Managing “Should Have Done More” Thoughts
- Apr 3
- 12 min read
About 90% of people say they’ve made decisions they deeply regret, and research shows that when we believe we failed to live up to our own standards, our well-being drops noticeably.[3]
If you’re caring for a sick or aging dog, that “behavioral gap” often has a very specific soundtrack:
“I should have noticed sooner.”
“I should have pushed harder with the vet.”
“I should have spent more / done more / tried more.”
These aren’t just passing thoughts. They can become a private loop you replay at 2 a.m., long after the appointment, the treatment, or even the goodbye.
This article is about that loop. What it is, what it does to you, and how to relate to it differently so you can care for your dog — and yourself — with more steadiness and less self-punishment.
What “should have done more” really is (and what it isn’t)
Psychologists have a few precise words for what you’re feeling. They’re useful, not because labels fix anything, but because they give you a map.
Key terms in plain language
Regret. The mental replay of a decision with the sense “I wish I’d done X instead.” It’s cognitive (thinking through what happened) and emotional (sadness, frustration, disappointment).[1][4]Example: “I regret not getting that second opinion earlier.”
Remorse. Regret plus a heavy dose of moral guilt: “I did something wrong and hurt someone.” It’s sharper, often tied to feeling like you violated your own ethics.[4]
Self-blame. Turning all responsibility inward: “This is my fault.” It often ignores context (money, time, what you knew then, your dog’s biology) and can become toxic and paralyzing.[2]
Counterfactual thinking. The “if only” movie in your head: “If only I’d noticed that limp,” “If only I’d gone to the specialist.” These alternate timelines can sometimes help you learn — or trap you in endless rumination.[5]
Perfectionism. The belief that anything less than “everything possible, at all times” is failure. Perfectionism makes regret stickier and harsher.[1][13]
Behavioral gap. The space between what you think you should have done and what you actually did. Research shows that when people feel this gap is large, their well-being drops and negative emotions rise.[3]
In dog caregiving, “should have done more” thoughts are usually a mix of all of these: regret flavored with self-blame, powered by perfectionism, played out through counterfactual “if only” scenarios.
And importantly: they are extremely common in chronic illness and end-of-life care.
The strange upside of regret (and when it turns against you)
Regret exists for a reason. From an evolutionary and psychological standpoint, it’s not just emotional punishment — it’s a learning system.
The functional side
Studies suggest that regret can:
Help you learn from experience and make better future decisions[1][6]
Motivate constructive changes (“Next time I’ll ask more questions”)
Support social harmony by nudging us to repair relationships or make amends[6][7]
People even rate regret as one of the most valuable negative emotions, because it can sharpen insight and guide future choices.[6]
In dog care, this might look like:
Switching vets after feeling dismissed
Asking for written treatment plans because you once left confused
Planning earlier for mobility aids after seeing how quickly function can change
Here, regret is like a stern, slightly grumpy teacher: uncomfortable, but useful.
When regret becomes a problem
Regret turns harmful when it becomes:
Chronic – you replay the same event for weeks, months, or years
Global – “I’m a bad dog parent,” not “I mishandled that situation”
Frozen – there’s no new insight, just the same emotional pain on repeat
Research links this kind of chronic, self-critical regret to:
Higher anxiety and depression
Lower life satisfaction
Impaired coping with negative events[1][2][6]
One study with 158 people found that the bigger the perceived gap between “what I did” and “what I believe I should have done,” the worse their well-being.[3] Note the word perceived — the gap lives largely in your mind, not in objective reality.
In health contexts, repetitive “if only” thinking is especially tricky. A meta-analysis shows that when counterfactuals are combined with strong self-blame and a sense of control (“I could have stopped this”), regret and distress intensify significantly.[5]
For many dog owners, that’s exactly the trap:
“If I’d caught it earlier, he’d still be here. I should have done more.”
The science says: that sentence feels true — and it’s often built on illusions.
