Adopting After Loss: Lessons from a Rebound Relationship - And the Most Important Question I Never Asked.
- Liz Weiner
- Jun 9
- 11 min read
You are profoundly lonely and drowning in brokenness. Your house is eerily quiet - the void of meows, barks, and pitter-patter of feet is unbearable. Maybe you swear off ever getting another pet because the pain of losing them is unbearable. Perhaps you yearn for that unique brand of companionship, but get stuck on the “when” and the weight of feelings like guilt and betrayal that stop you in your tracks.
If you’re anything like me, doing nothing is the most uncomfortable place imaginable. Emotional chaos triggers an instinct to “fix,” to “decide right now,” to take back a sense of control in a situation unfolding like a train wreck around us. That sense of urgency can hijack our minds. It has a way of clouding judgment and eroding self-trust. Everything feels magnified. Overwhelming. Too soon. Or too far off. You fear missing out on “The One” if you don’t act RIGHT NOW.
Or not. Maybe you never want to go through anything like this again, install a deadlock on that possibility, and toss the key. Or you store it in a secure place for another time. Maybe you're comfortable with not knowing. Not doing. Giving your emotions time to do their thing.
The experience of grief is unique not only to each person, but also in how we experience the loss of any particular pet in our lives, which can look different from how we might grieve another. And even though for me, (sorry, spoiler alert) adopting after loss didn’t bring the comfort I had hoped, for many, it does.
Knowing it may not be yours, I share the insights I took from my experience of what I endearingly refer to as my major “Adopting After Loss Fail.” If the spiral I describe above feels relatable, this is the belated advice I wish someone had not only given me, but also literally held me, shaken me out of my spiral, and forced me to listen to. Because it's really easy to bypass my gut.
Sarcasm aside, it wasn’t really a fail. I just took a really roundabout way to get there. And every time I lost my way, I couldn't help but wonder how different my experience would have been had I used a navigation system to check out the available routes beforehand. Considered traffic patterns. Or even thought to fuel the car with a full tank of gas.
Let me be clear: This is not meant to discourage you from welcoming another pet into your life after loss. Quite the opposite. It's meant to empower and support you.
Courtesy of hindsight - and freed from the confines of my journal - I offer my insights to you.
Grief can mess with your mind.
Grief can feel like some form of intoxication, to say that when we’re in it, its pull is so strong – so convincing - that we’re not always acting from making decisions from our most rational self. Just know this.
It's okay not to know. To go back and forth. Let it be.
Just because we feel one way now doesn’t mean we won't feel differently later. Taking action can feel comforting in the short term, but in the long term, it can lead to regret.
That key you used to lock your decision in? Even if you tossed it, the metaphorical dumpster in your mind doesn't have an official trash day. When you haven't yet acted, your options remain. Dumpster diving is one of them.
Beware of rebound relationships.
It’s a thing that happens. A lot.
Here's the thing: There will always be a pet in need. That "rush" is self-imposed.
It wasn’t until the honeymoon of the "Gotcha Day" - the excitement of the fantasy life I thought I was walking into- ended that reality set in. I felt pangs of regret in every bone of my body. Every nerve ending.
(I mean, you can, but breaking up with a pet comes with its own baggage and a social stigma. I was too fragile to walk into that battlefield).
Don’t ignore your gut – it knows stuff we don’t.
Give your gut a platform to speak.
In my gut, I knew I had made a mistake the moment I submitted the application. But as a classic people pleaser, I was too embarrassed to admit to the shelter that I had changed my mind. Preoccupied with the stories I was making up about what they would think of me, I went into the relationship eyes wide open to every red flag and proceeded anyway.
Only now can I see how selfish this was. People pleasing is only a virtue in disguise. Going into something I knew I wasn't ready for wasn’t fair to me. It wasn’t fair to New Dog. It wasn’t fair to the potential adopter who was ready.
Pressing “pause.”
Going into a situation aware of grief’s pull, you’re more likely to recognize when you’re drowning in the tornado of your thoughts. You can only interrupt a hijack if you see it coming. Find the “Pause” button amongst the chatter- it may be hard to access, but it's there.
The "pause" button won't necessarily derail your decision. It may confirm that you are ready. It's not meant to be a red light. It's just a yellow meant to slow you down.
If you can’t find the button or if the pull is too strong, ask for help. Talk it out. Or read. Or watch. Or listen. Get information. Just know that when we’re in it, we don't always have the clearest view.
