Could Animals be Our Best Coaches?
Could animals be our best life coaches?
When I consider how many of us suffer with debilitating anxiety and depression and realise how many of us really get the support we need, I feel incredibly powerless. In a world where the human brain has invented a vessel that takes us to Space and phones that respond to our fingerprint giving us anything from home delivery, our bank balance or a date with our next soul mate how have we not conquered emotional equilibrium?
In this country, waiting times to see talking therapies are so long that some patients get referred to children’s services, and by the time they are seen, they need an elderly assessment. Furthermore, oftentimes, due to severe underfunding, and understaffing patients are not getting the in depth support they need. I am very fortunate that I can pay for private therapy and therefore I engage in very specific trauma-informed counselling. But this level of specialist care is unusual in the NHS.
After twenty-three years as a nurse, I take pride in supporting patients through my service. But I see firsthand, how little investment there is into mental health services. According to the National Audit Office (NAO), in 2021/22, the NHS spent £12 billion on mental health services in England. The NHS Long Term Plan claimed to dedicate more funding into the NHS between 2019 and 2024. But as an ANP (advanced nurse practitioner) in primary care, I have yet to see this money reflecting on waiting times, and patient outcomes.
All these issues which make up my day-to-day work, very often stay long in my mind, sometimes on days when I am at home, trying to destress.
One afternoon, as I took a much-needed break from the intensity of patient consultations, I found myself captivated by the peaceful world of my two cats. Sprawled across the windowsill, they stretched languidly in a warm patch of sunlight, their fur glowing softly, I tried to ignore the bald patches on Tigers behind… One gently kneaded the air with slow, rhythmic paws, while the other purred in contentment, eyes half-closed as if lost in a dream. The gentle rise and fall of their breathing, the occasional flick of a tail, and the subtle harmony of their purring created an atmosphere of utter tranquillity.
Watching them, I felt a wave of calm wash over me—an invitation to pause, breathe, and appreciate the simple serenity that so often eludes us in our daily lives. In that moment, their effortless ease reminded me of the deep comfort found in the present, something I longed to experience myself. And then Bobbie, our expanding retriever, bounced into the room, and my vision was overwhelmed by retracted talons, engorged tails and the symphony of high-pitched squawking and hissing. Safe to say the cats wouldn’t make good therapists for the dog.
Anyway, the point I want to illustrate, about the increasing prevalence of anxiety and depression, is the polarity of experience that animals seem to have in comparison to humans.
The point I want to highlight, considering the growing prevalence of anxiety and depression, is the striking contrast between how animals and humans experience emotions. Unlike humans, who often wrestle with persistent worries and emotional turmoil, animals seem to respond to immediate challenges but do not appear to dwell on them for long. For example, while my cats might react anxiously to the sudden whipping of Bobbie’s wagging tail they soon return to calmness once the threat is gone. Their tails will soon return from the size of a telephone boxes, back to that of modest toilet brushes. This ability to live more fully in the present moment, free from lingering distress, suggests that animals could teach us valuable lessons about emotional well-being.
Our dog Bobbie rarely stays awake ruminating about whether she offended the cats earlier that day when they caught her cleaning her vulva. She doesn’t catastrophise about whether she will be fed again. She doesn’t wake from sleep with abject fear that her lead makes her look fat, or that she is being discriminated against because she has fur. I could be wrong, but I think her main concern when she goes to bed, is how soon she can be awake again for food and attention.
The cats rarely submit complaint forms about the lack of nutritional variety in their meals, or list the intolerances ahead of each serving. I think they are just grateful nnthat Bobbie hasn’t inhaled their food before they get to it. Often, by the time they are salivating, Bobbie is nose deep in their litter tray, having demolished two cat dishes.
The cats rarely submit complaint forms about the lack of nutritional variety in their meals or list the intolerances ahead of each serving. I think they are just grateful that Bobbie hasn’t inhaled their food before they get to it. Often, by the time they are salivating, Bobbie is already nose deep in their litter tray after having demolished two cat dishes.
As I write this article, Bobbie is across the room, laying on the sofa chewing a new toy. She doesn’t have time to worry about the meaning of life, because nothing exists except right now. How many blogs have I written promoting the idea of living now, the power of this moment? I would love to surrender all my worries, over thinking and ruminations and enjoy the blissful experience of now. The simplicity of one moment. Sometimes I can draw my attention in this way, when I set time aside to meditate. But this requires a conscious shift from the tendency to either dwell on the past or worry about the future.
As I watch my pets, as they lounge about the house, dozing, playing, or watching birds outside the window, I dream of being part of their world. One without responsibility, worry, stress. Could I say goodbye to my therapist, tell her that I’m no longer imprisoned by my thoughts, and that my only concern now is that I get let out every day for a walk a wee and a bowel movement?
Could I return my medication to the pharmacist and replace these with cat nip to provide the occasional high? Or could I ask my doctor to change my repeat prescription to a pig ear, or a bone and ask that he/she throw it for me occasionally (in between their busy clinical consultations).
This reflective piece contrasts the serene, present-focused lives of pets with the often anxious, ruminative mindset of humans. I hope that the blog showed how animals experience emotions in the moment and quickly return to calm, in stark contrast to the persistent worries that characterise human mental health struggles. Ultimately, I wanted to illustrate the idea that humans could learn valuable lessons about emotional well-being and mindfulness from their animal companions.
