Starting Over with Pets: November, & When My Dog Became My Anchor.

Today’s blog post comes from a more personal place for me than our usual content. (This is Haley - your pet photographer writing.)

In the 4 years since establishing Sweet Camellia Photography, I have shared very little of my personal life with you. I have never wanted to introduce something so imperfect to this small, peaceful part of my world - or, worse, to burden my clients, when it’s my job to support you. Maybe this is because I consider myself a forever work-in-progress. (I can hear my therapist in the back of my mind, saying: “have compassion, gratitude for the you that you are today.” I’m still working on this one.)

But so much has changed. And, as I have come to find out, clinging to perfection just to keep things from falling apart… doesn't work. And maybe the truth is, an image of perfect professionalism has never served you, anyway. And, just maybe, someone reading this needs to know that they aren’t alone when they feel that they are barely holding it together - but still have to keep showing up for those who depend on them.

So, here goes nothing……………

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Four weeks ago today, my life changed in an instant.

The relationship that I thought was my “forever” ended with a gut-wrenching discovery. (Then one, two, and three half-discoveries more - each one altering everything I thought I knew). Almost overnight, I found myself packing up what felt like my entire life, moving back in with my parents, trying to understand what happened - and who I am supposed to be now. Everything I thought I knew about my partnership, my future, and my reality was turned inside out.

The only piece to stay was Atlas. The clever, sweet, endlessly-searching-for-mischief, teenage whippet - once our dog, now just mine. His presence now leaves me thanking the universe for the relationship inequity I used to resent - the (honestly, and frustratingly) “unfair” division of pet care, daily logistics, and expenses that meant he was always more mine than ours. But that everyday inequity is why he’s here with me to stay. Still, this gift sometimes feels like a weight I'm not prepared to carry.

I’m sharing this with you not because I think you need to know all the intimate details of my personal life, although it feels like a weight has lifted to finally open up here… but because I suspect some of you know what this feels like. The floor dropping out from under you. The future you built disappearing. Trying to hold it together for your pets while you're falling apart. (Who else has heard that your dog can smell your stress? Thank you, internet.) And I believe that, by keeping my full self out of this business until now, I have been doing us both a disservice.

In the past four weeks, Atlas’ world has changed, too… and he has responded in the way that teenage dogs often do: by being more himself. More energetic. So much more “talkative.” Testing every behavioral concept and routine we had established. With more opportunities for mishaps than ever (as Atlas sees it - fun!), it's becoming clear that any training gaps I had overlooked, or that my ex-partner and I had managed our way out of, are no longer possible to ignore.

On most days, I just try to stay afloat, keeping him busy while working through my own stuff. But I know Atlas deserves more - more enrichment. Play, activity, connection. He needs support in his transition to a new household. He needs more of me.

I often think about how Atlas didn't choose any of this. He didn't choose to lose one of “his people,” or to see our apartment taken apart when his separation anxiety meant that he had to accompany me on every packing trip - an extra weight and a dose of guilt with every visit. Although… he probably would have chosen the new yard, and having “Grandma time” everyday.

I'm trying to prioritize myself, my own healing, and finding a new normal without neglecting him. But, to be honest, it’s a constant battle. And, oftentimes, I feel the heavy shame creep in. Maybe it sounds familiar to you - the voice that whispers: I should be doing better. That I should have it more together. That I could have prevented all of this - for Atlas, for me - by listening to my gut sooner.
That a “good” pet parent wouldn't be this distracted, this tired, this unavailable.

But then, Atlas jumps in, asking for play or pets. He curls up beside me on the couch - well, really, he waits until I move my legs into a perfect circle and put down his blanket (DIY donut bed!). Or he runs outside to dig in the garden, resurfacing the yard with unfiltered joy.

And I remember:
He is still every bit himself.
I am still, completely, me.
Atlas gives me a center in the chaos.

(And, thankfully, dogs are as honest as they come.)

Starting over feels like infinite possibility and a devastating loss at the same time. The future I could see so clearly is gone, and along with it, much of my former worldview. I don’t really know how to do this - how to start over again. But, even in the thick of things, I have to get up out of bed (or face the playful wrath of a walk-starved Atlas…) and just keep going.

I wish I could tell you that I have this figured out. That I had found the balance between caring for him and recalibrating my life. That the heavy weight of shame or sadness had lifted. That everything is looking up.

But I don’t - and I can’t. Still, I can tell you this:

One day spent distracted won't ruin your bond.
One training session missed isn't a failure (and not even two, or three).
One moment, or one week… or month… of “just getting by” does not define your future, or your dog’s.
You are not a failure for anything that life throws your way.

It’s just life. Messy, beautiful, and painful, and human… that’s all real. And your efforts don’t have to be perfect to make a difference. You do not have to be perfect - for any of this.

There are moments I love now: Watching Atlas explore his new backyard - this wilder space he's claiming as his own. Taking him on walks through a new neighborhood for his first autumn and winter "on the ground.” Nights curled up on the couch, the only familiar feeling left. Atlas and I are learning to navigate this new life, together.

The day-to-day looks different. The days are louder. Nights feel lonelier. Most of my old “home” is now just boxes stacked in a bedroom. The mundane routines have changed. But some sort of beauty remains.

This experience has shown me that authenticity and care matter more than perfection - for Atlas, and for myself.
If you have followed our journey here, or just feel a deep pull toward our work, you should know: the purpose was never perfection. You’re looking for something real - something like that imperfect, beautiful life that you share with your pet. Exactly as it is. And that’s the only kind of art - and life - I want to create. Especially now.

I don't know whether anyone needed to hear this story today. But I do know that, when I'm struggling, one of the most comforting things someone can say is: “You're not alone. Your imperfections don't make you any less worthy,” and… “You can do this hard thing.” Maybe you’re going through your own transitions - a breakup or divorce, a move, a career change, a loss… and feeling like you're failing your dog in a hundred small ways. Maybe you look at them and feel both grateful and guilty. Grateful they're here - guilty you can't give them everything you believe they deserve… all while you're just fighting to keep your head above water.

If this is you, too, please know you aren’t alone. It’s okay to feel like you’re failing. And it’s okay to take care of yourself, even when your pet needs you, too. You don’t have to have everything together - you can let go for a little while. Breathe.

And when you feel the pressure building - the fears for the future, the uncertainty, the grief, the stress - let it come. Be with that feeling for a little while, and without guilt. Know that it’s not forever.
Try to believe it. (I promise that I will, too.)

I hope to make this only the first step of many towards becoming more personal, more human, here with you. Still focused on the Sweet Camellia purpose. Only a little less perfectly polished. Just real.

Thank you for your kindness and support always.

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If you're navigating a major life change with your pet, and you are looking for ways to honor that bond - to hold onto the love that's carrying you through - I see you. And I'm here for you as your pet professional.

Sometimes, preserving these moments in art is an act of healing.
Send us a message to have a chat with me, and we’ll get your pet’s own photography session on the books.