Don’t rush the process: Let your grief do grief authentically.
Take a deep belly breathe. Repeat. And repeat again. Give yourself permission to just be in the grief. To sit in the discomfort of not knowing. Of not doing. Of accepting the devastating truth that nothing can bring life back to “Before.”
Your grief deserves the time and space to settle. To sober up. To thoughtfully move forward on its own time. If you rush the process, it is likely to reappear like an uninvited guest returning to complete unfinished business. I speak from experience. And when it returned, it came with a vengeance.
Are you emotionally available to get into a new relationship?
Getting a New Dog? I thought I had it covered. And initially, I went into the prospect of a new relationship thoughtfully. Aware of the qualities I was looking for, I carefully curated the Petfinder search criteria to find the most compatible match.
But, at a time when I couldn’t tolerate any more loss, Petfinder broke my heart over and over again - it felt like every dog I was interested in already had at least twenty pending applications.
In my desperation, I went to a shelter where, knowing nothing about her, I chose the first dog I saw, silently calling “DIBBS!” in my head (Fear of Missing Out (FOMO) in pet adoption is real). I prepared my home with the necessary New Dog paraphernalia before bringing her home the next day, and assumed the gaping hole in my heart would be filled as soon as New Dog walked into my life. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I missed the most important question:
"Was I emotionally available to get into a new relationship?"
Hard no.
I wasn't anywhere near ready to start a brand-new relationship and all the baggage that comes with it. I wanted New Dog for the sole purpose of unpausing my nightmare and returning me to life as I knew it. Not the healthiest foundation on which to build a new relationship - for so, so, so many reasons.
It’s a partnership. Not a solution.
I wasn’t in the right headspace to be a partner. Not even a little.
My emotional reserves were depleted.
I was an emotional disaster. I needed support. I had nothing to give. I just wanted to take.
And that's not how relationships work (at least healthy ones).
Check your intentions because attachments don’t transfer.
Lost in the overwhelming pull of grief, I was convinced that the only thing that could bring me back to life was a dog – ANY DOG. I needed “That” connection back. I assumed New Dog would slide right into the fabric of my life, and life as I knew it would resume. It didn’t.
And that's by design. Attachments can't be replicated. Or transferred. Only years later did I come to appreciate the beauty in that.
Grief is exhausting. Relationships take work. They’re not always compatible.
The thing is, my particular New Dog would have been a challenging dog for even the most experienced dog owner, so she just about broke me. I was too weak to navigate the challenges of learning how to do life together. To hold the frustration of coming home to ripped-up carpet and chewed-through doorframes.
Building a new relationship required the kind of time, energy, and patience that my broken self didn’t have access to.
It can't cure your grief, but it can make it worse.
When New Dog didn’t fill that void, my grief got worse. So much worse. Like grief on steroids.
There is a sense of mourning when you realize a new relationship isn't turning out as you expected. I found myself living with the devastating reality that I was now responsible for caring for a dog I frankly didn’t like. It was like waking up with a terrible hangover, having no recollection of what happened the night before, and having to deal with the consequences.
Every part of me hurt.
I was now simultaneously grieving Deeply Missed Dog and the “return to life” I was sure New Dog would bring.
I’m not sure what part of my grief was worse.
(With that said, keep in mind that some level of grief is a natural and healthy part of this process. And that doesn’t mean you made the wrong decision.)
It's not meant to be a sequel. It's an entirely new movie in another genre.
A movie I would never have chosen to see if I had known it was “That” kind of movie. I was expecting a seamless transition into Part Two. I was looking forward to the return of familiar characters and storylines. I wasn’t prepared for New Dog to have her own temperament, quirks, annoyances, and endearing qualities that I wasn’t in a place to see or appreciate.
That’s a lot of pressure to put on New Pet. And a completely unfair way to begin a new relationship.
Deeply Missed Pet left my heart with a padlock that New Dog didn't have the key to open.
It took me a long time to realize that was never her job.
Going in with fixed expectations couldn’t have resulted in anything but disappointment. We were doomed from the start.
I resented New Dog for not fitting the mold I designed for her. I resented myself for making an impulsive decision. I resented my new life with a dog I frankly didn't like. I even resented my husband for not stopping me from adopting her (as if I would have listened to him, anyway). It was irrational. It was my mind on grief. And totally unfair.
Leave your expectations at the door.
