The Healing Power of PETS

By guest author Cheska Pangilinan 
We wanted to post this as the first article of 2026, because its eloquent message of hope resonates so strongly with the PAWS/LA mission and sets an optimistic tone for the coming year. Written by USC Senior Cheska Pangilinan, this piece is a powerful example of the healing power of pets. Cheska is fortunate enough to have access to a service animal, but many others are not, lacking the resources necessary to feed and care for a support pet. It remains the mission of PAWS/LA to cover this deficit in the communities we serve, enabling broader access to pet ownership. We hope Cheska's writing inspires you. 

Hiro Enters my life

We got Hiro in September 2020 during the COVID-19 pandemic. He was a 
pandemic puppy. At first, he was meant to be a family dog, just a fluffy new addition to our household during a time when everyone felt stressed and uncertain. But within a day, it became clear he wasn’t just a family dog; he was my dog. The very first night we brought him home, he slept in my room, curled up inside a laundry basket I had placed on the foot of my bed. At the time, I didn’t know how significant that small act of closeness would eventually become, or how deeply he would be integrated into my journey toward healing.  ​

Shortly after we got him, we sent Hiro to a month-long training camp, long before I ever imagined him becoming an assistance animal. That early structure shaped him into an incredibly well-trained dog, something I appreciate more now as I continue to practice command training daily. At the time, we were just trying to raise a well-behaved puppy. Still, I didn’t realize that the consistency and reliability he developed would eventually become a powerful source of emotional grounding for me. 

A VICIOUS Headspace

In 2023, my life shifted in a much more difficult direction. I fell into an extremely viscous, overwhelming headspace. Each day felt paralyzing, and I struggled to complete even the most basic tasks. Getting out of bed was a battle. Going to class became nearly impossible.  

Assignments piled up. My eating habits unraveled, and I withdrew from social activities; even simple hygiene routines felt out of reach. I felt like I was drowning, and I was spiraling further and further down, unable to swim back to the surface. My anxiety was at an all-time high. It was the first time I truly understood how deeply mental and emotional limitations can intrude on daily functioning. I knew I needed to get better. I wanted to get better. During this time, I found the courage to begin seeing a therapist at my school, and later a psychiatrist as well.  

Soon after I started working with my therapist in December 2023, I was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, commonly known as OCD. Then, after a few more months of working through symptoms and patterns, I was also diagnosed with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). The diagnoses didn’t magically solve anything, but they created a framework that helped me understand why my daily life felt so hard and why I couldn’t just “push through it” anymore—the way I had always been conditioned to do growing up. 

EMOTIONAL SUPPORT

As I prepared to live on my own starting in September 2024, I was afraid that I’d fall back into despair. So, I spoke with my therapist about emotional support animals (ESAs). I knew how hard independent living could be when you’re already struggling with motivation, emotional regulation, and the basic rhythms of life. And even though Hiro had been helping me long before I recognized it, this was the first time I considered making that support official. My therapist explained that ESAs can help people with disabilities by providing stability, grounding, and emotional comfort, all of which aligned with my lived experience. 

So, in June 2024, Hiro officially became my ESA. My therapist wrote a letter explaining 
that, due to my disability, I experience limitations in major life activities, and that an ESA 
could help alleviate symptoms and support my ability to live independently. It felt validating, not because Hiro suddenly changed roles, but because the therapeutic value he’d already been giving me was recognized.  

One of the clearest examples of this happens whenever I cry. I never trained Hiro to do anything specific for moments like this. But every single time, without fail, he walks over, climbs onto my chest, and lays all of his weight across me. Then, he licks my tears, possibly because he thinks the salt is a little treat; regardless, the combination of deep pressure and his little tongue on my face always snaps me out of whatever emotional spiral I’m in. I either stop crying, smile, or laugh, followed by hugging him tightly. It’s emotional regulation in the form of canine affection.  

REBUILDING STRUCTURE

Caring for Hiro has also helped me rebuild some of the daily structure I lost during the worst parts of my mental health struggles. Feeding him and walking him outside require me to get up, move, breathe fresh air, and experience the world. Being outside more often helps my mood; being responsible for another living being increases my motivation; and because Hiro is so adorable and friendly, he naturally invites social interaction. People stop to talk to me, smile at him, or ask about his breed or age. These tiny connections make me feel less isolated and a part of something bigger—a community. 
 
At the same time, I’m deeply aware that ESAs aren’t substitutes for therapy or 
psychiatric treatment. Yes, Hiro helps me regulate my emotions, but he can’t help me 
process the root causes of those emotions, and he can’t replace medication, cognitive 
tools, or professional guidance. The concern I have is that ESAs are sometimes treated as catch-all solutions or misused entirely. Because any animal can technically be an ESA, and all that’s required is a letter, some providers issue letters without proper assessment, and some people even pay for one. The line between legitimate accommodation and loophole exploitation becomes blurry.  
 
Moreover, it doesn’t help that people can easily purchase service animal vests online, allowing their pets to enter restricted spaces under the guise of medical necessity. This misuse harms public trust and undermines the credibility of people who genuinely rely on disability accommodations. One prominent consequence of this is that ESAs were previously recognized under the Air Carrier Access Act; however, due to widespread misuse, airlines have no longer accommodated them as assistance animals since 2021. Now, Hiro is considered a pet when we fly, and I have to pay for him, often around $125 each way, which isn’t financially sustainable for me.

​Even with these frustrations, I still believe that animal companionship is a powerful therapeutic tool. One that brings unique benefits different from traditional treatment options. But, I also believe ESAs should be used responsibly, intentionally, and with proper mental health oversight. As for whether I’d recommend an ESA to others in similar circumstances: yes, but only if someone is prepared for the full reality of pet ownership. The emotional support is substantially meaningful, but the responsibilities, financial, physical, and time-related, are real.  ​

EVERYONE DESERVES SUPPORT

Animals can help, but they also need help. It has to be a reciprocal relationship, not a last-ditch attempt at healing. Finally, I strongly believe that owning a pet shouldn’t be a luxury reserved for those with financial stability or perfect health. Everyone deserves access to companionship, joy, and emotional support. But for that to be true, society needs to offer more structural support—affordable veterinary care, housing protections, financial assistance programs, and education about proper ESA use. Access without resources isn’t real access. 
 
Hiro has been with me through some of the best and worst years of my life, and even now, he continues to give me comfort, motivation, laughter, and love. He doesn’t fix everything, but he makes the world feel more manageable. In his small, warm, waggy way, he helps me keep going one step at a time. 
​

Cheska Pangilinan is a Creative Community Communications Intern at the Television Academy and a Fall 2025 USC graduate with a B.A. in Environmental Studies. She’s also a proud dog mom to her 5-year-old maltipoo, Hiro, her emotional support animal.