Estimated reading time: 3 minutes, 48 seconds.

When You Assume, You Close Doors. My Dog Helped Me Open Them Again

The other day, I was asking a friend if her partner’s restaurant allowed dogs—because, well, GG. I don’t remember anyone explicitly saying no, but there wasn’t a clear yes either. Still, I tried again, because I love the food at Cleaver’s Shed. If you’ve never been—YOU. HAVE. TO. GO. Everything is amazing, even the desserts.

Since the answer wasn’t firm, I asked again—playfully, non-aggressively. That’s when she said, “I admire your persistence.”

That line stuck with me—in a good way. Because people don’t usually associate me with being persistent. Honestly, I don’t either. In fact, when I was younger, I saw persistence as something negative. It wasn’t a trait I admired. I wouldn’t have associated myself with that word—and I certainly tried to avoid being seen as a persistent person.

Hence, as a dog owner in Malaysia, I usually default to, “That place probably won’t accept her,” and leave GG at home. I’ll keep track of the time and try to rush back as soon as I can. But then, we let GG stay at my friend’s place—her family is basically GG’s official second home—and suddenly, the possibilities for her felt endless. Parks, restaurants, photoshoots… even a pickleball court. I see it all on Instagram—they bring GG out everywhere.

And that’s when it hit me: I never created those possibilities for her. I never even tried. What’s the worst that could happen—someone says no? It’s already a silent no if I never ask.

So I changed. I started calling ahead. I tell them she’s small, quiet, doesn’t bark, and if needed, she can stay in a trolley. Most people don’t even notice her until we leave and I carry her out.

And what surprised me most was how many places actually said yes. Sometimes the owners—even dog lovers themselves—light up when we walk in: “You’re the one who called about your dog, right? We’ve prepared a table for you.”

It’s… wonderful.

That shift made me realize how often I operate from assumption. I assume the answer is no, I assume people don’t want to join, I assume they think I’m too much. I cut off possibilities for myself, for GG, for others.

And now, every time an assumption shows up, I try to pause and recheck. Though, easier said than done. Sometimes it takes Sean asking, “Are you sure? Have you asked? Or are you just assuming?” Which leads to an argument, of course. Because it's hard to face where your blind spots are.

This doesn’t just apply to dog-friendly cafés. I assume other people’s answers, their behaviors. I create stories: “They're not responding because they're probably tired of me/not happy with me...” But the truth is: it’s just an assumption. Until someone tells you otherwise, you don’t know. And if I continued the way I was, may be I would have even less opportunity to see this smile

But this habit didn’t come from nowhere. It’s a self-defense mechanism. A response formed long ago.

You see, I was once labeled annoying because I asked too many questions. I wanted to know why. That hurt the tender heart of a primary schooler. So I learned to back off. I learned to guess instead of ask, to avoid being seen as too much.

And isn’t it interesting how words like aggressive—with all their negative connotations—tend to quiet down girls? Because society finds it more convenient when women are compliant.

But without a little persistence—without a little "aggression," or maybe just enthusiasm—how do we show the world what we really want? How do we make space for what we care about?

So yes, over time I dimmed it down. Less aggressive. Less persistent. More assumptions. And while it made me highly perceptive, I lost a lot of my voice too.

This is my story.

What’s yours?

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