Why I Keep Writing About Dogs Even When I Overthink It and Want to Quit
Yesterday I was on my way to two appointments when my car started making a terrible metallic grinding noise. It did not sound like I should keep driving, so I turned around, went home, and sent my husband an audio recording of the sound since he was at work and would be for another 30 hours.
Since the day I got my license at 16, cars have meant freedom, and being at home carless with my husband at work was anxiety-inducing. While waiting to find out what might be wrong and how much it would cost to fix, I started to spiral down a familiar path.
That path is paved with jagged boulders and gaping potholes and rides like this:
Am I crazy for trying to be a writer? Nobody gets to be a writer for a living — it’s a select few. The world is full of writers trapped in corporate America or waiting tables or writing content for other business owners.
What is wrong with me that I can’t just be satisfied with a regular job? Go to work, come home, repeat five days, then two off, like the rest of the world.
Maybe I should start a more practical business or start freelancing for other entrepreneurs again…
Should I start substitute teaching again? I hate it, and I’m only in it for the money, but it’s flexible…
Then I did something I do every six months: I went on job sites. Then I went to LinkedIn, copied all my skills from my profile, and pasted them into Copilot to help me update my résumé.
This spiral isn’t new. It’s a recurring fear that hits whenever there’s an unexpected expense or a moment of financial pressure. It hits when my husband picks up an overtime shift. It hits on holidays and vacations when I feel guilty for not contributing more to our gift exchanges and vacation expenses.
The Writer’s Block Beneath the Spiral
My spiral wasn’t helped by the fact that I’ve had writer’s block since my post about the Ridglan beagles in May. The thing about writer’s block, at least as I’ve experienced it, is this: it’s not that you can’t write words. Writing the actual words is easy.
Writer’s block comes from the heart, not the mind. It comes from convincing yourself that nobody out in the world really cares about what you’re saying. It goes beyond confidence. I have confidence in my writing skills, my thoughts about dogs, my storytelling.
The trick is pushing past the intrusive thoughts that creep in, like that nobody really wants your point of view — that you’re writing in the niche of “sharing stuff people don’t know they don’t know” instead of what they’re actively searching for. That you don’t have anything new to contribute. That nobody wants to hear from a middle-aged, middle-class dog mom — even though the truth is that everything I know comes from time and experience.
The Author Whose Style Suddenly Changed
Last spring I discovered a new author whose books I had never read. I’ve now read seventeen of her novels in a row, all part of an interconnected series. I’m working on a women’s fiction novel myself, and it’s my favorite genre to read, so the fact that she has over twenty books set in a fictional community with intertwined characters has me fangirling as a writer. Plus, they’re perfect pool reads.
Then suddenly her style shifted dramatically. I hate giving authors fewer than three stars on Goodreads, but one particular book was maybe a two- or even one-star read.
I couldn’t figure out why. Did she get a new editor? A new publisher? What was going on?
I Googled her name and learned she had suffered a traumatic loss in her immediate family the year before the publication date of the book that felt so different. My heart broke for her, and I wondered what it had been like to be up against publisher expectations and contracts while trying to write through grief.
Since then, the last few books have been more and more like her earlier titles. I can see her comeback as I continue reading the series.
June and July Are Bittersweet Now
As I thought about that writer, I started thinking about the timing of my own writer’s block.
In June 2022, we took our annual family vacation and returned home to Jackson quickly declining. His melanoma had spread to his lungs and lymph nodes, and immediately after vacation my efforts shifted to easing him through the last month of his life. I spent weeks agonizing over every single day, wondering if he was ready to cross the Rainbow Bridge, pushing down anticipatory grief. He passed July 10, 2022.
In June 2025, we took our annual family vacation again. We returned home to Tinkerbell losing her appetite, her liver values sky-high, and an ultrasound showing concerning areas. I spent the next few weeks trying to get her to eat, battling an assortment of health problems, until she passed away on July 4, 2025.
And so this year, we once again took our family vacation in early June. We returned home to the anniversaries of Jackson and Tinkerbell’s passing. I worried about history repeating itself.
July has always been my favorite month — long days, temps in the 90s, afternoons in my pool with a book, grilling out every night, vivid green grass and bright blue skies. And now July has a dark cloud of sadness over it. Every day since May, I’ve sat down at my computer and tried to write something. Anything.
I’ve started and deleted so many articles.
“Just write something,” I would tell myself. “It doesn’t have to be a great literary work. Write a listicle. Write about Quill pooping six times a walk. Write about walking past hundreds of t-ball families at the park without him reacting. Write something.“
I haven’t been entirely unproductive. I redid both of my websites, updated all my social media banners and profiles, started an Etsy shop, kept Quill’s Corner email newsletter going. I’ve done all the behind-the-scenes stuff. But to be a writer, you have to write — and the last few months, I’ve had an underlying sadness casting a shadow over everything I tried to write. In my day-to-day life I have been enjoying my pool and having fun with Quill, but when I sat down at my computer, it all evaporated.
