Cheryl L. Eriksen's Blog, page 3

Filling Grief’s Void

Today, February 3, 2023, would have been Farletta’s 20th earthly birthday.

February 3, 2003

It has been just over six months since Farletta passed. They say the first year of special dates after a loved one passes is the hardest as you experience each one for the first time without the loved one you lost.

I’ve been through the emotional wringer. At times feeling Farletta’s loss so deeply, the vacancy in my heart and soul so gaping, I couldn’t figure out how to be without her. I didn’t know who I was without her. She had been such a significant part of my life, the focus of so much of my energy, and a mirror into my own soul. Farletta became a sort of barometer of my own internal struggles, helping me to be aware when my mind wandered into dark waters, or I focused too much of my energy on external signals instead of trusting my own heart.

When I stood with Farletta, I felt a connection, I felt her energy, the essence of her spirit, and what made her, her. It was the absence of that feeling, her grounding energy, that left me feeling like I couldn’t find my footing, like I was groping in the dark for something to fill that void she left in my heart.

Near the end of last year, I had a dream where Farletta spoke to me.

“You have to stop putting me in the past, stop thinking of me as gone.” she said. “When you put me in the past, it is harder for me to reach you. You must stop, stop, stop. Stop this now.”

In the days that followed, I ruminated on the words Farletta had spoken. I thought about how deeply I felt her loss, the emptiness where she’d once been, and how I longed to feel that energy of connection I used to feel when I stood next to her. She had said to stop putting her in the past, to stop thinking of her as gone. I decided in that moment to embrace her words, I would no longer think of her as gone.

Farletta a few weeks before her 9th birthday. January 2012.

I imagined the hole in my heart filled with the love I still had for Farletta, and the love she had for me. Love like a swirl of light that constantly flows between us. I opened myself to the belief that her spirit, the essence of her goes on. Each time I thought of Farletta as part of my past, I stopped and reminded myself to not think of her that way. Instead, bringing her forward in my mind, into the present.

After a few days of mindfully turning my thoughts of Farletta from past to present, something amazing happened. The void filled, and the connection was restored. I don’t know how else to describe it except the way I felt when I stood with Farletta in life, I feel this all the time now. She is only a heartbeat away.

Happy Birthday, my sweet girl.

subscribe to this blog:

Type your email…

Subscribe

Click HERE to learn more about Cheryl and Farletta’s story

Straying into the Swamp

I keep slipping into these troughs of sadness. Everything is going along fine when suddenly I find myself turning inward, my face closes as the painful look of “what the heck just happened?” crimps my features. I couldn’t figure out why it kept happening, there didn’t seem to be any one event flipping that switch that sends me spiraling down the drain.

Have you seen the “Never Ending Story?” It was a movie I loved as a kid although there was one scene that tore at my tender, seven-year-old heart the first time I saw it, and honestly, every time since. If you haven’t seen the film or read the book, here is your *SPOILER ALERT*. It is the scene where Atrayu’s friend, his gallant horse, Artax, drowns in the Swamp of Sadness. I can still hear Atrayu pleading with Artax to not let the sadness of the swamp get to him, knowing that if he does, he will sink and the swamp will swallow him whole. Atrayu pleads with his friend and pulls his reins until there is nothing left to do but watch the tip of Artax’s soft muzzle slip beneath the black sludge.

It took some time, but I finally put the pieces together. I’ve been working on the cover for my upcoming memoir (sequel to Follow Me, Friend). I keep running up against the same problem: I don’t have the image I want of Farletta for this cover. It doesn’t exist. And what is worse, it never will. Each time I run up against a wall on this project, I’m reminded that Farletta is gone and there will never be another photo of her or of us together.

It finally dawned on me exactly what this situation reminded me of–that scene from “The Never Ending Story.” Not Artax sinking into the Swamp of Sadness but the horrible feeling of shock, loss and emptiness that Atrayu must have felt as he left the swamp without his beloved friend. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This is the picture I love and I wish would work for the cover but it is cut off and too close up to work. It is one of the last pictures of Farletta, taken a couple weeks before she passed.

All the hopelessness and helplessness I imagine Atrayu felt, flattens me each time I dive into this cover design project. It may seem insignificant, after all, it’s just a book cover, won’t any image do? The answer is a resounding, painful, no. The story I’ve told in this second book is a beautiful tapestry of love and friendship between me, and the horse that helped me find, love, and embrace the person she had always been able to see within me, one I could not see in myself. I wanted the cover image to convey that feeling of love and connection–one that would perhaps help the prospective reader feel a hint of what I felt when I was with Farletta, and the symbiotic energy that flowed between us.

