. The loudest voices are not the most representative.

So perhaps the question isn't how do we stop the bullies.

Perhaps it's what kind of culture are we creating every time we step onto a training field and at a show, at a trial, at our next events.

Because culture isn't built by committees or rules or the loudest voices. It's built by us. Us ordinary people making ordinary choices every single day. Choosing to welcome the newcomer. Choosing to congratulate the person who beat us. Choosing curiosity over certainty. Connection over pressure. Integrity over approval.

And our dogs are watching all of it.

They don't care about politics or popularity or how many championships we've won. But they know whether we are present. They know whether we are tense. They know whether we are truly listening.

They are always telling us something.

The question is whether we're ready to hear it.


Becoming the change

Real change doesn't begin out there somewhere.

It begins right here. In the conversations we choose to have. The encouragement we offer. The courage to speak honestly. The willingness to stay kind in a world that sometimes rewards criticism.

Perhaps that's our invitation.

To leave every training field a little kinder than we found it. A little braver. A little more wholehearted. To build a sport where excellence and kindness sit side by side. Where our dogs can flourish. And where we can too.

Because I don't think the opposite of bullying is toughness.

I think it's belonging.

And you belong here. Exactly as you are.
The whole of you. Is welcome. Welcome home.
With so much love,
Kat 💛🐾