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Ever since I rescued Fenix, I’ve become more aware of the plight of shelter dogs in the U.S. and around the world. I always knew rescue was a beautiful thing, but once you’ve truly loved a rescue animal, it lands in your heart in a whole new way. You start to feel the weight of just how many of them are out there—waiting. Hurting. Dying.
Each year, approximately 390,000 dogs and 530,000 cats are euthanized in U.S. shelters. That’s more than 1,000 animals a day. And that’s just here.
After Fenix came home, we were so grateful to the rescue that saved him. We wanted to support them however we could—donating, sharing, doing what we could to give back.
And then everything changed.
Fenix blew up on TikTok.
For the first few years of his life, people kept saying, “Put his videos on TikTok—he’ll blow up!” I resisted for so long. I wasn’t active on social media, and I liked it that way. I posted a little here and there for Allowing.Love™, but I didn’t want to be on another platform. TikTok just sounded… ridiculous.
Eventually, I gave in.
I uploaded a couple of videos. His second one hit a million views.
A million.
He had a million followers within the first year. It was wild—and so much fun.
Fenix’s joy—his serotonin saucy prance—was pure delight. Sharing his story was healing. Joyful. It felt like we were giving the world something good.
But then… something shifted.
The more I shared Fenix’s story, the more I started to see others. Dogs in shelters. Dogs on euthanasia lists. Dogs being abused. And the algorithm picked up on that. My feed began to fill with dog rescue videos. Then horse rescue. Then cows. Pigs. Slaughterhouses.
And because I love animals more than almost anything—I watched. I learned. I absorbed it.
Until it started taking me down.
That was my first real experience of compassion fatigue.
Have you ever wondered why you love animals so much? Why you feel their pain so deeply?
I believe people who love animals this much tend to share two things in common:
Being highly sensitive is a spiritual gift. But if it wasn’t honored when you were young, it might feel more like a curse. You may have learned to hide or shut down your sensitivity just to get by.
Maybe you weren’t comforted when you cried. Maybe your big feelings were “too much.” Maybe your intuition got dismissed.
But animals? We can’t hide our sensitivity with them. Our love for them cracks us open. It brings that sensitivity roaring back in the best—and sometimes hardest—way.
That same deep feeling that makes us love them, also makes us ache for them.
And if we don’t have tools to balance it with self-care and support, it can lead to compassion fatigue.
Compassion fatigue is emotional, physical, and mental exhaustion that builds when we stay deeply connected to others’ suffering without the space to process it.
It’s most common among helpers, caregivers, rescuers—and sensitive, loving people like you.
And while it’s beautiful to care so much, if we don’t create boundaries or release what we’re holding, it overwhelms us. We can shut down. Go numb. Burn out.
One day, I saw a video that broke me.
It was taken in Bakersfield, California—grainy footage from across a parking lot. Two dogs were being beaten by animal control officers. They were kicked. Dragged. Slammed into a truck. They couldn’t even stand once they were inside.
And they weren’t fighting. They were cowering. Terrified.
The injustice. The helplessness. It was too much.
I let myself grieve.
I cried. I screamed. I sobbed for those dogs like they were my own. And as often happens in grief, other pain came up too. I remembered times I had been hit as a child. I held little Zoë inside of me and let her cry, too.
And then I picked up those two dogs in my heart and sent them all the love and energy I could.
I know this might sound strange—but that grief became a lifeline. It didn’t destroy me. It mobilized me.
I started making calls. Reaching out to people in the Fenix community. Asking for help sharing the video. Others were doing the same. There was a wave of advocacy.
Those dogs were saved. They were adopted. They’re alive and loved now.
And even though I was just one person, that day changed me forever.
Because when I let myself grieve, I didn’t shut down—I showed up.
When we don’t grieve, we bottle up the pain. It builds inside us. It drains our energy. It quietly shuts us down.
But when we allow ourselves to feel—and then flood those feelings with compassion—we clear the emotion. We create space for our next breath. Our next step.
Grieving is what clears the fog.
It gives us back our clarity. Our courage. Our capacity.
Grieving is powerful—but it’s also taxing. And it can’t be your only form of care.
We also need joy. Rest. Replenishment. Laughing with a friend. Dancing in the kitchen. Watching dumb TV. Hugging our dog.
Self-care isn’t selfish. It’s how we stay in the game.
And for many of us—especially those of us who were taught to take care of others before ourselves—prioritizing our own needs can feel wrong.
But it’s not wrong. It’s necessary.
When we were children, many of us learned to monitor everyone else’s feelings. Maybe it kept us safe. Maybe it earned us love. But over time, we started believing we were responsible for others’ pain—and that our own didn’t matter as much.
That’s why we struggle now to turn inward. To ask: What do I need?
But here’s the thing: You matter. Your needs matter. And giving yourself what you need doesn’t take away from others—it gives to them.
Because when you’re nourished, you have more to give. More clarity. More compassion. More strength.
So yes, grieve deeply.
And also—laugh loudly.
Make art. Move your body. Eat food that makes you feel good. Spend time with people who lift you up. Let life back in.
Self-care isn’t a luxury—it’s a bridge back to yourself.
Almost everyone I’ve ever worked with is more self-critical than self-compassionate.
We think if we’re kind to ourselves, we’ll become lazy or stay stuck. But the science—and lived experience—say the opposite.
Self-compassion helps us grow. It gives us the strength to begin again. It builds trust and resilience.
Grief is an invitation to build that muscle. To shift from punishment to tenderness.
Every time we fall apart—and choose love over judgment—we’re rewiring ourselves for healing.
Your Rainbow One didn’t just come into your life to love you. They came to remind you of who you really are.
They came to help you reclaim your sensitivity. Your gifts. Your compassion.
And they’re still with you.
If you’re feeling overwhelmed, burned out, or emotionally exhausted, let your Rainbow One guide you back to balance.
Great Job! That’s Week 14 Reading Complete 🏆 🎉 😁 🙌
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