Grief Could Really Use a Warning Label: Guilt, Regret, and Over-Responsibility

Ms. Roxy Capris (Photo courtesy of proud dad, Barry Starr)

After your pet leaves your life — no matter what the circumstances — there is a high likelihood you are experiencing some level of guilt or regret. That’s just how we humans operate. As pet parents, it's on us to make hard decisions, and when the outcome isn’t what we had hoped, we tend to feel a sense of over-responsibility for the loss. We have a way of turning inward and blaming ourselves for things we never had the power to control. We get stuck in rabbit holes of second-guessing medical decisions, wishing for do-overs, and fixated on the “if-onlys.”

With that said, we all go through grief differently, and there is nothing wrong with not feeling overly responsible. Grief is a complicated formula, with many components that contribute to how it’s experienced. It’s shaped by factors like the circumstances of the loss, preexisting coping skills and style, support system, and the strength of the shared bond — among many other nuances distinct to every relationship. Even the way one person grieves the loss of multiple pets will rarely look the same. There is no “right” way to grieve, and no “one” way to grieve. But for the purposes of this post, I focus on the role of “over-responsibility” in grief.

I’ll start by saying that feeling overly-responsible is a normal and common reaction to loss. However, we need to know that it cannot always be taken at face value. Grief can feel intoxicating, and with it comes a level of devastation that can be strong enough to alter how we perceive things. The headspace it leaves us in cannot always be trusted, and the things we tell ourselves will prey on our vulnerability.

This is why grief really needs a warning label. 

I am the first to admit I love words and use too many of them, so if your attention span is anything like mine, feel free to skip to the list of takeaways at the end. Otherwise, carry on.

When it comes to feeling overly responsible, we first need to acknowledge our decision-making style and how that process colors our feelings toward the outcome. I’m the type of person who will stand frozen in an aisle at PetSmart, mindlessly staring at the seemingly endless rows of dog treats for 10 minutes before warily making a selection. And then, if I’m waiting in the checkout queue long enough, I’ll start second-guessing the peanut butter-flavored biscuits in my hand, abandon my spot in line, and return to the aisle to switch them out for the bacon-flavored chews I initially had my eye on (and after leaving the store with the chews, I’ll still have my doubts). Given my struggle with the most inconsequential choices, you can imagine how much I perseverate over those that have an even greater impact — those that can’t just be “exchanged” for another.

I think this is a relatable struggle for many, and tenfold when it comes to being pet parents because it’s literally part of our job description to make every single decision on their behalf, from the number of walks they go on to their end-of-life care. This is a heavy burden to carry, and depending on the circumstances, it can get messy — really messy — with a lot of editing, as if the ending were some sort of draft we could rewrite.

The thing is, as humans, we have this incredible ability to concoct stories with happier endings. We tend to glorify the “ghost” outcome (the one we didn’t choose) and convince ourselves, “if I had only done this, my pet would still be here.” In the midst of a medical crisis that left my dog, Tovi, critically ill, I opted to put him through a variety of invasive procedures that — in the end — turned out to have only prolonged his suffering. And when he ultimately died, I punished myself as if I had meant to harm him. As if I had spent thousands of dollars to lose him. I blamed myself for outcomes I had absolutely no control over.

That’s the mind on grief, for you. 

Even though I knew intellectually that Tovi was gone, I struggled to accept this chaotic ending to what felt like an otherwise perfect life together. In my mind, I went on to write an entire series of alternate endings. While it only complicated and intensified my grief, there was something comforting about pretending — even for a moment — that there had been a different outcome. 

I ruminated on what I saw as my poor choices, preoccupied with the “if onlys,” and praying to some imaginary God to rewind time so I could go back and choose differently — than to face the real work of grieving the actual loss of him from my life. Fantasizing about the “could have beens” was the only remaining piece of him I had left to hold onto. Crying served a similar purpose. It was as if I wanted to stay stuck in a state of limbo because I wasn’t ready to move into this new chapter of my life. And that’s okay for a bit — we might need that sedative during the initial throes of shock and pain. But we can’t stay here. Eventually, we have to move Forward.

Note the semantics: Not On, but Forward — the two are not the same. 

The relationship is forever a part of you; it’s just carried differently.

Fast forward eight years: Through a combination of my clinical background and personal experience, I’ve collected what feels like an overstuffed binder of insights on the role of over-responsibility in loss. I’ve written this in my head for years, but I am just now getting it out into the world. For one, visiting that time in my life takes its toll, and it’s been a struggle to coherently organize all of the thoughts floating around in my mind. Secondly, I’m not one to preach a “what I learned from my experience” because my insecurity wonders if what I have to say matters, because we all have our own way of walking through grief. But I have borne witness to countless pet parents’ grief and know that this is a common theme, so I think it’s worthwhile to share my thoughts. 

And most importantly, this is the life-vest I wish I had access to when I was drowning in a mind tainted by grief. 

