Walking through our fears

Lakota and I, reunited

It had been another year of one of us healing. The latest injury had been Lakota tearing off most of her hoof under a sharp metal fence. Seven months of summer- hand walking and an additional six months of winter. Now with over a year off from riding, the mare had fallen back into her previous fearful behavior. Cripes. Not this again. It had only been two years before that, when I broke my back in a horse accident. She waited more than a year for my bone to mend. I threw the saddle over her back; she flinched and drove her nose into the corner of the stall in terror. “Oh, come on. I am not going to hurt you. I have never hurt you.” I threw the pad on and off her until she settled. I hoisted the saddle up first from the left, then off and up on the right. I sure hoped she calmed down before my arms gave out. She did. As I came around her rump, I noticed her skin actually rippling along her right flank. When I ran my hand over the area she cringed under my touch. Lakota looked like a watch spring wound just a little too tight. This location on her body had been abused years before. I imagined a right handed rider using a whip along her side to motivate speed. The rider was long gone but the fear remained. Each time we were laid off, we lost our rhythm and these fears came back to haunt her.

Fast forward two months. I decided I didn’t have time for Lakota. It would be better to let another owner take her who would give her the attention I could not. I felt guilty when my work kept me away from riding her. My schedule is erratic and I was house hunting. Maybe I’d be even busier with a house and then maybe I wouldn’t be able to afford her board. I would sell her and it would be the best for both of us. Our relationship had deteriorated and neither of us was enjoying the situation. I was tired of riding around a farm alone and she would rather eat grass than listen to me.

I delivered her to a trainer who would work with her for two weeks, show her to perspective buyers and then she would be gone. I choked back the tears as I drove away. The sobbing and heartbreak was relentless for three days. I went back to the barn to check on her. The trainer had been using ground exercises to help her work through her anxiety and return to work mode. She was responding beautifully. More days went by and more I saw Lakota willing and eager to cooperate. As time allowed, I learned the exercises and continued them on weekends. She whinnied for me when I arrived and nickered with head bobbing as I left. Our friendship was blossoming once again. When a buyer called, I told him I needed a couple more weeks to decide.

The words fell on my ears like bricks. “She’s ready to ride. You have your old horse back. Go get her.” I tied her. I brushed her. I applied fly spray. She stood calmly as I lifted up the Tucker onto her back. Lakota lowered her head to allow the bridle to slide gently into her mouth and up over her ears. I led her to the arena. My bowels turned to jelly. My stomach churned. The wind rattled through the aspen trees. Bits of leaves and dust danced across the ring. She stood silently as I climbed slowly into the saddle. I nudged her forward into a walk and then a trot around the fence line. “Breathe,” I reminded myself. “Lakota has done her work, now you do yours.”

Traumatic images percolated up as soon as my foot hit the stirrup. Long forgotten, or purposefully buried, painful equine mishaps reared their ugly heads. My confidence had been shattered by a long history of horse accidents. The events were suddenly remembered in vivid detail. The wind reminded me of the thoroughbred off the racetrack I purchased 25 years ago.   I attempted to retrain him for a dressage horse. Each time something startled him, like the wind, a leaf, a gum wrapper – he would bolt, racing then bucking – always, always resulting in a trip to the emergency room. I broke both of my wrists, my nose twice, my ribs two or three times, the bones on my hand. The last time I was thrown off my Achilles tendon was torn so badly I was told I would always walk with a limp. After that gelding, I bought a quarter horse that did not run away with me. In fact, when asked him to trot or lope, he bucked and tried to throw me into a fence. I took him to a trainer who told me that the horse needed an expert with a sharp set of spurs. I handed him over to an expert for a month of training. The horse never thought about bucking so there was not much for him to do. The moment I climbed on board, much to the amazement of the trainer, the horse began bucking around a huge rodeo arena determined to do me in. That is another story, but when I finally got off that horse, I handed the man the reins and said, “I never want to lay eyes on this horse again. Sell him.” More recently, I had just purchased Lakota. My daughter was visiting and I put her on my new prize. A friend handed me a horse all tacked and ready to ride. “Join your daughter. Go on a trail ride; this mare will be fine.” I took her to the round pen to try her in a small area and got on. I had no sooner asked her to move forward when “she broke in two”. Meaning = she exploded into a fit of bucking. The pain I felt when I landed will forever be burned into my body. The doctor at the hospital said it was as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to my sacrum. The months of therapy, medication, loneliness and agony are every horse person’s worst nightmare. All of these horrors flooded into my psyche once I was aboard Lakota.

Had I really become too busy or had I simply lost my nerve? Each time Lakota and I took a year off, we both fell back into our fears.

