Meant to Live: 2025

Forgetting your phone is in your back pocket and dropping it in the toilet. Running over a curb and popping a tire. Locking your keys inside the house. Knocking over your coffee and spilling it all over the carpet.

Yes, these are all mistakes I have made before. In fact two of these mistakes — running over a curb and locking myself out of the house — just happened to me last week. And, with my anxious brain, I end up spiraling every time I make a mistake (especially when, because of that mistake, I have to pay for a new phone or tire). I will start thinking, "You're so stupid. You're a waste of space. How do you even function in the world? Everyone would be better off with you."

While you may think I'm being overdramatic, mental illness isn't really known for being logical. But one thing I try to do when I'm feeling this way is remind myself that these everyday mishaps happen to the best of us.

Mistakes, like dropping my phone in the toilet, don't define who I am. It's just...a wet phone. And, while it may be frustrating — and expensive — I have to practice self compassion and realize it doesn't make me a failure as a person.

There are also plenty of outside factors and life changes that can affect the amount of mistakes we make. If you are making more mistakes than usual —*raises hand* I know I am —it could be for a reason.

Why you may be making more mistakes than usual

For me, my life has recently been flipped on its head— ya know, the whole having a baby and keeping another human being alive thing. And, yes, that can definitely have a huge effect on the number of mistakes you make.

That's because the demands of caring for a baby can lead to disrupted sleep and physical exhaustion, which can impair memory, concentration, and decision-making. On top of that, I'm breastfeeding, which can burn up to 500 calories a day, which is comparable to a vigorous workout like running five miles. This energy demand, combined with hormonal shifts, can drain mental focus, which can also lead to occasional forgetfulness or lapses in judgment.

Other things that can make you more likely to make mistakes include stressful life events, hormonal shifts during pregnancy or menopause, fluctuations in cortisol and testosterone levels, and changes in medication. Dietary deficiencies, like a lack of essential nutrients such as vitamin B12 or iron, can also impair cognitive abilities.

All of these things can affect the number of mistakes you make, and none of these things make you stupid. This isn’t a reflection of a lack of capability but rather changes that may have happened in your life, such as being slammed at work, going through a break-up, losing a family member, becoming a parent, adjusting the dose of your antidepressants, and even just typical aging.

Mistakes make us human, and these moments give us stories to tell (or, in my case, gave me an idea for a blog). Mistakes also help us to learn. You better believe I've never put my phone in my pocket again when going to the bathroom — or put my phone on the edge of the bathtub (another example that ended badly for me).

If you do make a mistake more than once, that doesn't mean you should beat yourself up over that either. I am definitely guilty of spilling liquid on the floor my fair share of times (it especially hurt my soul when that liquid was breast milk I just pumped). But mistakes like these are not dangerous or life threatening — they're just inconvenient.

Remember to put things into perspective whenever you make a mistake and give yourself some grace. Life is messy for all of us, and that's okay.

Practice self-compassion when you make a mistake

Forgetting your phone is in your back pocket and dropping it in the toilet. Running over a curb and popping a tire. Locking your keys inside...

I've heard other parents try and commandeer the terms "Mom" and "Dad," acting like pet parents don't deserve these titles — especially on Mother's or Father's Day.

I didn't agree with it then. And, now that I am the parent of a human, I don't agree with it even more. As the mom of a human, I can say with certainty that I wasn't any less of a mom to my two cats. And, after the death of my first pet, it really does feels like I lost part of my family.

Working from home, I spent more time with my cats than, literally, anyone else. Katniss' name was one of the words I said most every day, and now, three weeks later, I still catch myself about to call her name or thinking I see her out of the corner of my eye.

I don't think it's talked about enough how traumatic the death of a pet can be. After all, when it comes to losing an animal family member, there's one thing you don't experience with anyone else – the fact that you're able to decide when they die. You're able to hold them and look into their eyes, knowing they’re about to take their last breath. And I feel like people don’t acknowledge how completely disheartening that whole experience actually is.

For me, I tortured myself, wondering if I made the right decision for Katniss. And, even now, I sometimes wonder – how much longer could I have kept her? Did I cut her time short? Would she still be here right now if I hadn't make that decision?

I know I can’t think that way. Katniss lost about half her body weight in the last year. She had mammary cancer which spread to her lungs and, during her last appointment, the vet thought it had spread to her stomach – which was why, even though she seemed to have a good appetite, she wasn’t gaining any weight.

The vet recommended that we put her down that day, but I decided to wait another 24 hours. For anyone else going through this, I’m not sure what I would suggest. But, for me, I wanted to be able to take the day off work and have time to say good-bye. It was the most difficult 24 hours I’ve ever had – but I also don’t regret it for a second.

Whenever I catch myself wondering if I made the right decision, I remind myself of this advice from pet behavioralist Jackson Galaxy: "Never on their worst day."

Despite everything else, I was able to make sure Katniss' life didn't end on her worst day. She had a pretty good last day, actually, where she ate tortellini with chicken and cream cheese sauce and watched what she wanted on TV — birds and squirrels on YouTube. It was the hardest decision I've ever had to make, but I think it was also the greatest final gift I could've given her —to no longer have to suffer and to not die alone.

Katniss had a peaceful death – passing away while lying on my lap, about 20 seconds after she was injected. And I know the reason it happened so quickly and why she was content instead of scared was because I was there and because, no matter how much I tried to talk myself out of it, she was ready to go.

Dealing with disenfranchised grief

Another reason the death of a pet is so particularly hard is because, as Jackson says in this video, you're experiencing “disenfranchised grief" – a type of grief that is not openly acknowledged, socially validated, or publicly mourned.

