A recent cat show made me realize something about myself.
My friend, who was supposed to join me, couldn’t make it again due to work. It wasn’t the first time. I felt disappointed.
At the same time, I found myself questioning whether I should continue showing Conan.
Part of me wondered if I was being selfish.
Conan is not the strongest show cat in the ring. He may eventually achieve his Grand title, but the journey will likely be long. By then, he will be older. What if he doesn’t enjoy it and is only doing it because I want it?
The more I reflected, the more I realized this wasn’t really about cat shows.
The same pattern appeared when thinking about Meowth and Nami’s elevated liver values.
The same pattern appeared when thinking about work, friendships, and other responsibilities.
Whenever something uncertain happens, my mind tends to jump to one question:
“What if this is my fault?”
I value accountability. I don’t want to become someone who blames others or avoids responsibility.
But I am starting to learn that accountability and guilt are not the same thing.
Accountability asks:
“What was my role in this situation?”
Guilt asks:
“How is this my fault?”
One seeks understanding.
The other seeks a culprit.
Looking back, I realized I often move straight to the verdict before gathering all the evidence.
Conan didn’t win.
Maybe he isn’t good enough.
My cats have elevated ALT.
Maybe I caused it.
My friend cancelled.
Maybe this whole thing is pointless.
The facts and the stories become intertwined.
Yet when I separate them, the picture looks different.
Fact: Conan didn’t win.
Story: He doesn’t belong in cat shows.
Fact: ALT is elevated.
Story: I experimented with my cats’ health.
Fact: My friend couldn’t attend.
Story: Nobody wants to do this with me.
The facts are often much kinder than the stories I create.
Another realization was that I seem more anxious now than when I was younger.
When I was younger, I could usually find the lesson, learn from it, and move on.
Today, I feel more cautious, more worried, and more likely to overanalyze.
Perhaps it is because there is more at stake now.
There are pets who depend on me.
A mortgage.
Career decisions.
Aging cats.
Financial responsibilities.
The older version of me carries more responsibility.
The problem is that responsibility sometimes turns into self-judgment.
I don’t think I need to become my younger self again.
The younger version of me still exists.
She is the person who tries new things, learns for fun, explores cat shows, studies veterinary science, fosters cats, and experiments with new ideas.
The difference is that she used to stay curious longer.
She would ask:
“Interesting. What can I learn from this?”
Before asking:
“What does this say about me?”
Perhaps the lesson is not to care less.
Perhaps the lesson is to delay the verdict.
To stay curious a little longer.
To collect more evidence before convicting myself.
And maybe the most important realization is this:
I can care deeply without holding myself responsible for every outcome.
I am responsible for my decisions.
I am not solely responsible for every result.
Sometimes I mistake uncertainty for guilt, and responsibility for blame.