I was upset at Lakota because when she gets scared, I get scared. When she gets tense, I get tense. I wanted her to stop thinking of the past and know I wont hurt her. Stop being afraid! How ridiculous is that? Can I just stop being afraid of getting thrown off a horse again? I wanted her to do what I had not been able to accomplish. It would have been so much easier to deny these feelings and send her down the road, than to face this terror.

When I made this realization, something inside of me shifted entirely. I threw my arms around her neck and I am sure she understood. I am in this for the long haul. I would like to be riding until I am 75 years old. I would like Lakota to be my horse. By the time I am that age, we will both be ready to hang up our boots and call it good. There is no race. If it takes me a month or years to completely trust a horse again, it is OK. She helps me see where I am each day in the process. Around and around the pen she lopes like a carousel horse, allowing me to be comfortable with speed again.  I don’t have to be afraid she will run away with me. When the wind blows, she is unaware and keeps to the lesson. My new instructor says, “it’s is all about trust.” Lakota and I are learning to trust each other again. We are helping heal each other’s wounds. We can’t take away the experiences that happened before. We can only move forward with what we have today. Every day I see her moving through her fears, I hope she sees me moving through mine.

Meaning

I was filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety as I tugged on the snorkel mask. Hadn’t I been the first person in the group to say, “I’ll join any small excursion at the conference that does not involve me getting into a bathing suit or putting my head under water?” I was swayed by my colleagues who had seen sea turtles feeding in front of the resort while swimming. I love turtles. They have such a maternal energy. Standing on the beach for the first three days, I only managed to see the silhouette of turtle heads bobbing in the sunset light.

We broke up into groups for team building/leadership activities. One group took a catamaran out to a reef with a tour guide and snorkel instructors. Our entourage decided to do beach activities on our own which included body surfing, snorkeling and tanning. After all, we were saving over a hundred dollars and we all knew what we were doing. The first stop was Snorkel Bob's where we rented our gear. Properly fitted, we were off to the closest beach. My “teacher” had been snorkeling for two days so he was way ahead of me. Here we were in Maui, and a Wyoming, Montana, Nevada and Colorado resident were teaching each other how to take on the ocean. You have to admire academics.

I stood still about shoulder deep and put my face in the water. Ok, yes there were little striped fish down there. Cool. I tried to swim but found my heart racing after only a couple minutes. It was then I realized I was holding my breath while I swam and taking a gigantic breath when I lifted my head. Now to swim, breath and keep my face down. The first time I got the rhythm, I swam easily along the lava rock and spied on all the urchins, coral and neon fish. I was watching the fish dart about when way below me were three scuba divers. Holy cow! How deep was I? I popped up to find myself way out on the reef. I paddled quickly back towards land. I had been so focused on keeping a safe distance from the sharp rocks and coral I lost my sense of space. After a half hour of swimming, I was tired. The water was so warm and inviting but I was done. I took off my mask, tube and flippers and waited on a rock for the men to return. They were all about 20 years younger and able to traverse the increasing waves as the tide came in. It was then that someone from the other side of the reef yelled, “Turtles!”

My Nevada colleague asked if I wanted to go back out and try to catch a peek. I donned my gear in a hurry and jumped back in. We swam along the far rocks. The waves were pushing us towards the coral and it was a struggle to keep away. I had to use all of my strength. I kept his red swim trunks within sight as the rocks became larger and as confusing as a labyrinth. He pointed to a blow fish and then a needle shaped fish. On we swam. Nevada began signaling with excitement. I searched and searched and saw nothing. Then I saw it. I almost burst with joy. There on the bottom, was a beautiful sea turtle taking a nap in the sand between the giant lava rocks. Finally. I could say I saw one. We came to the surface to talk. The decision was made to continue swimming across the front of the rock formation and then return to shore along the far side.

I hadn’t gone far when I surfaced again. I was exhausted. Each time I tried to relax, the waves pushed me into the sharp rocks or pulled me out to sea. There was no resting. I looked for my companion, I shouted his name but he was nowhere. I was alone and so far out from shore that no one could see me. The people looked like specks on the beach. I had to calm down. I put my snorkel back on and attempted to regain my rhythm and swim for land. I couldn’t do it. I hadn’t swam in water over my head in more than 10 years. Why hadn’t I thought of renting a life belt? How did I get this far out into the sea? How did I lose my swimming partner? There was no way I had the reserves to get to shore. I had heard nightmare stories of people getting impaled on the urchin quills but could I do that to get onto a rock? The waves were getting stronger and stronger. I wondered if this was the way I would go. No one would ever know where I went. I’d just disappear into the vastness.

