Recently, my internet algorithm has been taken over by a certain documentary playing in theaters. I love good storytelling, especially when it leaves us debating who is guilty, who is innocent, and who deserves the blame. This latest movie was advertised as an experience best enjoyed in a theater, surrounded by an audience reacting together. On a Sunday afternoon, I found myself among strangers laughing, gasping, and turning to the person next to me to ask, “What in the world is happening?!”. We were there to experience a story, form opinions, and make sense of what we were witnessing. For a couple of hours, we had a shared subject to dissect and debate.
The Stories We Tell Each Other
During my time working in shelters, I became familiar with similar gatherings. They rarely appeared on anyone’s calendar but happened in hallways, break rooms, and conversations between colleagues who needed to “let it out”. The subject? The latest drama. An adoption that had been declined. Someone returning an animal for a behavior they had been told about from the beginning. A person arriving at a community Veterinary clinic with a pet whose medical needs had gone unaddressed for “too long.”
These stories traveled quickly, gathering commentary along the way. We compared notes, offered interpretations, and sometimes reached a collective verdict about the person at the center of the story. Looking back, I recognize how easily these conversations became a way to bond with our peers. Our jobs were emotionally demanding and finding someone who understood our frustrations was comforting. Sometimes, laughing about a hard situation felt like the easiest way to get through it.
I would be a hypocrite to suggest I never participated because I know I did. My feelings were genuine, shaped by my experiences and my desire to do what I believed was best for animals. I also wanted to connect with my peers and at the time, I didn’t always recognize the difference between processing a difficult emotion and reinforcing a culture of judgment.
The farther I’ve moved from the day-to-day work of sheltering, the more noticeable this pattern has become. What once sounded like ordinary workplace conversation now lands like nails on a chalkboard to me. Not because every concern is unfounded or because we shouldn’t discuss difficult cases, but because I’ve started to question what happens when judgment becomes our default way of understanding the people who walk through our doors.
When We Become the Judge and Jury
Animal welfare professionals encounter heartbreaking situations. We see animals suffering, families in crisis, and decisions that are difficult to understand. We work within systems that are often under-resourced and understaffed, so frustration, grief, and anger are understandable parts of the job. However, when we repeatedly tell stories about people who disappoint us, we risk turning individual experiences into assumptions about entire groups. The person returning an animal becomes irresponsible. The person seeking Veterinary care later than we would prefer becomes uncaring. The prospective adopter who doesn’t meet our criteria becomes someone who doesn’t deserve a pet.
The problem is that we rarely know the whole story. We may not know what someone can afford, what barriers they’ve encountered, or what it took for them to ask for help. Compassion doesn’t mean abandoning medical standards, animal safety, responsible adoption practices, or accountability. We have an obligation to protect animals, but there’s a difference between assessing a situation and judging someone’s character. Our responsibility isn’t to eliminate judgment from every decision; it’s to recognize when judgment has replaced curiosity, compassion, and a genuine effort to understand.
The Culture We Pass On
I worry not only about the people who come to us for help, but also about those who join our profession. Imagine starting an animal welfare job full of hope, excited to make a difference, only to discover that fitting in means listening to colleagues tear apart the people they serve and nodding along. You learn which clients are difficult, which adopters are unworthy, and which mistakes will become the next office story. Participating in the commentary becomes an easy way to be accepted.
Some people will recognize this culture and decide the profession isn’t for them. That loss matters. But I worry just as much about those who stay and gradually accept negativity as normal. Over time, cynicism can feel like experience and suspicion can be mistaken for expertise. People who entered the field wanting to help animals may begin seeing the humans attached to those animals as obstacles rather than partners.
We can’t assume this dynamic entirely explains our industry’s staffing and retention challenges but we should recognize that it deserves attention. We need to ask what kind of workplace culture we’re creating, what behaviors we reward, and what we’re teaching the next generation that we are actively recruiting to join our cause.
A Different Kind of Connection
I don’t think the answer is to stop discussing difficult experiences. We need places to process grief, frustration, and the emotional weight of this work. But what if we changed the questions we ask? Instead of “Can you believe what this person did?” we could ask, “What might have led to this situation?” Instead of turning a returned adoption into a story about an unworthy person, we could examine whether our process genuinely set them up for success. Instead of assuming someone who arrives late in an animal’s illness doesn’t care, we could ask what prevented them from seeking care sooner and thank them for showing up when they did.
We can also pay attention to how we respond when these conversations happen around us. Do we contribute to the commentary or redirect it? Can we acknowledge a colleague’s frustration without joining in their judgment? Culture isn’t shaped only by policies or leadership training, it’s shaped in everyday moments when we decide what is acceptable to say about someone who isn’t in the room.
Leave Your Judgement at the Door
The documentary that prompted these reflections reminded me how much we enjoy having a story to dissect. There’s comfort in reaching a verdict together. It gives us a common enemy, a shared opinion, and an easy way to feel connected.
But animal welfare isn’t a documentary. The people at the center of our stories aren’t characters whose lives become irrelevant when the credits roll. They’re our neighbors, clients, volunteers, and colleagues, and sometimes the very people who will need our help tomorrow.
So, first, check in with yourself: Have you appointed yourself the judge and jury of who gets to be a “good” pet owner? Have you stopped trying to understand someone’s circumstances because you’ve already decided what kind of person they are? Then look around and listen to the conversations among your colleagues, peers, and volunteers. Pay attention to the stories that are repeated, the assumptions left unchallenged, and the behaviors that “help” people fit in.
We can’t control every circumstance that brings someone to our door, solve every barrier, or agree with every decision. But we can decide how people are treated when they ask us for help. We entered this field to make life better for animals. We have an opportunity to make it better for the people who care for them, too.
Isn’t it time we left our judgments at the door and just helped?