So, consider this the newest, unapproved FDA Warning Label:

1. Your present self will look back and audit every decision you made — it’s seeing the outcome that manufacturers regret. Using hindsight to punish yourself is like cheating on a test — it’s not fair, and it was never meant to be used in this way. Remember, as real as it feels, you have no evidence that a different choice would have resulted in a better outcome.

At this point, depending on your circumstances, you may be thinking, “This is all well and good, but it was my fault. An accident happened, and I should have been able to prevent it.”

Here’s the thing: Even in the case of a preventable loss, no good will come of berating yourself — really, none at all. Intention is what causes harm, and you never set out to harm your pet. I get it — you might have made a mistake that you look back on and judge as careless (fair enough), but making a mistake that results in an accident is very different than intentionally harming your beloved pet. Mistakes and tragic accidents are a side effect of being an active participant in life, and they happen (ALL OF THE TIME) to even the most loving of pet parents. I get that it doesn't make it any easier, but know this. (I talk more in-depth about traumatic loss in another post.)

2. Getting lost in a myriad of alternative endings that could have occurred if you just did this instead is like rubbing salt into an open wound — it only intensifies the pain and interferes with the healing process. It literally changes nothing. No matter how much you beg, there’s no going back.

   
   

3. I can’t say this one enough: We are ever-evolving beings, and as such, we make decisions based on the mental and emotional space we are in at any given time, and with the information and resources available to us then.

Mike had the best of intentions when he decided to spend the day hiking with his beloved dog, Biscuit. They’ve been hitting the trails a few times a week for years. Biscuit loved to take in the scents and frolic in the water. But on this particular day, Biscuit got spooked by a loose, aggressive dog and didn't return from his adventure. The weight of guilt Mike carried crushed him. So, while Mike knew, for the future, that being off-leash is a risk for even the most well-trained dog, he didn’t know it then because Biscuit had always come back.

When it comes to who we are when “X” happened, we can’t be someone we haven’t yet grown into. 

The current version of myself would have made different end-of-life decisions than the eight-year-earlier version. The earlier version was fueled by anxiety, which led to impulsive decisions and the selective omission of the things I didn’t want to hear. That version advocated for every possible intervention on an already baseline elderly dog. Today's version has learned through experience to act more thoughtfully by pressing pause on my runaway brain long enough to weigh the risks/benefits of every medical and financial decision.

But in both of these scenarios, neither Mike nor I could have acted any differently. We can’t apply coping skills or experiences we don’t yet have. But, as for intention, all versions acted out of love. There is much peace in accepting, forgiving, and having empathy for past versions of yourself. We are all just doing the best we can with what we have, where we are.

4.  At some point, we must give ourselves grace for any perceived wrong choices. I use the word “perceived” because in reality, I didn’t make an objectively “wrong” decision — I chose one of the many treatment options, and it didn’t work out the way I had hoped. On the other side of the coin, if I hadn’t done as much as I did, I’m fairly certain I would be shaming myself for not doing more. So there’s that.

   
   

5. Step outside of yourself and offer yourself the compassion you would extend to someone else in your circumstances. I guarantee you would never say the things you’re saying to yourself to a friend (we save that brand of berating for ourselves). That is why it is so important to talk to others —  through therapy, support groups, or connecting with a friend who gets you — to bring comfort and perspective you aren’t able to offer yourself right now. Even if you’re not able to consider alternative ways of interpretation right now, the seed has been planted, and when (and if) you are ready, it’s there to be nourished.

   
   

6. Most importantly, don’t let the Crisis be what you remember most poignantly.

The end — whether it is through death, a pet going missing or stolen, or having to give up your pet — can come on so strongly that it has the power to hijack all other memories. For a long time, I allowed the last few weeks of Tovi’s life to overshadow every other one of the 575 + weeks we spent together. Every happy memory became tainted by my fixation on how things ended. I would look at a photo of walking me down the aisle, and instead of fondly remembering that beautiful moment, I would feel an intense anger toward myself for how he died. 

Keep in mind that even though right now it may feel like the overriding theme of the book, that messy last chapter was only a part of your story, and — for better or worse — every story has to end. At some point, I encourage you to revisit all the chapters and celebrate the life you lived together. If you’re interested, I offer writing prompts to help you Tell Your Pet’s TAIL.

However, this may take time, so check in with yourself regularly. There are times when remembering is just too painful. When the loss is raw, you are vulnerable, and risk re-traumatizing yourself when your mind goes to the “moment”— this is especially true depending on the circumstances of the loss. With that said, being ready immediately doesn’t mean you have moved on, any more than never feeling safe going back means you have forgotten.

So, meet yourself where you are right now, and know that, in time, grief changes shape and its progression won’t necessarily be linear. Your memories may provide comfort one day and then yank you two steps the next. These shifts can feel defeating, but know it’s all part of the process. 

Visit my website, Pet Therapy Notes, for resources and more insights on pet love and loss.