Each time I reach out to an artist, or talk to a cover designer it is like stepping into that Swamp of Sadness. How far can I go before I start to sink, sucked ever deeper as the unrelenting grip of sadness closes around my heart and mind? Like a daily reminder of what I’ve lost, bogged down in the mire of regret that I let us run out of time.

There was always another day, a better day–maybe after I lost some weight, or it wasn’t so hot or I didn’t feel pressed for time. We should have had so much time left. How could it be that I am here now without Farletta, wishing for pictures that will never be taken, wishing for one more hug, one more nuzzle, one more moment together. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Other photos like this one which I love are too low resolution to work for a book cover. But I’m glad I have this picture. It is from 2010.

I know in the grand scheme, the lack of the perfect image is insignificant–I do have a lot of pictures of Farletta, and a few with me in them. But it’s the knowing that hurts. That and the constant reminder as I repeatedly trudge back into that damn swamp that I’ve lost something I can never have again, and that the regret of lost opportunity I’ve always feared so much is now upon me.

I’m afraid I don’t have a neat little feel-good bow to wrap up this post with. Sometimes there is no answer, no way to feel better except to let the grief run its course, and be gentle with myself as I traverse the swamp.

I miss you, my sweet Farletta, so very much. Next time, I’ll take the damn picture anyway.

Enter your email to subscribe to this blog. Visit http://www.followmefriendbook.com to learn more about the author/blogger.

Type your email…

Subscribe

Treading Water

I keep thinking I’ve moved forward, that I’m on the healing side of grief, like each day that goes by means it will get easier. I feel this most intensely when I have a string of good days–days where I feel joy, and laugh, and remember Farletta with peace in my heart instead of the hollowness and vacancy of loss. Inevitably these days are followed by jarring reminders of her absence from my life, and that I’m not moving forward as much as I’m just here surviving, treading water, grasping at wisps of joy while trying to ignore how hard I must fight to keep my head above water.

As before, it is something unexpected that sends me spiraling down into sorrow again. A stark reminder that Farletta has departed from earth and that all the time I thought we had left means nothing because it’s been swept away, the last few chapters never written, the book of our life together slammed shut, unfinished.

I ran across Farletta’s fly sheet as I unpacked her tack box the other day. The sheet she’d worn through her last, too-short summer. She hated that fly sheet–a full body and neck mesh cover she needed to protect her from the severe sunburn she got without it. I hadn’t expected to see it as I thought it had been thrown away after she passed–a sort of victory gesture on her behalf that she would never have to wear it again.

But there it was, still here after I’d already said goodbye. I sniffed it, hoping to catch her scent, but it only smelled the way it always did–a combination of dirt and whatever weird-smelling hybrid material it was made from.

Farletta was always in fashion! She had a LOT of stuff!

Farletta’s treats, her brushes, her halters, blankets, leg wraps, saddle, bridles, vet supplies, lead ropes, hoof picks, shampoo, detangler, buckets–much of it is still here–but she is not. I felt the need to re-home these items but also an overwhelming (guilt?) grief in letting them go. At the center, perhaps an unconscious belief (hope?) that somehow Farletta can still exist within them. I think this all came to a head as I cleaned items out of her trailer and prepared it for selling.

I felt like I was giving up on her somehow–I knew this didn’t make sense, she didn’t need a trailer anymore, but the sorrow and loss I felt as I performed these preparatory tasks sucked the breath out of me. After placing the last item into my truck, I stood outside the empty trailer feeling like a hollow shell as I cried deep, sorrowful tears.

Screen grab from Farletta’s Facebook page

My friend, Krista, who owns the stable where Farletta lived the last several months of her life, hugged me as I cried. Through my tears, I whimpered in a small voice “I want her back.”

“No,” Krista said gently, taking a step back from me and catching my eye with a serious look. “You don’t want her back. You did the right thing. She was in pain, she couldn’t see, she was ready to go. You did the very best, kindest, most considerate act of love we can give our animals. You didn’t let her suffer.”

Her words dropped onto my heart, one-by-one, each a gentle nudge toward the shore of acceptance. I knew what she’d said was true, I knew it in my heart, but I needed to hear it again, out loud, for it to take hold in this new way.

Farletta is not her horse trailer, she is not her blankets, or tack, or buckets, or any other physical item. Farletta is in the love I feel when I remember her, in the energy I feel when her spirit touches my heart, in the warmth of her breath on my face when a gentle breeze caresses my cheek, and in my living in the way that she taught me.

