Likely Normal

In the swirling, chaotic soup of modern life, we all need a little backup. We’ve officially entered the age of the emotional support [Insert Object Here]. And while it’s lovely that we now recognize a golden retriever can soothe anxiety, it seems we’ve become a little too generous with the definition. The noble emotional support animal, a dog that senses your panic and rests its head on your knee, a cat that purrs away the existential dread, has evolved into something broader, weirder, and undeniably more creative.

My own emotional support system is less a pet and more a diversified portfolio. There’s my emotional support bag of pretzels, which delivers a satisfying crunch that drowns out imposter syndrome while adding emotional ballast directly to my hips. Then there’s my emotional support binge-worthy TV show, twelve episodes of validation for canceling all plans and embracing the couch as a lifestyle. My emotional support deep breaths that get me through meetings, and my emotional support cola bubbles up from the inside while whispering that I’m capable of greatness. These are all invaluable allies within the proper context. The trouble begins when our personal coping mechanisms spill into the public arena like a therapy session no one else agreed to attend.

Consider the case of the emotional support dog on a plane. On one side of the aisle, Brenda is calmly facing her fear of flying with the help of Serenity, her placid Labrador. Across the aisle, Dave’s face is ballooning like a pufferfish because he’s severely allergic to dogs. Serenity has now become the catalyst for Dave’s emotional support EpiPen. The flight attendant’s next announcement isn’t “Prepare for takeoff” but “Does anyone have Benadryl and a moral philosophy degree?”

Context, it turns out, is everything. The emotional support bag of pretzels that comforts you through a stressful day at home becomes an auditory assault at a silent meditation retreat. Your emotional support pet rock named Keith might steady your nerves before a job interview, but it’s unlikely to steady your employment prospects. And while a full-sized harp may indeed soothe your road rage, bringing it on a crowded city bus transforms your personal peace into a group exercise in collective fury.

The lesson here isn’t to mock our coping mechanisms but to curate them wisely. The world is not, sadly, our collective therapist’s office. What heals one heart may fray another’s patience. The pretzels, the rock, the harp, they all have their place. But that place may not be the middle seat of an airplane, the meditation cushion next to someone else’s serenity, or the front row of public transportation.

So by all means, celebrate your supports. Hug your dog, sip your cold brew, and let Keith the rock be your steadfast companion through the chaos. Just remember that the rest of us—those of us trying to get through our day without being sneezed on, serenaded, or crunched into oblivion—would deeply appreciate it if some of your emotional support stayed at home. After all, my emotional support sense of personal space is acting up again.