Two Nervous Nellies and the Man Who Loves Us

Home became a 25-foot caravan named Ellen

Oct 20, 2026

I have to admit from the first week after I arrived in Australia, until my husband Cade joined me last week, I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life.

For six weeks I kept saying to myself “What the fuck have I done, and how the hell am I going to fix it?”

I’ve never had anxiety that bad for so long. From the time that I woke up my chest would tighten, my breath became shallow, I would start grinding my jaw. I was so jittery I was afraid people would think I was on crack.

Our dog Chase and I are a lot alike. We both have nervous energy. We both become overstimulated easily. Especially when we’re forced into a situation too soon. Before we’ve figured out if it’s safe or not.

Neither of us likes to be told what to do. They call him disobedient. They call me defiant. And a lot of people consider us problems that need to be solved.

We can tell when the other starts feeling it, before we show it. Maybe that comes with spending almost every minute of the past six years together.

When we decided to move to Australia, I knew the transition would be intense. I’ve moved around enough in my lifetime to know what happens to my brain when I leave the safe spaces I have created for myself. This time it was so much more than that.

Chase and I both had heavy trauma when we were young. It followed us through our lives. I think that we are kindred spirits because of it. It’s why I give him a break when it comes to his tendency to be bossy. It’s also why I was extremely worried about getting him here.

Chase was to be separated from us, fly fifteen hours, then go directly into quarantine for ten days. Knowing his history of abuse and abandonment which resulted in separation anxiety, my concerns were valid.

We paid a relocation specialist thousands of dollars who told us quarantine was “like a resort for animals” and we shouldn’t worry as they have never had anyone say anything negative about it.

“Before you know it you’ll be back together and forget you were ever apart.” I can honestly say that was utter bullshit. We should demand a refund!

Neither of us will ever forget quarantine. Ever.

For Chase, it was like someone hit a reset button and he was a scared little puppy again. Terrified of being separated. Fiercely protective. All the old wounds reopened. All of the behaviors we had worked so hard to erase by giving him the structure and stability he needed had returned.

Cade talks about how alike we are because it’s funny to compare someone’s personality to that of a dog. He says “I think Chase might be neurodivergent too.”

At first I thought “should I be offended?” I’m not.

The fact that I can feel and sense things before most people gives me an advantage. It also means I feel the hard things even harder than others might.

Much like Chase can understand what another dog is like from a distance, I can often judge a person’s character by observing them for a few minutes.

And Cade gets it. He embraces it. He doesn’t think we’re problems that need to be fixed. He doesn’t tell us what to do. He loves us exactly as we are, even when our combined energy gets to be a bit much.

Our plan was to stay with family in Australia. Chase and I arriving first, then Cade when he finished work in Florida.

In January we would purchase an RV. It would become our home. We would work remotely while exploring the country for a couple of years.

For those weeks until he could join us, Cade endured countless tearful breakdowns and fits of frustration over the phone.

Things weren’t going well for us. Chase was acting out, and my anxiety was out of control.

It was clear that we needed to do what we had done countless times before. We had to build a safe space.

For me it’s about curating my surroundings in a way that makes my brain feel less chaotic.

For Chase it’s knowing he is with the humans who have been there for him since the day he was rescued.

Cade and I had been craving finally being together as a family, knowing for once it’s not temporary.

We both know the only way for us to decompress is to control the things that cause us to feel distracted and overstimulated.

That’s what we do, the three of us, we protect each other and we figure it out.

From the other side of the planet Cade did everything in his power to help.

We fast tracked our plan. From the U.S. Cade did what he does best. Research. RV makes, models, layouts and tow vehicles. Build quality, amenities, every detail.

Once he settled on something, he sent me in. The man on the ground. He knows that within minutes I’m going to get a “feeling” about a property, and the person selling it.

We purchased Hunter first. That’s what we named our truck. They call it a Ute here. Back home we call it a pickup. And Hunter (pronounced Huntah) sounded like a sexy masculine Australian guy, which suits him.

Then our caravan (Aussie for an RV), Ellen. Just under 25 feet, so far she’s about everything we need and meets all of the requirements to be towed by Hunter.

Ellen is in control. She literally has a hold on Hunter’s ball. Sorry, I had to say it.

Last week Cade arrived in Australia. The next day we moved into Ellen. We spent an intense and expensive week getting everything we needed. A couple of days ago we hit the road.

We’re in a small town called Lawrence in New South Wales. We arrived and set up in the rain, put out our awning, our folding chairs and we sat for hours. The rain stopped, the sun came out.

Chase has been completely calm sitting in his chair, with his head sticking out from a blanket. Even watching the huge Ibis birds walk right by him without a care.

My anxiety has melted away. I can finally get back to writing again.

Cade has been tinkering, as he loves to do. Setting up satellite internet, speakers for sound, researching budget destinations.

Waking up together, with Chase under the blanket between us. One of us gets up and makes the coffee and we sit in bed enjoying being us and this time Cade isn’t leaving in ten weeks.

For the first time in fifteen years, we don’t have anyone to answer to but ourselves.

—R. Michael