The illusion of control: why you feel more responsible than you were
Humans are wired to overestimate how much control we had over past events. Psychologists call this the illusion of control.[1]
In dog health, it sounds like:
“I should have known that symptom was serious.”
“I should have predicted that side effect.”
“I should have been able to afford everything.”
But when you zoom out, many factors were never in your control:
Your dog’s genetics and underlying disease biology
The limits of veterinary medicine (even the best care has ceilings)
How a given dog responds to a treatment
Systemic realities: appointment wait times, cost of advanced care, access to specialists
Your own constraints: time, money, mental and physical energy
The illusion of control quietly deletes all of this context and leaves you alone in the frame, as if you were the only variable that mattered.
Naming this illusion doesn’t erase regret. It simply puts a boundary around it:
“There are things I might do differently next time — and there were also forces here that no amount of love or effort could have rewritten.”
That’s not an excuse. It’s an honest description of reality.
Perfectionism: the hidden engine behind “I should have done more”
If your inner critic never seems satisfied, perfectionism may be driving the bus.
Research finds that self-critical perfectionism is strongly linked to:
Chronic regret
Anxiety about self-evaluation
Persistent “never enough” feelings[1][13]
Perfectionism in caregiving often sounds noble:
“I want to do absolutely everything for my dog.”
“If I really loved her, I’d find a way.”
But underneath, the rules are impossible:
There is always one more test, supplement, or specialist.
There is always one more article you could read.
There is always one more hour you could stay awake monitoring.
Perfectionism quietly sets a standard where only the impossible counts as “enough.” Everything else feels like failure.
Recognizing perfectionism doesn’t mean lowering your care or love. It means questioning the math your brain is using:
“Would I judge another owner this harshly for making the same choices?”
“Did I expect myself to have omniscience, unlimited money, and endless energy?”
If the answer is yes, your standard is not “good care.” It’s superhuman performance.
How “should have done more” thoughts shape your days
The impact of these thoughts isn’t only internal. They can ripple into how you make decisions now, and how you relate to your vet team.
Emotional and psychological weight
Owners of chronically ill dogs often describe:
Guilt – “I let him down.”
Helplessness – “No matter what I do, it won’t be enough.”
Frustration – with themselves, the disease, and sometimes the vet system.
Self-doubt – second-guessing every decision, big or small.
These emotions often sit alongside anticipatory grief — grieving a loss that hasn’t fully happened yet. That grief can fuse with regret, creating a heavy sense of moral distress: “Am I doing right by my dog?”
Over time, this can lead to:
Avoiding difficult decisions (“I’ll just wait and see”)
Delaying necessary conversations about prognosis or quality of life
Swinging between over-treating (“Do everything”) and shutting down (“I can’t think about it”)
In the exam room
“Should have done more” thoughts can also color your interactions with your vet:
You might feel defensive, expecting judgment: “They’ll think I’m a bad owner.”
You might feel pressured to agree to everything, even when it strains your finances or your dog’s comfort.
You might withhold questions because you’re ashamed you didn’t ask them sooner.
Veterinary teams, for their part, may not always see the full emotional storm behind your calm questions. Time limits and system pressures can unintentionally add to your sense of failure.
This is not about blame — on you or on them. It’s about recognizing that regret is part of the relationship ecosystem around your dog’s care.
Using regret as a guide, not a weapon
You can’t (and don’t need to) eliminate regret. The goal is to change its job description: from inner prosecutor to cautious consultant.
Below are evidence-informed strategies that align with the research — not as quick fixes, but as ways of relating differently to that “should have done more” voice.
1. Distinguish reflection from rumination
They feel similar, but they’re not.
Reflection asks: “What can I learn from this?”
Rumination asks: “How could I be so awful?” and never moves on.
A practical litmus test:
After thinking about the situation for 10–15 minutes, do you have:
A clearer sense of what you’d do differently next time?
One or two concrete ideas?
→ That’s reflection.
Or do you have:
The same emotional pain, with no new insight?
More self-criticism and less energy?
→ That’s rumination.