There are physical items I will always hang onto, her stable halter, and locks of her mane, tail, and forelock are at the top of this list. But acknowledging that the overwhelming emotions I felt as I prepared to sell and part with stuff that belonged to her had nothing to do with the items themselves and everything to do with grief over the loss of my friend. They are representations of her life on earth, but they are not her. I will not search for her there.

—–

Learn more about Farletta and Cheryl’s story HERE.
Follow Cheryl on Facebook HERE.
Follow Farletta on Facebook HERE.

Email Address:

Subscribe

Grief in Unexpected Places

There is no formula for grief. A pattern had been suggested–the stages of grief–and I suppose that is the closest we get to a road map. I try to be ready for the memories and reminders, to be gentle with myself, to give myself time and to not make any rash decisions since Farletta passed from this life.

But it’s the unexpected moments that knock my feet out from under me. The moments that blindside you when you think you’ve got everything under control. It’s the seeming innocence of the situation that brings on the grief storm that makes it so brutal. You’ve let your guard down because you think you’ve got it under control. Then … it flattens you.

It’s been five weeks and two days since the last time I saw my beautiful friend, my sweet Farletta. I miss her terribly but am hanging in there. I decided today I’d list a few of her things for sale online. These were items she wore only once or twice. I figured I was safe, I didn’t have an emotional attachment them. But as I was taking pictures for the listing, I unrolled a black leg quilt and there they were, dozens of Farletta hairs stuck to the fabric. I lost it.

The first thing I noticed was how the long winter hairs from her lower legs still shone silver in the light, just like they did when still part of her coat. She was so beautiful. I wondered if I could still catch her scent as the wraps had been rolled up and placed in a bag–I could not. I thought maybe I could pull the hairs off the fabric and keep them but they were so hard to hold on to.

Finally, my body shaking with the pain of her loss, and tears soaked with agony streaming down my face, I hugged the leg quilt tightly to my chest and cried for a long time.

I love her so much. After sixteen years, I don’t know how to be with out her. I also know loss is a part of love, and grief wears many faces. There is no right or wrong way, no true road map, no definitive end of the process. You just get used to existing in a different way, physically apart from the one you lost. I know this, but I am also human, and sometimes all I can feel is what is missing.

Me and my girl, July 8, 2022

Click HERE to learn more about our story

Email Address:

Subscribe

My favorite ribbon

I don’t show horses anymore but for many years, for me, showing was almost synonymous with horse ownership–if you have a horse, you should have a goal, and mine was showing. We can unpack that whole idea that you have to do something from some pre-approved list of “proper uses of your horse” in another post. But today, I want to talk about the ribbon I’m the most proud of–my favorite ribbon.

Our 2009 show season. Photo by Liz Keesler.

In 2009, six-year-old Farletta had a fantastic show season. I don’t recall how many shows we did that season, I’d guess maybe six or seven–not a ton but plenty for my meager budget. We won a lot of classes and a few high % awards, division champions, and one overall championship. It was quite a year.

Year end awards from 2009. Photo by Liz Keesler

But my favorite memory from that season, and indeed the most treasured award in my collection, wasn’t directly related to our ability to be competitive. The award was called “Judge’s Choice for Perfect Pair” an award given by the judge to the horse/rider team that “completed each other.”

Farletta and I won that award together. Of all the horse and rider teams at the show that weekend, the judge chose us as the pair that were most connected, the pair that completed each other. After the announcement, I grabbed Farletta from the stall and walked her up to the arena to collect our award. The judge was there to hand it to me.

“I watched you all weekend,” she said, “both in the ring and outside of it. You are so patient and gentle with her. She’s young isn’t she?”

“Yes.” I nodded my affirmation.

“I thought so, she seemed a little green at times, but I can see she trusts you, she would do anything for you.”

“Thank you,” I said, taken aback by the judges sincerity and the kindness of her words. “She means everything to me.”

“I can tell. You’ve done a great job with her. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” She smiled and stroked Farletta’s neck. “It’s a real treat, as a judge, to watch a pair like you.”

“Thank you,” I said again. Butterflies fluttered and my face blushed. I wasn’t used to this kind of attention. “That means a lot to me, that you could see that in us.” I smiled, then turned and walked Farletta back to the barn.

At the stall, I held up the ribbon for Farletta to see. She lifted her nose and touched the satin award.

Farletta in July 2022 with our “Perfect Pair” award from 2009.

“That’s for us, sweet girl.” I smiled. The ribbon fluttered when Farletta blew on it through flared nostrils. The relationship had always been central for me when working with horses. If the horse didn’t find peace, comfort, an harmony working with me, then I knew I was doing something wrong. We were in this together, or not at all.