The Universe Responds — Three Signs in One Day
No sooner had I decided I might as well give up than three things happened.
I saw a post on LinkedIn looking for guests for a dog-themed podcast — entrepreneurs building “different” businesses, people challenging old assumptions, researchers, advocates, community builders. In other words, the exact topics I’m writing about or jotting down on scraps of paper but not publishing because I’m not sure anyone cares.
Then, a friend texted me late in the evening thanking me for all the advice, moral support, and information I’ve given her with her beloved Labrador over the years.
And finally, at 2 a.m., I got an alert from my website that someone had left this comment on an essay about how love helps your dogs’ health:
“Such a beautiful reminder that loving our dogs means understanding and respecting them as individuals. I especially appreciate the point about giving affection on their terms — learning their body language and recognizing what genuinely makes them comfortable is such an important part of responsible pet ownership. The idea that quality time, patience, and companionship can contribute to a happier life together is truly heartwarming.”
I’m not usually an overly woo-woo person, but even I have trouble ignoring when the universe sends a message — or maybe tries to smack me across the face with it when I’m not understanding.
The truth is, every time I think about giving up, stuff like this happens. This is not the first time the universe has tried to tell me to keep going. I’ve sometimes wondered if that’s why I keep getting dogs with unusual medical issues: because I’m supposed to be writing about them, and I’m not.
This summer I watched the TV show Shrinking, in which of the characters talks about “the field,” saying, “The field is an intelligent energy force that knows who you’re supposed to be, and it’s going to keep demonstrating to you what you need to work on most over and over again until you start to do it.“
When I heard that line, it struck something in me. I wrote it down and keep coming back to it.
And from a far less woo-woo source, I think about Bruce Springsteen’s lyric: “At the end of every hard-earned day, people find some reason to believe.”
And so, I’m pushing on. And I’m finally writing something. And the best part: it’s not a listicle.
The Realization: I’m Supposed to Be Writing This
So why am I sharing this with you?
Because this is the exact battle I keep fighting — the one between writing what feels safe and practical, and writing what Dog Obsessed World was meant to be: a place where I tell the real story of what it means to build a life around dogs, so maybe you can make sense of your own.
Because if you’ve ever loved a dog, you’ve probably felt some version of this too — the joy, the grief, the spirals, the anniversaries, the way their lives shape yours long after they’re gone.
Because I didn’t start Dog Obsessed World to write SEO-friendly dog tips. I started it to tell the real, messy, beautiful story of what it means to be a dog-obsessed human.
Because your world might look a lot like mine — shaped by dogs, changed by dogs, held together by dogs — and maybe hearing my story helps you understand yours.
Because writing about dogs — the joy and the heartbreak — is my way of making sense of the world, and maybe it helps you make sense of yours.
What It Means to Keep Creating Through the Lightning Strikes
The big difference between being a writer and having a less creative job is that with other career paths, I’ve turned to work to lose myself in it. As a writer specializing in literary nonfiction about life with dogs, the work and life are so intertwined that my whole heart and soul have to be in alignment with my mind to keep going.
You keep creating because your heart breaks — not in spite of it. I’ve often thought about great writers in history. And while I’m not comparing myself to the likes of Virginia Woolf or F. Scott Fitzgerald or Ernest Hemingway, I’ve often laughed at my misguided idea that I should only write when I’m feeling upbeat and happy, when so many great writers have let depression and grief fuel their work instead of hinder it.
Because the truth is, if you love dogs, you know that there is both joy and grief involved. There are blissful walks and memories as well as soul-crushing pain.
I always like to give you a takeaway, maybe from my corporate training background, and maybe just because I grow a little from what I write. So the takeaway is this:
If you are a dog lover, you are forever changed by your dogs. Their presence in your life changes you, so of course their passing changes you forever too. That’s why you keep doing it, over and over. Every dog is different, every relationship with your dog is different, and you come out better for it even after the pain of losing them. And if you continue moving forward with a new dog, the love of the first dog doesn’t go anywhere — you just keep adding on, layering the happy and sad experiences that build a lifetime.
Footnote: The Car Issue Was Easily Fixed
And in case the universe wanted to make its point even clearer, my daughter’s boyfriend ended up fixing the car in five minutes for free so that I didn’t have to wait another full day for my husband to arrive home. I spent hours spiraling over something that turned out to be nothing — and it feels like the perfect metaphor for this whole writing life. Life happens, I worry, I doubt, and then something small reminds me I’m still on the right path.
If you found this info helpful, you’re always welcome to make a one‑time “thank you” contribution through Buy Me a Coffee — which, let’s be honest, really just means buying Quill some dog treats.
