I'm wordy, and attention spans are short. Scroll past the text for resources.

Often, when a pet is struggling, so is their person.

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You imagined pet ownership would be a magical experience, but it’s not going so well.

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You’re overwhelmed with behaviors you weren’t expecting.

New Pet is destroying your home, growling and lunging at other dogs, neighbors are complaining about the constant barking, and they are peeing everywhere BUT the litterbox.

You’re mourning the vision of what you expected pet parenting to look like.

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You grieve “That Connection,” you assumed automatically came with pet ownership.

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You find yourself regretful and panicked about the next decade-plus commitment you've made to spending with a pet you may not like right now.

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Yet, it feels taboo to talk about (insert sarcasm):

Because what kind of person doesn’t like their pet?

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The fear of judgment can make this time - a time when we MOST need support - an isolating experience. It's reinforced when we only see perfectly behaved, adorable pets portrayed in popular media.

But complicated relationships are a “thing” and more common than you could ever imagine.

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So why AREN’T we talking about them?

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I’m passionate about having these conversations because I lived here, and I thought I would die here (ok, dramatic exaggeration, but it was a bad time in my life).

The thing is, at the first sign of friction, our gut reaction is to reach out to a trainer or behaviorist for guidance on how to fix their behavior. And while training can be a game-changer, it’s not always enough. It may only take us so far.

We also need to acknowledge OUR pain and OUR emotional experience.

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I believed that if I could only change my New Dog (“Millie”) into what I needed her to be, I’d be okay. We worked tirelessly with behaviorists, took agility classes to build confidence, dabbled in acupuncture, and started Prozac (both of us). I became savvy with terms like “exposure therapy” and the importance of “decompression.” I learned to recognize her triggers and was overly vigilant in helicoptering her life. I lived to make her feel safe.

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And yet, I wasn’t any closer to “okay.”

In fact, the more I committed myself to improving her emotional experience of the world, the worse mine became. I'm emotionally fragile at baseline. I get lost in anxiety, self-doubt, self-hatred... all the "stuff." So you can imagine what this experience did to me.​

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 I needed a space to process the disappointment, resentment, grief, anxiety, caregiver burden, and self-condemnation associated with our relationship.

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A meltdown nine months into our relationship led me to therapy.

It was there that I finally saw MY part in our dysfunctional relationship.

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Once I started to take care of my needs, things felt lighter. Millie was still Millie, but I was coping more effectively. I began to focus less on change and more on acceptance of her, and of an outcome I hadn’t intended. Compassion began to replace resentment. I stopped blaming her for ruining my life (as if that was ever her intent).

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I leaned into the relationship I was in and away from the fantasy I was clinging to so tightly. I realized I was as flawed, scared, and broken as she was, and that I wasn’t the only one who was overwhelmed. Connection doesn’t always look like what we expect. We started there.

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Here's the thing I wish I knew sooner: 

​Regardless of the species, relationships are complicated and take time to develop.

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You're not a terrible person if you're not madly in love with your pet.

Sure, sometimes we get lucky, and that chemistry sparks right away. But more often than not, love is a slow build of getting to know each other and accepting each other’s “stuff.”  You literally just met, and are bypassing the "getting-to-know-you" period and moving in together.

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How did we NOT know ...

that there would be baggage from both parties to sort through, expectations to check, patience to be had, trust to be developed?

Because we never saw anything other than the idyllic pet/human bond.

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Had I gone into our relationship knowing that complicated relationships were a “thing,” the foundation on which our relationship was built could have been stronger. Had my expectations not set me up for disappointment, I might have had more trust in the process.

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So, again, why AREN’T we talking about this?

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We are. But we don’t know where to look because the core narrative we hear around the pet/human relationship remains biased. And when we don’t see ourselves represented, we feel alone and isolated in a world where we just want to fit in. So we stay silent.

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Instead of assuring me with dismissive cliches like, “You don't always get the dog you want, you get the dog you need,” I wish someone had normalized my experience and told me about this secret society.

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If you’re feeling stuck in your relationship, your people are out there.

There are places that you will feel seen and understood. 

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It may feel inconceivable right now, but things can improve.

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I won't sugarcoat it: I never fell madly in love with Millie, but I loved her.

We challenged each other and grew together in ways that forever changed me.

And I really miss her. I grieve all of the time I lost with her, had I not seen her sooner.

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It is important to note that while my life circumstances allowed our relationship to work, there are many times when, even after doing our best, irreconcilable differences remain, and no amount of behavioral modification or acceptance will change that. Sometimes, the fit is a mismatch, and that’s nobody’s fault. It’s essential to put YOUR mental health and well-being first – don’t let anyone shame you into believing otherwise. This is especially relevant when there is a safety risk.

Considering rehoming? Find more support here.

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