Emotional self-care and energetic boundaries with clients
By Katie Benjamin 
NBCAAM Board Member
I became an animal body worker because of my love for animals. I understood that the work could be hard both physically and mentally, but for me helping animals feel better in their bodies is a gift and a dream.
What I wasn't quite prepared for was how it could affect my energy. Not the animals but the humans. Likely, we've all encountered them; The guardians who is consistently late for appointments and gets weird when the session still ends on time. The person who floods our emotional field with panic, grief, anger, that often has nothing to do with
the animal we are there to work with. This is the thorny part of the rose. The ability to be calm and grounded, to listen with more than our ears allows us to reach animals. Unfortunately means sometimes their humans can tap into our empathy and compassion and by the time they walk out the door, that weight has transferred onto us .
I have found practices, rituals and breathing techniques to help me get my energy back but it can still take a lot out of me. I wantedt o share these feelings with other practitioners because if I am feeling it, maybe someone else is too. I want to help remind you my fellow animal professionals this is not a reflection of our
compassion. It’s a sign that we care deeply, we are exactly where we belong when we are with our clients but also how important it is to care *selectively* to stay open to the animals while also protecting ourselves from the emotional current of the world around us.
Animal body work sits at a unique intersection: a skilled practitioner, a customer service worker, an emotional anchor, a business owner, another human who cares for a treasured companion -often all within the same appointment.
Clients can arrive already flooded with emotions, fear, love, guilt, or financial stress. The world is a lot and no one is immune.I find dysregulated nervous systems to be contagious. Highly empathetic people (which describes many people in animal care) are particularly susceptible. I don’t *choose* to absorb another human's anxiety (I have plenty of my own). It just happens, through micro-expressions, tone of voice, body language, and the sheer force of another person’s unprocessed feelings moving through the room. I usually greet the human first, ask how they are and look for clues to their vibe before I even touch the dog if the energy is off. I get the dogs history, guardians observations and goals part of the session done and suggest they step out and while I do my work. If that isn’t possible because they need / want to stay I respect that but once I greet the dog I do my best to stay
with the dog's energy and maybe play some music to help us all stay where we need to be in our own energetic bubbles.
Before we can protect our energy, we need to recognize when it’s already been compromised.
Some signs that a client interaction may have gotten under your skin:
- You’re replaying the conversation on your drive home
- You feel irritable or snappy after a difficult interaction
- Your chest feels tight or your shoulders are up around your ears after certain appointments
- You find yourself "catastrophizing" about other cases after dealing with an anxious guardian
- You feel responsible for the humans emotional state, not just their animals.
These are just a few but it's worthwhile to look at your own cues and know when you're feeling
off. Take some time to reset yourself, None of this makes you weak. It means you’re made of the best parts of humankind. HUMANITY & KINDNESS
I want to share some of the practices I use for energy separation and I encourage you to take
what you want and leave the rest.
1. The Threshold Practice
Create a conscious ritual at two key moments: when you walk *into* a massage session , and when you walk *out* of one. This doesn’t need to be elaborate. It can be as simple as a slow breath and a deliberate internal statement: *“I am entering this space as a professional. I will offer care without taking on what isn’t mine.”* Leaving the room, another breath: *“I am leaving this behind me.”* Over time, the threshold of a doorway becomes a genuine psychological boundary, not just a physical one. Your nervous system learns to release at the cue.
2. Grounding Before High-Intensity Appointments
If you know a difficult client is coming in — the chronically anxious owner, the one who always runs late, the elderly animal who may be declining — take 60 seconds beforehand. Feel your feet on the floor. Notice five things in the room. Take three slow breaths, elongating the exhale. This helps to activate your parasympathetic nervous system and makes you less porous to others emotions before they even arrive.
3. Name What Belongs to You and What Doesn’t
In a quiet moment after a tough interaction, try asking yourself honestly: *“Is this feeling mine, or did I pick it up in the room?”*
Sometimes the anxiety you’re carrying belongs to the human who had a hard day at work and had nothing to do with your time there. Sometimes the other cars on the road to the
appointment left everyone a little edgy. You can acknowledge those feelings with compassion —*of course they feel that way* — without letting them take up residence in your body.
A simple internal phrase can help: *“I see this feeling. It isn’t mine. I can let it move through.”*
4. Adjust Your Role Clarity
One of my most common sources of energetic drain is unconscious role confusion. You are an animal body work professional. You are not your client’s therapist, parent, veterinarian, or emotional regulator. You can be kind, compassionate, and patient without taking on responsibility for their emotional experience.
5. A Post Session Transition Ritual
The commute home, or the ten minutes after a session ends, is crucial. Without a deliberate transition, you may carry the day’s emotional residue straight into your personal life. Some ideas that work for me; running hands in cold water before I wash with hot soapy water. First I wash the energy then I wash the germs, changing out of my work clothes immediately, a short walk outside, a specific playlist I listen to during the transition, journaling a brief “download” of anything still sitting with me beyond the important work of my SOAP notes, or a shower that you mentally frame as washing the day off. The content matters less than the consistency — your nervous system learns that when this
ritual happens, the work is genuinely over. The animal in the room is almost always open to your calmness, they animal arrives exactly as they are, in that moment, and responds to *your* energy honestly.
When you’re mindful of what you pick up, you are not protecting yourself *from* the work — you are protecting yourself *for* it. For the animals who need you present. who may be anxious and just need someone calm. For the other creatures beyond your practice who rely on you. For the version of yourself who went into this field because you loved it.
You are allowed to care deeply and still come home whole. two things are not in conflict. Learning to hold both is real work.