
An exhale for animal workers who've been holding it together way too long.
I Want In
Big-hearted people need a place of their own. Especially the ones who spend their days helping animals.
If you're here, I'm guessing that's you.
You know the whiplash. A tender moment with an animal. A hard conversation with a human. A goodbye you'll carry home. All before noon.
And some days? You see the worst of humanity before your coffee's even cold.
So you do what you have to do. You stay strong because that's what you've been taught to do. You keep showing up, because animals need you, and if you don't help, who will?
Then you go home and...
They mean well. They just don't get it.
So you keep it all bottled up. The heartbreak. The anger. The days when it's honestly hard not to hate humans.
Because if you let yourself go there, you might never stop crying.
In 1991, I started working as a veterinary assistant in a small animal practice in upstate NY. Those were some of the best years of my life. And some of the hardest.
I felt that whiplash every single day. And I did exactly what you're doing now. I stayed stoic. I kept it all in.
Then I went home and coped the only way I knew how. Another glass of wine. Bingeing on Reese's peanut butter cups. Waking up hungover and doing it all over again.
It took the edge off. Just enough to get me back to work the next day. So I kept doing it.
For about 10 years.
That's a decade of pain, agony and wasted time, because I was terrified of what would happen if I actually let myself feel it.
When I finally went looking for help (therapy first, then coaching and a support group), I found out something I really wish I'd known sooner.
Opening up didn't break me.
It felt empowering. And I wasn't alone. Not even close. Other people were finally saying out loud the things I'd felt for years and had nowhere to put.
That's when it clicked for me.
Wine doesn't give it anywhere to go. Neither does Netflix, or staying strong, or bitching to your coworkers about how awful humans are, or venting to someone who tells you to find a different job. The grief just sits in the bottle, and the bottle gets fuller.
So what actually helps? Giving the grief, the sadness, the frustration, the overwhelm and the guilt somewhere to go. Letting it out a little at a time, out loud, with people who actually get animal work.
That's exactly how I coach now. We start by celebrating something good, so the room feels safe before anyone has to be brave.
When someone lets the hard stuff out, I validate her, I share my own stuff so she knows she's not the only one, and the whole group holds space for her. 💜
The grief comes out a little at a time. And nobody carries it alone.
"Thursday night is a safe place. I don't have to do anything and I don't have to be taking care of anyone except me."
You're not weak. You don't care too much. And you're definitely not the only one who feels this way.
What you need is a place to set it down, with people who get it.

I've spent 25+ years in veterinary medicine. I started as a veterinary assistant, spent years in vet sales and training with Purina, Bayer and IDEXX, and later managed a veterinary hospital for my mentor.
Now I'm a Master Certified Life Coach, a Certified Compassion Fatigue Specialist and a Certified Grief Educator. I coach big-hearted animal people the way that finally worked for me: say the hard stuff out loud, with people who get it, and never alone.
I'm also a proud feminist, and I believe joy is non-negotiable. Our field carries some heavy stuff, so I try to keep some moments light. Expect laughter. Sometimes in the same breath as tears.
I built Wild Hearts Rising for the people I used to work right beside: the ones holding the leash, someone's hand and the difficult news. Now going on its third year, it's their place to be cared for, too. 💜
Wild Hearts Rising is a 6-month group coaching program for big-hearted animal care professionals. Think of it as a few nights a month that are just for you, and a place to set down everything animal work leaves you carrying.
It's a place to say the hard stuff out loud, learn tools that actually help, and be around people who get it. No explaining why you can't "just leave work at work."
"Just knowing you are all there helps! I can't wait for Thursday nights. It's like a security blanket that surrounds and protects me from my every day life."
It's Thursday night, and you've had a rough week.
Instead of pouring the wine and zoning out, you log on to Zoom. Someone's celebrating a win. Someone else is laughing about her foster dog eating a whole birthday cake. (It happens.)
Then, when it feels right, you share the thing you've been carrying all week. Out loud.
You don't fall apart. The chat fills up with hearts. Somebody says, "Oh, me too." And you feel lighter than you have in months.
That's what WHR feels like. And over six months, it adds up:
"I've been doing WHR for two years and I can't imagine my Thursday nights without it... you all feel familiar and like home. I love that some friendships are formed beyond Thursday nights and that we can support each other on an ongoing basis."
Coaching with me on mindset, emotional regulation, boundaries at work, conflict at work, self-care, personal stuff, and whatever's weighing on you that week.
A training to help you grow and keep doing this work without losing yourself.
Thoughts create feelings, EFT, nervous system resilience and grief work. The stuff that helped me open my own bottle.
on the stuff that matters most in animal work, like Grief in Animal Work, The Weight Of Loving Animals, Capacity + The Yes Meter and Taming Your Inner Critic.
We all rise when we lift each other up. Negative Nancys, Debbie and Donnie Downers need not apply. 😝
A safe space to feel understood, accepted and validated.
Can't make it live? Watch when you can.
Book clubs, challenges, special guests and surprises. Every round is different!
That's enough time to see real change, build real friendships and create habits that stick.
All calls are on Thursdays at 7pm ET / 4pm PT. Every call is recorded, so you never miss a thing.
🎄 Holiday break until Jan 14
Coaching live coaching with me Rising monthly training session
Register by Monday, November 2, and I'll mail you your very own Wild Hearts Rising mug. Fill it with tea, settle in, and make Thursday night yours.
It's my little welcome-to-the-family gift. You spend all day taking care of everyone else, so this one's just for you.
[MUG: confirm whether it ships outside the US]
Here's everything you get
The details: We meet on Zoom most Thursday nights at 7pm ET / 4pm PT, November 2026 through April 2027.
Bringing your coworkers? Groups of 5 or more are $329 each. Groups of 10 or more are $299 each. Click "We Want In," tell me how many of you there are, and I'll send you a payment link.
Registration closes Monday, November 2. We start Thursday, November 5.
Animal work doesn't pay what it should. That's exactly why I keep WHR affordable on purpose: $359 for six months, or 4 payments of $99.75. And if a few coworkers want in too, the group rate brings it down even more.
Neither were most of us, at first. You don't have to share until you're ready. Plenty of people just listen for a while, and that helps too.
"Thursday night is a safe place. I don't have to do anything and I don't have to be taking care of anyone except me." Suzanne
Every call is recorded, so you can watch when you can. But a lot of members find that Thursday nights become the one thing they protect.
"WHR forces me to take time for myself during the week. Even if I'm not being coached or it's a Rising session, I always feel better after meeting." Julie, WHR member
It's an interactive group, and being on camera is how we really connect. We're a friendly bunch, I promise. Sweatpants and messy buns welcome. But if you're having a tough day and just want to listen, that's okay too.
No. Wild Hearts Rising is group coaching. If you're already working with a therapist, WHR can be a great add-on.
Yes! If you work with or for animals, you belong here.
Back in 1991, I didn't have anywhere to put the heavy stuff. So I put it in a wine glass and a bag of Reese's, and I lost about 10 years to it.
You don't have to do it that way.
The grief isn't going anywhere on its own. Staying strong won't make it lighter. But saying it out loud, a little at a time, with people who really get it? That will.
Your future self will thank you. I promise.
I want you to have it better than I did.
xo Julie
Questions? Email me at julie@juliesquires.net