At 3:30 a.m. last night, I woke up to the sound of Mariano crying in pain. There was no hesitation in my mind.
Something was wrong, and it was serious. I called my ex-boyfriend, the person I share the dog with, because I needed help. His first response was to wait until morning.
Morning was not an option. I knew that. You know when something is urgent. You feel it in your body before logic even has time to form a sentence. I told him the dog would not last until morning.
His next response was about transportation costs. Take an Uber. Take a Bolt. They are cheaper than a taxi.
But those services do not take dogs.
So there I was, sitting in a taxi with a crying animal in my arms, listening to his pain, and all I could think about was how familiar this feeling was. The questioning. The minimizing. The subtle pressure to justify care when money is involved. I realized I was reliving financial control all over again. Someone debating whether it was necessary to act, whether it was necessary to spend, when a living being’s wellbeing was clearly at risk.
After the vet visit, when nothing was yet clear and the pain had not stopped, the next question I received was whether I would take a taxi back or take the train.
It was 6 a.m. I did not even know if trains were running. I was holding a still-crying dog. No diagnosis. No certainty. Just exhaustion and fear.
And somehow, transportation costs were still the focus.
That moment made something very clear to me. One of the most important decisions a woman makes when dating is choosing her partner. And that choice must be made with extreme care. Because if you choose wrong, you may find yourself standing alone in moments of crisis, facing someone who values money more than the wellbeing of living beings.
But it was not just personal relationships that revealed this truth. The new company I am working with showed the same pattern. Situations like this expose core values quickly and clearly. Their priority was keeping the client happy, even while I was moving a very sick dog from one veterinary clinic to another, searching for answers in an unclear and frightening situation.
They wanted me in the office at 2 p.m. for a meeting to talk about how important the project is.
When I said I was not going anywhere because my dog was at the vet and I did not know what would happen, the response was simply to reschedule. Tomorrow, then?
Probably not. I will have a sick dog at home. What exactly do you expect me to do? The best I can give you is Google Meets.
That, too, is a form of disregard. It may look professional on the surface, but at its core it sends the same message: productivity and money first, living beings second.
And that realization is everywhere lately. It makes me question humanity. How can suffering be so easily ranked below financial convenience? How can compassion become negotiable?
I do not understand it. But I do understand this: I cannot and will not tolerate people who think this way. Not in my personal life. Not in my work life. Not anywhere.
It is not acceptable to treat others like this. It is not acceptable to expect people to function normally while they are in crisis. It is not acceptable to measure care in euros.
If I ever build a company of my own, it will be different. It will be a place where people are allowed to exist as human beings. A place where they can breathe. A place where crises are recognized as part of life, not interruptions to productivity. Because every single person will face something difficult at some point. That is not weakness. That is reality.
This February has been one of the hardest months I have had in a long time. And if anything good comes from it, it will be this clarity. I must choose more carefully who I allow into my days, my work, and my life.
Because what is the point of sharing time with people who cannot recognize what truly matters?