When you notice you’re looping, you can gently say to yourself:
“I’m not learning anything new right now. This is my brain replaying pain, not solving a problem.”
That naming alone is a form of psychological flexibility, which research links to resilience.[1]
2. Turn “if only” into “next time if”
Counterfactual thinking (“if only…”) becomes more adaptive when you pivot it toward the future.[5]
Try this structure:
Instead of: “If only I’d asked more questions at the first visit.”
Try: “Next time, if I’m worried, I’ll write down my questions beforehand and ask for a few extra minutes.”
You’re still honoring the regret, but you’re redirecting it into a specific, actionable plan rather than a self-indictment.
You might even keep a small “Next Time If” note in your phone:
“Next time if meds change, I’ll ask what side effects to watch for.”
“Next time if I feel rushed, I’ll say, ‘Can we quickly go over my top two concerns?’”
This is how regret starts doing its intended job: improving your future, not punishing your past.
3. Name the constraints you were living inside
Regret thrives in a vacuum where context is erased. Reintroducing context is not self-excusing; it’s fact-checking.
You might gently list:
What you knew then (not what you know now)
The information your vet had (and didn’t have)
Financial limits you were under
Other life responsibilities (kids, work, your own health)
How your dog was presenting at the time
This can be as simple as writing:
“When I chose X, I believed Y because Z.”
For example:
“When I chose not to pursue the MRI, I believed the chances of finding something treatable were low given what the vet said, and I was already at my financial limit.”
You may still wish things were different — but the story becomes more honest and less cruel.
4. Practice “mindful distancing” from your inner critic
Research-backed approaches to mental health increasingly emphasize mindful distancing: noticing your thoughts without fusing with them.[11]
Instead of “I failed him,” try to notice:
“I’m having the thought that I failed him.”
It seems minor, but it creates a tiny space between you and the thought.
You can also:
Imagine the thought as a subtitle on a movie screen.
Picture it in a different voice (a radio commentator, a cartoon character).
Thank your brain: “Thanks, mind, for trying to protect me by reviewing this. We’ve noted it.”
You’re not arguing with the thought. You’re stepping out of its grip.
5. Balance the “behavioral gap” with a “care log”
If your mind constantly lists what you didn’t do, it can help to keep a quiet record of what you are doing — not as proof for anyone else, but as a counterweight to your own narrative.
This could be a simple note on your phone:
Meds given on schedule
Walks adjusted to your dog’s energy
Comfort measures (soft bedding, favorite toy, sitting on the floor together)
Vet calls made, questions asked
Times you chose rest so you could keep caring tomorrow
This isn’t to perform sainthood; it’s to remind your brain that the story isn’t only “I fell short.” It’s also “I showed up, again and again, within my limits.”
6. Watch out for unfair comparisons
Upward social comparison — measuring yourself against people you see as doing “better” — reliably amplifies regret and self-criticism.[2]
You might notice:
Comparing your choices to someone with very different finances
Comparing your dog’s outcome to a different disease entirely
Comparing your real life to curated stories in online support groups
When you catch it, you can gently reframe:
“Their situation is not mine. Different dog, different disease, different resources. I can learn from others without using them as a weapon against myself.”
If online spaces regularly leave you feeling worse, it’s not a moral failure to mute, unfollow, or step back.
7. Explore self-forgiveness as a process, not a verdict
Research and clinical work suggest that self-forgiveness — when genuine, not forced — can ease the burden of regret and remorse.[2][4]
Self-forgiveness is not:
Saying “It didn’t matter.”
Claiming “I did everything perfectly.”
Forgetting what happened.
It looks more like:
Acknowledging what still hurts you about your decisions
Recognizing the limits you were under
Allowing yourself to be a human who made choices with incomplete information
Committing to carrying any lessons forward
Sometimes it involves making amends where that’s possible — not to your dog (they’re not asking for a moral accounting), but to yourself or others affected.