Know that this new movie might suck. The “G-rated” fairy tale you thought you were walking into may actually be a horror movie. Still, go in with an open mind. Don't assume that just because you dislike scary movies, you won't like this one.
Waking out is an option, and sometimes necessary, but it doesn't hurt to start watching. You don't need to submit your review yet. It might get better. You might look back one day and wish you stayed. Regret is hard to live with.
Go in with an open mind and heart.
Had I gone in with the awareness that this would be a brand-new relationship, the same characters could have written a very different story. I was so preoccupied trying to mold New Dog into a dog she was never meant to be that I never gave her a chance. I never gave“us” a chance.
It took more tantrums, meltdowns, and tears than it ever should have to lean into the relationship I was in. Until I made peace with that, an authentic relationship couldn’t develop.
Every time we fall in love, it’s a different experience.
While heartbreaking, there was something beautiful in accepting that I would never have “That” love again.
That realization shifted something in me. I could see the insane amount of pressure I was putting on New Dog to replicate a love that was never meant to be replicated. I wasn’t doing it wrong. She wasn’t doing it wrong. Our bond was never supposed to look the same.
And although I grew to love New Dog, I never loved her with the same intensity with which I loved Deeply Missed Dog. And that is ok. It bears repeating: Every time we fall in love, it’s a different experience.
Betrayal and feeling disloyal
While welcoming New Pet into your life – into the space that was once occupied by Deeply Missed Pet - can feel like betrayal, it’s not. Because it's not a competition. It's not even something to be compared.
One relationship does not diminish the other — they are completely separate entities. You can love Deeply Missed Pet, AND open yourself up to love again. These statements can co-exist.
Your relationship with Deeply Missed Pet isn't meant to end. It's just carried differently.
Have patience as you get to know each other.
You literally just met, flew to Vegas to get married, and moved in together. In any other scenario, this wouldn’t be the healthiest start to a committed relationship.
Of course, there will be challenges. Have compassion for yourself.
Starting any new phase in life can feel overwhelming. You don’t yet know each other’s “stuff.” You haven’t had time to figure out how to “do” life together. There is doubt. And second-guessing. The familiar rhythm of two steps forward, one step back. Maybe even tears.
This can be especially difficult when you find yourself focusing on how Deeply Missed Pet fit like a glove and how this new glove feels three times too small, made with cheap fabric and those annoying loose threads dangling from the seams.
It's natural to idealize the past. But be honest with yourself - that fit probably didn’t happen overnight.
Think of it from New Pet’s point of view.
Have compassion for New Pet. You're not the only one who is overwhelmed.
For New Dog, this was yet another transition in a series of many. New people. New home. New neighborhood with scary, unfamiliar noises. It was a time when New Dog needed me as much as I needed her. New Dog deserved the "Gotcha Day" experience. To celebrate having a home. A family. A stable life. An emotionally available mom.
Don't get me wrong, I did the "things" I saw "good" dog moms do. She had an endless supply of toys. I read her books and dressed her in pajamas. She ate bougie food, had a daily bully sticks ritual, and our house was peppered with cozy dog beds. We took lots of walks, and I dressed her in a coat when the weather was cold. There were behaviorists. Acupuncture. Agility classes. I could go on.
But I never truly gave myself to her. Today, I send her a thousand apologies and desperately wish for a do-over. She deserved me.
But at the time, I don't know if I could have given any more than I did. That is why it is so important to go into a relationship with an honest assessment of emotional availability.
Don’t judge the timeline — that is not what readiness means.
There's no real definition. And if there were, there would probably be several versions depending on the source. And yet, the "when" feels so loaded.
"Too Soon" can feel threatening. Shameful. Laced with fears of what others will think of you.
Like you're doing it wrong.
You're not.
It's not about anyone else (but I get it, fear of being judged is scary). You know yourself best. Own that. Others' opinions aren't your responsibility.
Just make sure you listen to all your feelings, even the ones you don’t want to hear.
When it comes down to it, we can never go into anything with absolute certainty. While it's important to be mindful and thoughtful in the decision, try not to get stuck on overthinking. Sometimes, when the pull is even a little stronger than the doubt, all we can do is take the chance. If nothing else, going in with the power of awareness is a great start.
---
As always, my writing is based on my own opinions and experiences and should not be taken as fact or considered professional advice.
For more insight on Pet Love and Loss, and to find journaling prompts, please visit my website, Pet Therapy Notes.
Related blog posts...
Comments