Mental Health Benefits and Animal-Assisted Therapy
Sometimes all it takes is observing what happens when a person is reunited with their pet after a difficult day: they talk to it, pet it, and sit next to it for a few minutes.
Sometimes, they don’t do anything in particular. They simply stay there, in the animal’s presence. Yet something seems to settle.
So, can we really say that an animal is therapeutic?
The question deserves a more nuanced answer. An animal is obviously not a psychologist. It does not practice psychotherapy and does not replace a professional when a person is suffering psychologically. Yet I believe it would be reductive to view its presence as merely comforting.
An animal can occupy a very special place in a person’s psychological life. It can become a point of reference, a source of security, a companion in moments of loneliness, and sometimes even a conduit through which certain emotions become more easily accessible.
This is what makes the relationship with animals particularly interesting when we consider psychology, emotional well-being, and mental health.
What are the benefits of animals for our mental health?
What strikes me about animals is that they offer a relationship very different from the ones we have with other human beings. An animal doesn’t ask us to explain why we’re sad, doesn’t ask us to justify our fatigue, and doesn’t ask us to put into words what we’re feeling before staying by our side.
Their presence is often much simpler.
We can come home after a difficult day and find our dog coming to greet us, or our cat curling up next to us. This relationship can provide a sense of continuity. I believe this continuity is particularly important when we’re going through a difficult time.
The pet is there.
It eats, sleeps, plays, demands attention, and comes looking for a pat. Daily life goes on. For some people, this presence serves as a real anchor. It can also help maintain a sense of routine: walking the dog, feeding the pet, tending to it, and meeting its needs. These are simple actions, but they can restore structure to our days when everything else seems chaotic.
Of course, this doesn’t mean that simply having a pet is enough to make you feel better, but it does show that the bond with your pet can contribute to your sense of balance.
The Pet as a Presence, Rather Than a Solution
I think it’s important not to fall into the trap of believing that a pet is some kind of cure for psychological difficulties: a dog isn’t going to “cure” depression, and a cat isn’t going to resolve anxiety.
Adopting a pet in an attempt to address psychological distress can even be a bad idea if you don’t fully understand what that responsibility entails.
Animals, too, have needs, emotions, limits, and their own personalities. They should never be viewed as therapeutic tools that are constantly available to meet their owners’ needs.
On the other hand, the relationship that develops with the animal can have significant effects. It is this distinction that I believe is essential.
What Our Relationship with an Animal Can Reveal About Us
What particularly interests me, from a psychoanalytic perspective, is that we are not simply in a relationship with an animal as it is: we also assign it a special place, we attribute intentions to it, and we interpret its behaviors.
We may view it as our confidant, our baby, our best friend, or sometimes as the only being that truly understands us.
This does not mean that this bond is “false,” but it is simply imbued with our own history.
The way a person bonds with their pet can sometimes reveal how they form relationships, provide care, or seek reassurance. For example, some people find it very difficult to let their pet wander off, while others feel the need to constantly tend to it. Some find it very hard to accept when their pet doesn’t meet their expectations, while others describe their pet as the only presence in whose company they can truly be themselves.
I’m obviously not trying to draw conclusions from this, but I find these insights interesting to hear, because the relationship with the pet is part of the person’s emotional history.
Can a pet replace a human relationship?
I don’t think so, and yet I believe that a pet can fill a role that some people don’t easily find in their human relationships.
They can be present without demanding the same kind of reciprocity; they can provide reassuring physical contact and offer companionship in moments of loneliness. Above all, there’s no need to talk.
For someone who struggles to form relationships, a pet can represent a particularly accessible connection, and that can be invaluable.
But this doesn’t mean we should pit pets against human relationships. On the contrary, a relationship with a pet can sometimes serve as a starting point. A person who rediscovers the joy of playing with their dog, caring for it, or simply spending time with it can gradually regain a sense of emotional openness toward others.
The animal is not, then, a substitute for other people: it becomes one connection among many.
What if pets also served as a outlet for our emotions?
There’s something I notice a lot in people who live with animals: they talk to them. They tell them about their day, explain that they’re tired, sometimes scold them, ask for forgiveness, and tell them they love them.
Of course, the animal doesn’t necessarily understand every sentence the way a human would, but the act of speaking can still serve a purpose for the person.
Putting what we feel into words—even when speaking to an animal—can help make an emotion feel a little more tangible.
That’s also why I find it interesting not to automatically contrast speech with the relationship to the animal: they can sometimes complement each other.
For therapists: don’t forget the animal in the patient’s story
In interviews, the animal is sometimes mentioned as an afterthought.
“When I get home, I see my dog.”
“My cat sleeps with me.”
“Ever since I lost my dog, I’ve felt very lonely.”
These statements may seem trivial. Yet they can sometimes reveal something important. The loss of a pet can be experienced as a genuine bereavement. A relationship with a pet can be a major source of security. Sometimes, the way a patient talks about their pet offers a glimpse into their relational dynamics.
This doesn’t mean we should systematically analyze the relationship with the pet; in fact, I believe we should avoid trying to interpret everything. But simply consider asking a question:
“What role does this pet play in your life?”
The answer can be very revealing.
Can we talk about animal-assisted therapy?
Yes, but we need to distinguish between several things.
The mere presence of an animal with a person is not necessarily therapy. Animal-assisted therapy is based on a specific framework, in which the animal participates in a support program designed and supervised by a trained professional. The animal is therefore not “the therapist.” It participates in a triangular relationship between the animal, the person receiving support, and the professional. This distinction seems fundamental to me.
Within this framework, the animal can facilitate certain interactions, help a person open up, support a relationship, or enable certain difficulties to be addressed in a different way.
But it remains a living being: its well-being must therefore be taken into account just as much as that of the person receiving support. This is a point to which I am particularly sensitive.
The more I learn about animal behavior and well-being, the more I realize how problematic it would be to view the animal solely in terms of what it can offer to humans: a beneficial relationship must be considered from both perspectives.
Animals can also teach us something about connection
That’s perhaps what interests me most about this issue. Living with an animal constantly confronts us with otherness: we can love it deeply without ever being able to fully control what it does. It has its own needs, its own reactions, its own limits.
It may come to seek our attention… then decide it would rather leave. It may want to play when we’re tired. It may be afraid of a situation we don’t understand.
So, in a way, they force us to adapt to someone who doesn’t function exactly like we do, and this experience can be very enriching.
It sometimes teaches us to observe rather than control, to respect a boundary, to recognize a need that’s different from our own. I find this aspect particularly interesting when it comes to human relationships: loving someone—whether human or animal—doesn’t mean being able to control everything about them.
So, are animals therapeutic?
I would answer: they can be, but not in the way we usually understand it.
An animal is no substitute for therapy; it is no substitute for a human relationship; it has no method for “healing” us. But its presence can provide support, comfort, and a sense of security—and sometimes help a person reconnect when they feel isolated.
The relationship we have with a pet can also teach us a great deal about ourselves: how we form attachments, how we care for others, how we cope with separation, how we respect others’ boundaries, and even how we receive affection.
Sometimes, an animal simply plays an essential role in our lives without needing to be assigned a therapeutic function. I find this last idea important.
We don’t need to turn every relationship into a healing tool to recognize its value: a pet can be a companion, a source of stability, a reassuring presence. Sometimes, that alone is enough.
Deep down, I believe that what can be therapeutic is not just the animal itself, but the bond we build with it.
Like all meaningful relationships, this bond can accompany us, support us, and sometimes help us discover who we truly are.