Content note before we begin — Mugsy is completely fine. We’re in the clear. 💛

I want to talk today about how much curiosity shifts conversations and relationships.

A few nights ago, I took our dog to the vet. I thought he may have eaten a piece of floss. He’s a 14-year-old pug who just got over aspiration pneumonia last month, so at midnight, off to the emergency vet we went.

Our regular vet wasn’t on nights, so we saw someone else. We’d met her once during the pneumonia, and our interactions both then and this week left something to be desired.

At one point, after we decided to induce vomiting, I asked:

“Is the shot you’re going to give him an opioid, by chance?”

Our Mugsy doesn’t do well with opioids. He’s in the small percentage of dogs who experience severe dysphoria from them. The last time he had one, a shot that was supposed to give us four hours of cough suppression gave us fourteen hours of agitated, altered-state pacing until his legs couldn’t walk anymore.

The vet did a quick little head flinch and said:

“It’s apomorphine. Yes, it’s an opioid.”

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I told her he doesn’t do well with opioids.
She told me it’s a fast-acting, short-term dose.

I asked if they reverse the drug afterward.

“We don’t do that.”

What Happens When Curiosity Is Missing

Let’s zoom out.

It’s the middle of the night.
I’m worried about our senior dog.
I’m depending on the expertise of someone I don’t know well.
I have a legitimate concern based on lived experience.

And the response I receive brings up feelings that I’ve asked a dumb question. That I’m being difficult. That I’m questioning her authority.

Now, I’ve done enough nervous system work to recognize those as stories — not facts. They weren’t caused by her response, but they were absolutely triggered by it.

Still, my nervous system didn’t have a felt sense of safety and trust.

So when she took him back for the procedure, I was left quietly managing subtle alarm bells inside my body.

Unfair to assume the worst? Yes.
Understandable that my system reacted? Also yes.

This is what happens when curiosity is absent.

Our nervous systems fill in the blanks.

We interpret tone.
We assign intention.
We create meaning.

And once that meaning is created, it shapes the entire dynamic.

The Power of Curiosity in High-Stress Moments

Now imagine if her response had been:

“It is an opioid called apomorphine. Is there a concern here I should know about?”

Same information.
Different tone.
Different outcome.

That one small question would have signaled:

• She’s hearing me.
• She trusts my lived experience.
• She’s taking my input into consideration.

Curiosity doesn’t weaken authority.

It strengthens trust.

It doesn’t make us look unsure.

It builds psychological safety.

And sometimes, one small curious question has the power to shift the emotional tone of an entire interaction.

Even at midnight.
Even under stress.
Even when everyone is tired.

Why Curiosity Matters in the Workplace

This isn’t just about a veterinary visit.

In the workplace, when curiosity is absent, our nervous systems do the same thing.

We hear a question and think:

“She’s questioning my authority.”
“He doesn’t respect my expertise.”
“She’s being defensive.”
“He’s shutting down.”

But often, what we’re reacting to isn’t the situation itself. It’s the story our nervous system generated in the absence of curiosity.

A small pause can interrupt that cycle.

A breath.
A clarifying question.
A genuine, “Help me understand.”

Those micro-moments can prevent escalation before it begins. They can shift defensiveness into collaboration. They can transform long-standing tension.

This is at the heart of building psychological safety at work.

It’s foundational to trauma-informed leadership.

It’s That Easy — and That Hard

Curiosity invites people to stay in the conversation instead of slipping into protection.

The words themselves are simple.

The pause is small.

And yet — it can feel surprisingly hard to access in the moments we need it most.

Not because we don’t care.
Not because we don’t know better.
But because decades of patterning move faster than intention.

Our nervous systems are wired for protection first.

Which is why next week, we’ll go deeper into why that pause can feel so difficult — even when we know it would help.

We’ll explore:

• Why our systems react before our thinking mind catches up
• Why protection often feels automatic
• And why curiosity, while simple in theory, can feel like the hardest thing in the room in practice

Because when we understand what’s happening beneath behaviour — in ourselves and in others — curiosity becomes more accessible.

Not effortless.

But possible.

A Gentle Closing

For those who were still curious — no floss was recovered (though I’m still not sure where it went), and Mugsy handled everything well.

Our regular vet called the next day to check in, answered a few lingering questions with the love and care she always does, and my system finally exhaled.

We’re in the clear.

And settled again.

An invitation

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