That might mean:
Writing a letter you never send, describing what you wish you’d known
Talking with a counselor about your guilt
Using what you’ve learned to support another owner in a similar situation
Self-forgiveness is less a single moment and more a gradual loosening of the belief: “I must keep suffering to prove I cared.”
You cared. Your suffering is not the proof.
Talking with your vet when you’re carrying regret
You do not have to leave your regret at the clinic door. In fact, bringing it in — carefully — can make care more aligned and less punishing.
You might say:
“I keep thinking I should have brought her in sooner, and it’s making it hard to decide what to do now.”
“I feel guilty that I can’t afford every option. Can we talk about what’s realistic and kind for him?”
“I’m worried you think I’ve failed him. Can you help me understand how you see it?”
Many vets understand that owners are wrestling with guilt, perfectionism, and grief, even if they don’t always name it. When you open that door, you give them a chance to:
Clarify what was and wasn’t realistically possible
Set achievable care goals that fit your dog and your life
Offer resources (support groups, counselors, reading) around caregiver burden and regret[1][2][14]
If you consistently feel judged or dismissed when you try to have these conversations, that’s data too. It may be worth seeking a second opinion or a vet team that better supports the emotional side of long-term care.
When the dog is gone, but the regret stays
For many people, “should have done more” peaks after euthanasia or sudden loss.
Common themes:
“I waited too long.” or “I did it too soon.”
“I should have tried one more treatment.”
“I should have insisted on more tests earlier.”
Here, regret and grief are tightly braided. You’re not just evaluating decisions; you’re mourning a relationship.
Some gentle orientations that can help:
Two things can be true. You can wish you’d done something differently and recognize that you were trying to love your dog with the tools you had.
The outcome was never entirely in your hands. Even perfect decisions can’t guarantee a different disease course.
Your dog experienced your presence, not your internal courtroom. They knew your touch, your voice, your routines — not the alternate timelines in your head.
If regret is making it hard to function, sleep, or engage with daily life for weeks or months, this is not a personal weakness. It’s a sign you may benefit from grief-informed counseling or support groups that understand pet loss.
You do not have to carry this weight alone.
A different way to measure “enough”
The culture around pets often whispers that “true love” means doing everything, at any cost, for as long as possible. It’s an impossible standard — emotionally, financially, medically.
The research on regret and well-being suggests a quieter, more sustainable measure:
Did you make decisions based on the best information you had at the time?
Did you adjust when new information appeared?
Did you act within your real limits, not imaginary ones?
Did you try, however imperfectly, to balance your dog’s comfort with your capacity?
If the answer to some of those is “not always,” welcome to being human.
Regret will still visit. Sometimes it will sit beside you on the floor where your dog used to lie. But over time, if you allow it to be a teacher instead of a judge, it can soften into something else:
A reminder of how deeply you cared, and how seriously you took the responsibility of loving a creature whose life would always be too short.
That care — not the absence of regret — is what defines you as a dog owner.
References
Grant, K. W. The Weight of Regret and How to Move Forward.
Pentucket Profile. The Psychological Effects of Remorse/Regret.
Klusmann, V., Evers, A., Schwarzer, R., & Heuser, I. (2012). Perceived discrepancies between values and behavior affect well-being. International Journal of Psychology. (PMC article cited in synthesis.)
Treat Mental Health Texas. Guilt, Regret, and Remorse: Understanding Their Impact.
Sweeny, K., & Vohs, K. D. (2012). Regret and Counterfactual Thinking in Health Contexts. Social and Personality Psychology Compass. (PMC article cited in synthesis.)
Roese, N. J., & Summerville, A. (2005). Praise for regret: People value regret above other negative emotions. Motivation and Emotion. (PMC article cited in synthesis.)
McGraw, P. Regret.
Ness Labs. The psychology of regret: how inaction affects our sense of self.
University of Michigan LSA. 10 Ways to Keep Your Mind Healthy in 2025.
Ardelle Psychology. Psychology Clinic for Young Adults: Real Support, Real Connection.
American Psychological Association. How to learn from regret, with Robert Leahy, PhD. (APA podcast).
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