It felt amazing to have our connection recognized and celebrated in a world filled with expensive horses, high-end trainers, and competitors backed by more money than I would ever see in my lifetime. Farletta and I did a lot of winning that weekend, but the award I’ve remained the most proud of, is that simple ribbon, the judge’s choice for perfect pair.

My favorite ribbon resting on the box holding a model likeness of Farletta, and a braided lock of her mane.

Thank you for reading this part of our story. It is hard to believe Farletta has passed on but I’m grateful to be able to share her stories with all of you. In this way, she will go on and on. Peace.

Farletta and I with our “Perfect Pair” award, thirteen years after we won it. July 2022.

Email Address:

Subscribe

Click HERE to learn about author/blogger, Cheryl L. Eriksen

Difficult Transitions

I haven’t posted in a while. My time has been consumed by working on the sequel to Follow Me, Friend, dotted by walks with my dog Boedy and time spent with my sweet Farletta. I’ve been blessed by time in recent months having left my regular job which consumed too much of my inner light, in favor of cobbling together an existence from various temporary sources of income, supplemented by my savings and the sale of personal items and copies of my memoir.

I planned this time for a career transition but it became about evolving into a person that felt like she belonged in her own skin, did work that feeds her soul, and was capable of truly loving herself. This last part, the idea of self-love, for decades was a foreign concept I simply couldn’t grasp. It seemed synonymous with selfishness and conceit and therefore not only something I couldn’t understand but also something I feared would make me a bad, and unlikable person.

I’ve done a lot of work on myself and have far to go. Learning is a journey that should not have a finite destination for when learning stops, so does growth. The journey is peppered by difficult transitions, sometimes these transitions block our growth if we are unable to move through them. They make you look at yourself and your world from uncomfortable angles. Sometimes a transition sends you into a tailspin, feeling out of control and full of anguish, making it difficult to get your feet under you and find your bearings once again.

Quite unexpectedly, I find myself in one such transition–a difficult loss of a friend whose life was so closely intertwined with my own, that I found myself wondering who I am without her.

Of all the things I thought this time of transition would bring, I never thought it would include losing Farletta. The moment she slipped her earthly bounds felt like a piece of me was ripped away, a physical tearing of the fibers that held us together–I didn’t know how to be without her. I still don’t. But I am learning.

It has been just over a week, and the numbness is lifting, slowly letting in the full weight of they physical loss of my friend. But at the same time, I know she is giving me room to grow, to step more fully into myself, to know who I am without her by my side.

As I move forward without the physical presence of Farletta in my life, I am doing so with an open heart. Farletta taught me so much about myself, about the importance of being and staying present, and a lesson I never expected–one of self-love. I strive to approach life with an open heart and a curiosity for the world and the lessons within it. Farletta is still a part of this journey. While I feel the loss of her physical presence, I know her spirit will never leave me and we will continue to move forward together in this new way of being.

In future blog posts I will be sharing Farletta’s story beyond what was written in Follow Me, Friend, and sharing the lessons I’ve learned through our sixteen years together, and whatever lies ahead. Please join me. Peace.

Click HERE to join my email list for news, book updates, information on upcoming retreats, events, etc. (Don’t worry, I won’t spam you to death, I promise).

To subscribe to blog posts only:

Email Address:

Subscribe

Podcast: “A riveting and enlightening conversation with Cheryl L. Eriksen”

“When a traumatic childhood memory comes out of hiding and how having a horse for a friend can help overcome the resulting trauma and stress. A riveting and enlightening conversation with Cheryl Eriksen, author of Follow Me Friend: a memoir of undiagnosed PTSD and the healing-power of the horse-human relationship”

From “Eastern Standard” on NPR affiliate, WEKU, June 9, 2022

Click image to listen (approximately 13 minutes):

Find out morejoin mailing list

Email Address:

Subscribe to blog

__ATA.cmd.push(function() { __ATA.initDynamicSlot({ id: 'atatags-26942-62a93787027e4', location: 120, formFactor: '001', label: { text: 'Advertisements', }, creative: { reportAd: { text: 'Report this ad', }, privacySettings: { text: 'Privacy', } } }); });

The Trauma Response River

[image error]Pexels.com" data-medium-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." data-large-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." src="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." alt="" class="wp-image-1083" />Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

The trauma response is not easy to describe or understand, particularly if you have never experienced it. When someone with PTSD is triggered, it can lead to a series of actions and reactions that seemingly don’t make sense. From completely withdrawing into oneself (freeze/dissociate) to making rash or irrational decisions or explosive “hair trigger” temper reactions (fight/flight). Often the people experiencing it don’t understand why they react the way they do and tend to think they are somehow abnormal. But the response is a perfectly normal part of how we have evolved to survive extremely stressful and dangerous situations, although not necessarily helpful or healthy in our day-to-day interactions. But, the body doesn’t know the difference, once the trauma response is triggered, it’s all life or death self-preservation until the trigger (danger) is gone.