“You’re afraid (your grief) will be dismissed, it will be devalued, or you’ll be scorned or laughed at,” Jackson says. “If you have lost an animal family member, in our society at large, you have been disenfranchised. You know what that feeling is.”

You don’t get bereavement time off work, and people don’t typically send flowers or hold a memorial service or any of the other things we usually do to honor the end of a life.

“There are millions and millions of people around the world who have lost an animal and have not known what to do with that grief," Jackson says.

It's definitely been hard for me to know what to do with my own grief. I've tried to find the cat-equivalent of "Marley and Me" to help me cope. Or maybe a movie like "John Wick" where an assassin goes on a revenge spree because of a cat. But I couldn't find anything.

Per my husband's suggestion, the only thing that's really helped me get through this time has been Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel. And one piece of advice he gives in his video Grieving your Cat or Dog is to write it down.

"This is who I lost. This is how I lost them. That's important. Just write it. ... That's called naming and claiming your loss," he says.

So, that's what I'm doing now. Writing it down.

Who I lost

I met Katniss 13 years ago when visiting an animal shelter to help a friend pick out a dog. I was always more of a cat person, so I decided to stop in the cat room when I was there. After sitting down in the middle of the floor, almost immediately Katniss approached me and sat on my lap. And, as I sat there, she would swat away every other cat who dared to come near me.

Volunteers were in awe. They told me that Katniss had been at the shelter longer than any of the other cats and that this was the first time she had ever approached anybody on her own.

Katniss was understandably weary of humans after her previous owners threw her out the back of their car in the driveway of the shelter — with no carrier or anything — and she spent a week lost outside before volunteers could find her. But, for some reason, she wasn't weary around me. Katniss picked me — not the other way around — and even though I hadn't planned on adopting a pet that day, there was no way I could leave without her.

I never had a pet as a child, except for goldfish, so Katniss was my first. For years, it was just the two of us. She was there as I navigated being an adult for the first time after college. She was there for four moves, three jobs, two break-ups, and one marriage.

Even though Katniss was a big cuddler with me, she was pretty anti-social when it came to visitors. She especially hated my ex-boyfriend. Often, when he came over to my apartment, she would spend hours under the bed so she wouldn't have to interact with him. But I will always remember one time when he was over, I had food poisoning, and I was violently throwing up. And, even though he was there, Katniss tentatively ventured out to sit beside me in the bathroom to check in on me.

She always had this intuitive sense for when I needed her most, and she was always there for me, even when it was uncomfortable for her. We were even both diagnosed with anxiety disorder, and, when my mental health was at it's worst, Katniss is what kept me going because I knew she needed me.

How I lost her

Back in May 2024, Katniss and our younger cat, Finn, stopped getting along — even though they had been getting along for the past seven years. Finn had started chasing and pouncing on Katniss, and Katniss had started screaming whenever she saw Finn.

So, we took Katniss to the vet, and after running blood tests, we were told everything was fine. The vet thought the change in our cats' behavior was probably because I was pregnant and this had heightened their protective instincts.

But in October — a month after the birth of our son — the cats' behavior hadn't changed. We had also noticed that Katniss was starting to act lethargic and was losing an abnormal amount of weight. So, we took her to a different vet. That's when we found out that she had an aggressive form of cancer that had likely been present but undetectable when we got her checked out the first time.

The vet gave us the news that any pet parent dreads — that Katniss only had, at most, one month left to live. I was devastated. But, after putting her on steroids and pain medication, she was acting more and more like herself and was even getting along with Finn again.

I thought that maybe it was a miracle. I thought maybe, against all odds, she would survive this. But, even though her appetite had returned, no matter how much she ate, she still wouldn't gain weight. Over the holidays, she also stopped using her litter box, and her spine had started to protrude from her back.

So, on the Tuesday after New Year's Day, we took her back to the vet and found out that her intestines were inflamed, which was a sign that the cancer had spread to her stomach.

I know that, in the end, I'm lucky she lived two months longer than expected — although, right now, I feel anything but lucky. I also know, while right now I never want to feel this way again, it was worth it to have Katniss in my life. It may sound cliché but I know I am better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all – especially when it comes to her.

Now what?

So, now that I've experienced this type of grief, what do I do?

Well, one thing I've done is cry. And I mean cry A LOT. And that's okay. It's okay to let yourself grieve and not to apologize for how you grieve or how long you grieve. As Jackson says, "It’s so absurd to think that, at some point, you just get to the top of grief mountain. ... Don’t get over it. Because that’s just a construct that somebody else put on us."

I also think it's important to memorialize who you lost. I think that's part of the grieving process that's often overlooked when it comes to pets, but it's just as important.

I have one friend who set up a memorial for his cats in his home with their photos, ashes and a statute of St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals. I have another friend who is putting her dog's ashes in a necklace so she can carry her around, wherever she goes. Another friend told me that she has her pet's urn on her nightstand, and she talks to him before she goes to bed at night.

I have also found that it helps to talk about it. Talking about it helps get rid of that feeling of “disenfranchised grief." I'm thankful to have a community of people on social media who reached out to me since Katniss' death — and thankful to my co-workers who even gave me a sympathy card when I came back to the office. Each of you made me feel like my grief was valid.

There are also pet bereavement groups you can join. Click here for pet loss resources in Michigan, or search online for pet bereavement groups near you.

“When a community comes together, when they mourn together, it is so much easier than mourning by yourself. Now, more than ever, this is something I think we all need to get our heads, our hands and our hearts around – for humans, for animals, for all of us," says Jackson.