It was then I saw a snorkeler holding a board maybe 50 yards away. His head was submerged and I could not get his attention. I began paddling his way with all I had left. Plunk went my hand on the board as I found my target. Up he came. I told him I was struggling and could not make it back alone, would he please help me. Still watching fish, he chugged away holding the board with one hand with me trailing behind. I held on and assisted with my flippers to a meager extent. When we got close enough, I waved good bye to my rescuer and he was gone without a word. My friends were not on the beach but came in some time later. Trembling and shaken, I layered on my clothes and drank some water. I made up my mind to set aside the incident, while remaining in a place of gratitude.

The next morning I woke before dawn reliving the experience. I felt my limbs giving out. I could see how small the people looked on the shore. I felt the tide thrashing me first towards the rocks, then out to sea. I watched but there was no emotion. It struck me that my mind was trying to decide how to file this scene. My mind was attempting to give this experience meaning. In this instant I could decide if this was going to be a file of miracles – the man showed up with the board just in the nick of time – or a file of terror- I thought I was going to drown, I was alone, vulnerable, unfit, dragged out to sea to inhale salt water and die. What was it going to be?

It reminded me of an accident that occurred almost 30 years ago. My girls and I had spent a day swimming at our pond with the aunts and cousins. I was packing up the car at the end of the day, stuffing the station wagon with inflatable toys, life jackets, sand pails and towels. I turned back towards the beach to collect the girls. Where was my youngest? My eyes combed the sand and that’s when I saw her. A little pink blur was under the shallow water. In an instant, I was there reaching for her as she lay on the bottom looking at me with wide open eyes. I hauled her out and into my arms. She was fine. When my husband came home from work, I recounted the story. We were both giving thanks for her safety.

She seemed to be fine the first few days and then she became increasingly afraid of the water. Afraid to take a bath, afraid to wash her hair. Eventually, I couldn't get her near water to wash her hands or brush her teeth. Instead of getting better, she was getting worse. My husband and I took her to a counselor. It didn’t take long until he solved the mystery. Her sister was 2 ½ years older. Her sister was dramatically telling the story, as only a four year old can, emphasizing how dire the situation had been. The younger child was listening and becoming more fearful with each telling. The more she heard how scary the situation was, the more she felt afraid. If no one had applied a negative meaning to the experience, she would not have remembered it that way. It would have remained a neutral experience. We began retelling the story in a nonchalant way and the symptoms disappeared. We took away the charge. We changed the file name.

It is time for me to assign the snorkeling incident a meaning or maybe not. Can I leave this as a neutral experience? Can I put it in my memory without denying it happened, without giving it a charge that will sneak up and affect my future dealing with the ocean? Can I use this situation to see how I apply meaning in other areas of my life – negative or positive? It’s a choice. I am choosing to leave it as neutral. It happened. I am still here. I am grateful for my life and every breath I take. That is all the meaning I need.

Bikini

I am waiting for an oil change and of course something is percolating through my brain. Last week I was up and down the lake several times working with my cherry growers. On one of those excursions I brought Aries along with me. On our way home, I stopped with her at one of the state parks along the shore. She lives to fetch a stick and swim. Anyway, I pulled into a secluded boat ramp to let her run and play. There on the small dock was a woman in an orange bikini sunning herself. She was so stunning I could hardly believe my eyes. Women like that appear in magazines on yachts or in the movies, but not in real life. I have no idea of her age or anything about her, only that she was a picture of perfection or the ideal of every woman.

She smiled and told me how much she liked Aries. The lady went back to sunbathing and I back to work. I have thought several times of her since that day for many different reasons.

One, reason was that I wondered how I would have felt if I had a man with me that I cared about. If he had not said anything, I would have felt for a pulse. I appreciated her beauty like a fine work of art. Would he feel comfortable expressing his feelings or reaction to me? Would I have felt insecure or would I have agreed with him whole heartedly?

Only a couple days later I was baling hay in the July heat. A young man was there that is an exquisite specimen of the male physique. I do not feel that I am unusual to have noticed him and appreciated his appearance. Could I share that with a partner? "Hey, honey, there was a young guy at the farm that was muscled and gorgeous." It reminds me of the joke...." and then the fight started."

We have been so conditioned to keep these feelings and thoughts secret. I have learned from ex boyfriends that when they ask about past partners, it has not been safe to tell the truth. I have had a hard time mentioning my ex husband in certain relationships. I still think he is a great person. That has not set well with some dates. It has not been ok to mention that I find someone else appealing or fun. It does not mean I want to pursue another, just voicing an opinion. I trigger their insecurities. So, I stay quiet.

If someone is choosing to spend time with me, then I must assume they want to be there. If not, then they will leave. If I was with a man that wanted to chase after the lady in the orange bikini, then he will. He might just want to say, "Holy cow, she is gorgeous." Period. End of story. Same as me. Would it change the way I feel about myself if he preferred being with her? Would it impact my self worth? My reaction would  demonstrate who I am choosing to be in relation to someone else's behavior. This is an area that needs more soul searching for me.

