"It's just an animal": when the people around you don't understand your grief

If those words hurt you, one thing needs to be said plainly: the problem is not you. Your grief is real, it is legitimate, and it even has a name.

No, it isn't "just an animal"

Whoever minimises your loss has probably never shared years of their life with a being who waited for them every evening. Your pet was not an interchangeable object. They gave rhythm to your days, filled your silences, knew you by heart. They offered a faithful, non-judgemental presence — something few human relationships provide.

Losing that is not losing "an animal". It is losing a presence, a routine, a witness to your daily life. The emptiness they leave is not only emotional: it is concrete. No one to feed at the usual hour, no one to come home to. That emptiness is not always visible to those around you — but you live it in every room.

Disenfranchised grief: a name for your loneliness

What you are going through was described as early as 1989 by the American psychologist Kenneth Doka. He called it disenfranchised grief: a grief that society does not treat as legitimate, one that comes with no rituals, no support, not even the right to mourn openly.

The loss of a spouse or a parent is acknowledged by everyone: condolences, a ceremony, time off, compassion. The loss of a pet is pushed to the very bottom of an unspoken hierarchy of grief, treated as minor — sometimes insignificant. So you carry a double burden: the pain of the loss, and the obligation to live it in silence.

Why society minimises this grief

This is not just a feeling. According to the work of Packman and colleagues (2014), close to seven in ten bereaved pet owners report a lack of support from those around them. And that lack of recognition is institutional too: in the United States, only 10% of employers offer any pet bereavement leave (SHRM, 2021) — in many countries, none exists at all.

In other words, you are asked to grieve a loved one without being granted the time, the space, or the permission to do so. That invisibility does not soften the pain: it deepens it. Doka observed it long ago — stripped of the usual supports, the bereaved person sees their anger, guilt and sense of helplessness intensify.

A grief as real as any other

If you still doubt whether your pain is valid, the research is unambiguous: losing a pet often triggers grief of an intensity comparable to losing a human loved one. The emotional mechanisms at work are the same. It is precisely for this reason that a true farewell ceremony genuinely helps you move through the loss.

And it is perfectly normal for it to last. The sharpest waves ease over the weeks, but feeling a pang months or even years later is nothing abnormal. Healing does not mean forgetting your companion: it means learning to carry their memory differently.

What to say to "it's just an animal"

You owe no one a justification. But if you want to set a gentle boundary, a few simple sentences are enough:

• "To me, it wasn't just an animal. They were part of my life."
• "I know you want to help, but what I really need is for my grief to be respected."
• "I'm not looking to replace them. I'm mourning the one I lost."

And above all, surround yourself with people who understand. They exist: thousands are going through exactly what you are living, and they speak the same language as you.

Giving yourself the right to grieve

Since society offers no ritual for a pet, offer yourself one. That is exactly what disenfranchised grief lacks: a concrete gesture to say goodbye, a place where the pain is allowed to exist.

Writing a letter to your pet, lighting a candle, gathering their finest photos, keeping a keepsake: these gestures are far from trivial. They make the loss visible — first of all to your own eyes. And that recognition, however private, is already a step towards peace.

A place for your companion

That is the very reason AmiAmor exists: to offer a gentle, dignified place to honour your pet, when the world around you seems not to understand. In a few minutes, you create a page in their memory — a photo, a few words, a wall of candles lit in their remembrance, a guestbook where those close to you can, in turn, acknowledge what they meant.

It isn't "just an animal". So give them a place worthy of what they were to you.

Frequently asked questions

Is it normal to hurt this much over the loss of a pet?

Yes. The bond with a companion animal runs deep, and grieving it can be as intense as grieving a human loved one. The intensity of your sorrow matches the love you carried.

Why do the people around me play down my pain?

Most often out of awkwardness, not cruelty. Society poorly recognises pet grief — this is "disenfranchised grief". Those who have never lived that bond struggle to grasp its strength.

How long does grieving a pet last?

There is no "normal" timeline. The most vivid emotions usually settle over the weeks and months, but feeling nostalgia long afterwards is common and healthy.

What can I do when no one understands my grief?

Surround yourself with people who have known the same loss, and give yourself a farewell ritual: writing, remembering, creating a place of memory for your companion all help you move through this stage.