This 15-Minute Practice Helps Pet Loss Grief in Ways Nothing Else Can

There's a kind of quicksand in pet-loss grief that’s all-consuming and hard to escape. Here's a simple, science-backed way to write your way out of it, by hand.

You know how some stories stick with you and shape you as a kid?

That’s the effect a book about quicksand had on seven-year-old me:

Boy and girl go wandering into a forbidden jungle. Boy gets stuck in quicksand. Girl leaves him to rot (it was her brother). Then at the last minute, she swings through the air on a vine, grabs him, and saves him.

What struck me had nothing to do with the storyline (though I had a brother I’d have gladly abandoned or doggedly saved, depending on the day).

I was instead transfixed by the idea of quicksand, and how someone healthy and capable could just get stuck and stay put till they wither away and die.

It didn’t make any sense.

Granted, now, a few decades later, I see it all the time. But instead of jungle sludge gripping your feet and swallowing you, it’s unaddressed grief that tears you up from the inside out.

Pet loss grief is one of the worst, because it’s not something our society openly addresses.

And like any kind of grief, it needs to be seen and heard and acknowledged before it even considers letting go. Which has to happen if you ever want to wake up without pain, anger, or regret, and instead revel in the good memories.

So I’m happy to share a simple way to do this, and it works wonders.

The Magical Grief-Escape Process

This exceptionally effective method starts with writing. But not just any kind of writing.

Also, don’t worry—you don’t have to be a writer.

It’s okay if you hate writing, can’t spell, got low marks in English class, or would rather peel potatoes underwater for three days straight than write.

Because it’s not really about the writing at all. It’s about the freedom it brings. This kind of writing can release you from the grief demons that thrash around inside.

Really, it’s like that little girl on the jungle vine, reaching down and swooping you up out of all the misery that keeps pulling you under.

You begin with pen and paper. This isn’t something to do on a keyboard, laptop, or phone screen. No voice-to-text, either. (Note that these can all be used if you absolutely must, but it’s not as effective.)

And if you’re like me and you’ve lived on keyboards for years to the point where your handwriting is nearly indecipherable, that’s okay. This writing is for you and you alone.

It’s flexible, too. You can do it in a leather-bound journal with a gorgeous fountain pen, or on looseleaf paper with a stubby number two.

What matters is what goes on the page. That’s what frees you from pain.

As to how and why, here’s the science behind it...

Brain-Pain Relief

Let’s start with your brain. When we go through something painful, the brain grabs it and holds it in an active state. This leaves you constantly reliving the pain, trying to make sense of it, looking for a way to make it not be true.

The pain becomes a lot like quicksand sludge, sprawled across an open space and constantly pulling you in.

What your brain wants is a nice little container to put the sludge in, where it’s no longer dribbling all over the place, tainting other thoughts and corners of your life.

And writing—when done by hand—gives you that.

As to why it’s more effective than typing, we can look to high-density EEG studies from institutions like the Norwegian University of Science and Technology. Their research revealed stark differences in how the brain handles handwriting versus typing. For instance:

• Handwriting triggers widespread alpha and theta brain wave activity across the parietal and central hubs of the brain. These types of electrical rhythms are where deep emotions are processed, memories are formed, and new information is coded.

• The physical act of holding a pen sends significant sensory-motor data to your reticular activating system, or RAS (considered the brain’s ultimate attention filter). This signals to your brain that what you are writing is critically important and shifts your mind from a repetitive loop and into active processing centers.

• There’s also an element of useful difficulty. Typing is fast and efficient—it allows you to transcribe your thoughts almost completely unedited. But because handwriting is much slower, it creates a useful difficulty that forces your prefrontal cortex to slow down, reflect, and actively organize your painful, chaotic thoughts into a more linear narrative.

Now let’s look at what to write to make this work…

The Pennebaker Protocol

Psychologist James Pennebaker from the University of Texas developed a protocol around this practice of writing to process pain. His research showed that people who wrote raw, honest truths about difficult life events had reduced anxiety, lower blood pressure, and stronger white blood cell activity compared to a control group that wrote about neutral topics.

And so he came up with a protocol that helps individuals transition raw, overwhelming pain into something that is more meaningful and ultimately honors the good parts of whatever was lost.

Here’s what that looks like when applied to pet loss:

1. Logistics: Start by planning a time to write each day for four consecutive days. Dedicate at least 15 to 20 minutes to your writing. Make sure you use a pen and paper you can keep handy and enjoy writing on/with.

2. While writing: When formatting, ignore grammar, spelling, and punctuation. If you ever run out of words, repeat the last word or draw a line until a new thought comes. Most importantly, never stop moving your pen during the writing session.

3. Privacy is key: Know that you are writing completely for yourself. You don’t need to show this to anyone. You can flip the pages, shred them, burn them, or keep them hidden somewhere sacred when you’re done.

And then here are your daily writing prompts:

Day 1: The reality of the loss.

Kick off your writing with a heavy focus on the factual and immediate emotional shock triggered by the loss of your pet. Write out the story of their final days, the moment of their passing, or the immediate emptiness you felt in your home right after they left. Let it pour out of you onto the paper unedited and give voice to your heaviest feelings of initial grief without trying to clean them up in any way.

Day 2: The stories behind the bond.

Now shift your focus to writing about the deeper history of your relationship. Write about how your pet entered your life, their quirks, their daily routines, and the specific comfort they gave you during tough times. Share what your pet symbolized to you. For instance, were they a constant anchor during a big transition in your life, like a move or a divorce or a period of loneliness? Put it all on the page.

Day 3: Regrets and unspoken heavy thoughts.

Grief over a pet is frequently complicated by guilt behind medical decisions, the timing of euthanasia, or the times you felt you just didn’t give them enough attention. Dedicate this day to exploring your deepest regrets, vulnerabilities, anger, and anything else you’ve buried. Give yourself permission on paper to feel the full painful weight of these complex emotions.

Day 4: Blend the past with moving forward.

On the final day, connect your past with your pet to your future self. How has loving your pet fundamentally changed who you are? How do you want to carry their memory forward into your life? Try to transition your language naturally from the isolation and pain of the loss to the enduring legacy of the love you shared with your pet.

Note that immediately after you finish writing, you might feel a temporary wave of sadness or vulnerability. Please know this is a completely normal reaction as you face intense emotions head-on.

I encourage you to plan a gentle grounding activity right after your writing sessions, like a walk outside, a hot shower, a bubble bath, a cup of tea… any kind of self-care that brings you peace and helps you feel centered.

Within a few weeks, this heavy emotional charge usually gives way to long-term relief and clarity and hopefully some peace.

And what does peace really look like?
What does it feel like?

It’s different for everybody.

My take is that it rescues you from the feeling of being dragged under by the grief quicksand muck. And that you start to see a path out even if you’re still near the pit.

Always, though, addressing your grief and taking the time to acknowledge what your pet meant to you is going to help you move forward without the constant handicapping pain of looping thoughts and regret… Ideally, to a place where remembering becomes ever sweeter.