Disenfranchised Grief | When Your Pain Feels Invisible
You know the moment… Not necessarily a sharp silence or a visible flinch. Sometimes, it’s quieter than that. It’s when someone says, “At least they’re not suffering anymore,” and nothing else. It’s when you get the “thinking of you” text one time—but never again. It’s when you bring up your grief a week later and feel like you’ve said something taboo. Like everyone else has turned the page—and you’re still sitting in the same story.
This is the quiet ache of disenfranchised grief. It’s not that people don’t care. It’s that most don’t know how to keep caring when grief lingers. Especially when it comes to animals. Especially when it’s not tied to a socially sanctioned loss.
Why the Well-Meaning Still Sometimes Miss It
People often do and say all the right things—at first.
“I’m so sorry.”
“They were lucky to have you.”
“This must be so hard.”
And those words matter. But what happens after that? A week goes by. Then two. Then a month. The texts slow down. The invitations return, but the space for sadness shrinks. The loss doesn’t come up again—unless you bring it up, and even then, only briefly.
It’s not cruelty. It’s discomfort. People want you to be okay—because they want to feel okay. It’s easier to talk about your dog’s long life than to sit in the hollow of your house without them. It’s easier to offer perspective than to say, “Yeah. It still hurts. I’m still here.”
What is Disenfranchised Grief?
Disenfranchised grief is a term that describes grief that isn’t openly acknowledged, socially supported, or publicly mourned.1 In other words, it’s grief that society tends to overlook—or even invalidate. For those grieving the loss of an animal companion or navigating grief within animal welfare work, this can be a painfully familiar experience. You might not be met with cruelty, but you’re often met with silence, awkwardness, or a quick attempt to shift the conversation.
And while people might mean well, their words can still hurt.
“At least they’re not in pain anymore.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“Adopting another pet will make you feel better.”
These phrases aren’t always wrong—but they often arrive too soon, skipping over the raw, present pain that still lives in your body.
This kind of response isn’t usually coming from a place of malice. It often stems from discomfort. Grief makes many people uncomfortable, especially when there isn’t a clear cultural script for how to respond. When the loss isn’t a human family member, people may not know how to hold space. So instead, they try to tidy the moment. They offer closure instead of connection, and reassurance instead of recognition. But the truth is—recognition matters.
Why Recognition Matters
Grief doesn’t always need to be fixed, solved, or even spoken to. But it does need to be seen. When your pain is quietly dismissed—or even gently bypassed—it can make you question its legitimacy.
Should I be over this by now?
Is this normal?
Am I too much?
Recognition is a form of witnessing. And witnessing is one of the most healing gifts we can receive in grief. Not because it makes the ache go away, but because it reminds us: we’re not alone in it.
That’s why it can feel so jarring when people stop checking in. Not because they owe you constant attention, but because their absence echoes the loss. And when that happens, it’s important to have ways to create space for yourself—so your grief doesn’t have to disappear just because others have.
Ways to Support Yourself When Your Grief Goes Unseen:
Create a small ritual that honors your companion. Light a candle, revisit photos, speak their name aloud. Rituals keep the memory alive and give your grief a place to go.
Write a letter to the one you lost—or to yourself. Let your feelings move somewhere safe. Even just a few lines can help your heart exhale.
Notice what you need in the moment. Maybe it’s solitude, or maybe it’s texting a trusted friend to say, “I miss them today.” Either is okay.
Offer yourself the validation others may have forgotten to give. Try placing a hand on your heart, taking a few slow breaths, and saying, “My grief is still here—and it matters.”
Limit your exposure to spaces or people who feel dismissive. It’s okay to pause relationships that don’t feel safe to grieve in.
And Finally—Remember This:
Your grief is not too much. Not a week after your loss. Not a year. Not a decade. It’s not an inconvenience. It’s a continuation of love. If no one else has told you this lately: I see your heart. I see your loss. I’m so sorry they’re gone. You don’t have to rush your way out of this. You just have to stay connected to what’s real for you.
If you’re craving connection in your grief—whether it’s fresh or decades old—you are not alone. My next animal companion grief group is opening soon, and you are invited. This space is designed to honor your story gently, without trying to fix or rush it. Learn more here.
Resources:
Raypole, C. (2022, May 16). Disenfranchised grief: Definition, causes, impact, and coping. Verywell Mind.