Another reason I kept thinking of the orange bikini lady is that our society tells women that if we looked like her, we would have any man we wanted, we would have jewels and fancy cars. Life will be handed to us if we can only achieve this flawlessness. This is what drives the cosmetic industry, the plastic surgery clinics, the unending supply of weight loss pills and potions. Sometimes a beautiful woman is idolized and sometimes scorned. I wonder how it would feel to be in that skin? Would people see past your looks? Would you be heard or just seen? Is it really all glamour? I could make up a hundred stories in my mind why she was sitting on that dock. None of which would probably be true.

I am not pretending to be anything other than the middle aged woman that I am. I keep my body active, healthy and strong. I accept myself and where I am in my life. A man will not be deciding to spend time with me based on how I look in a swim suit.  I am not dishing myself either. I navigate steady and true.  All that said, I am still breathing and recognizing attractive people all around me. The lady in the orange bikini gives me much to ponder.

The Fall

Some experiences in our life are just too painful to talk about until enough time has passed and the healing has begun. My divorce and a traumatic horse accident changed my life profoundly. These events effected me physically, emotionally and spiritually.

Three years ago, I stepped up onto a horse I did not know. She had been recommended by a friend. Within seconds of getting on board, the mare bucked and bolted and I was thrown to the ground. As I laid in the dirt, in excruciating pain, I knew something was seriously wrong. An ambulance ride later, after a myriad of tests, I was to learn I had broken my sacrum. The doctors agreed, it would be a long road but I should recuperate completely. I went through denial, anger, depression, frustration and helplessness. I could not run away or escape this fate. I had to endure. Wheelchairs, walkers, canes and eventually yoga therapy. Once I could drive, it was daily trips to work with a therapist. A broken back is every horse person's worst nightmare. How did this happen? Would I ever ride a horse again? Would I want to?

I had just purchased Lakota ten days earlier. I was not on her the day of the accident. When I was strong enough to visit her, a friend brought me to the farm. My walker creaked and groaned under the burden as I could not put any weight on my legs.My arms took the full force of my body. Lakota was hesitant until I began giving her treats from the little cloth basket. I was terrified of her, so afraid she might accidentally knock me over. She seemed disproportionally huge. I felt like Humpty Dumpty, fragile as an egg. I was not ready to give her up but it took months before I could muster the fortitude to even brush her.

My agony was the loneliness, the feeling of separation, isolation and vulnerability. I had thought of myself as courageous, strong and invincible and here I was broken and beaten. I could not leave my front porch for weeks. My cabin is not handicapped accessible. I had been carried in and would have to be carried out. It was summer in Montana and everyone was hiking, boating and playing. Everyone but me. Even my dog, Aries, was being cared for by a neighbor because I could not carry her dog food or let her in and out. I questioned all my beliefs about who I was and my place in the Universe. Why had I been abandoned? What had I done to deserve this? Why was all of my support 2,500 miles away? How could I have made such a mistake? What was my future going to be?

Even though my divorce had been ten years earlier, familiar emotions flooded in. The loss of identity, the crisis in faith, the unending ache, the turning around to see nothing had remained the same. Where was I going? Who was I now?

In spite of set backs, I have remained hopeful of once again finding a partner to share my journey and to continue enjoying horses. I could say that men and horses are too dangerous and the chance of getting hurt just too high. But, what is life without love? I am learning how to take more calculated risks. The first mistake was to trust my seat to a horse that I did not know. I have done the same with men. I had to learn the hard way. It is easy to find oneself in a wreck, when you haven't taken your time. There is no rushing in relationships or horses.

To mitigate my risk, a horse must: be calm, listen, be intelligent, be kind, willing to learn, actively engaged, have self control and gives his best effort.

I still dream of riding side by side, hand in hand with my partner over an open meadow, horses walking gently. If he is not a horse person, we will find another way to enjoy our time together. That is not carved in stone.

I realize that I was not forsaken, that I am blessed to be walking soundly. The break in my bone was millimeters from my spinal column. I am so very lucky. My world shifted after my divorce certainly but it also opened and expanded. "Pain is the resistance to what is". Once I could accept, I could move forward.

Divorce did not make me afraid to love again. I am living in faith and trust. I am more aware. My fall did not make me give up horses; it made me cautious. I do not know how long Lakota and I will be together. She has helped me regain my confidence and is willing to put up with my amateur attempts at training. Each day I become more knowledgeable about my Self. I will not pretend to know what is right for anyone else. We all have our own path to follow. I can only share my story and continue my daily practice of unfolding.