I find it helpful to think of the trauma response like a raging river, rushing over rocks and rapids until it reaches the breaking point–the waterfall. When the trauma response is triggered, it’s like falling into and getting swept away by that river, moving ever faster, water rushing over your head, gasping for air, your body hitting the rocks, one thing building on the next like dominoes until you go crashing over the waterfall onto the rocks below.

[image error]Pexels.com" data-medium-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." data-large-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." src="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." alt="" class="wp-image-1077" />Photo by Baskin Creative Studios on Pexels.com[image error]Pexels.com" data-medium-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." data-large-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." src="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." alt="" class="wp-image-1079" />Photo by Thiago Casst on Pexels.com

Healing can come as we learn to recognize and deal with the triggers that drop us into the trauma response river before it can sweep us away to the crushing waterfall. This is a long process–think of it like taking a tiny shovel and digging a smaller stream alongside the raging river–one that flows gently and deposits you softly into serene waters. The idea is to step into the gentle stream and avoid the raging river all together. However, the tricky part is the river and the stream start at the exact same point–the trigger.

[image error]Pexels.com" data-medium-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." data-large-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." src="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." alt="" class="wp-image-1087" />Photo by Riccardo Falconi on Pexels.com

How long would it take to hand-dig this secondary waterway? What tools would you need to ensure you stayed safe while working on this project? A life vest? A rope? A bigger shovel? Friends to help? How about an understanding of which rocks are the most slippery or unstable and where the banks of the river are loose and crumbling? This is the work of healing–recognizing those dangerous spots before we step into them and also having the tools to pull yourself out of the river should you fall in.

Building the stream one step at a time (photo by the author)

The work you do learning to recognize and understand your the triggers and teaching the brain to respond differently is what gives you the tools to avoid or pull yourself out of the river. This involves being aware enough to recognize what you feel like when you are triggered, and then learning new responses to this stimuli. This is not easy to do as even if the logical mind can recognize you are not actually in danger, the body still receives a huge “chemical dump” of adrenaline and self-preservation telling the body that “I’m going to die unless you do something RIGHT NOW!” putting the body into survival mode–a.k.a. dropping you into the trauma response river. That is why you must learn to recognize the feelings (what your body is communicating).

Learning to avoid the river and step into the stream is a complex process that can take years of hard work. I personally have had success with talk therapy, EMDR, and a lot of introspection–looking at my patterns of behavior–trying to understand what makes me step into the river and what prevents me from stepping out of it. I am at a point now where I am familiar with why I react certain ways and much of the time I’m able to recognize it when it is happening. However, I’m not always able to pull myself out of that river, but there is power in knowing what is happening and why, and this knowing weakening the power of my raging river.

Each time you are able to recognize a trigger and step out of the river and into the stream, the river loses some of its power until eventually it dries up and all that is left is the quiet stream flowing into serene waters. It’s a lofty goal and one worth fighting for.

[image error]Pexels.com" data-medium-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." data-large-file="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." src="https://peacehorsejourney.files.wordp..." alt="" class="wp-image-1086" />Photo by Matthew Montrone on Pexels.com

I don’t often write posts with no horse references at all but this one I felt was important to express this from the human perspective at this time. Raising PTSD awareness and helping people understand how trauma can change the way our brain responds are messages I’m passionate about sharing. However, many horses are also deeply affected by this trauma response. I will be revisiting my trauma response river analogy with regard to horses in a future post. Take care my friends, PEACE.

Subscribe to receive posts directly in your email inbox:

Email Address:

Subscribe

The Healing Power of the Horse-Human Relationship

I am excited to share this with you! I was interviewed for the Horse Industry Podcast! We discussed mental health, PTSD awareness, the healing energy of being in the presence of horses through the lens of my book, Follow Me, Friend. We also discussed my work with equine energy and bodywork. I’d love it if you had a listen. Mental health, PTSD, and suicide prevention are important topics for me. My horse has been a healing presence and a teacher in my life. She has helped me survive.

Please, if you or someone you love is struggling with anxiety, depression, and/or PTSD, or having thoughts of self-harm, know that there is hope and there is help. Please, reach out to someone you trust. You can also always access the Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255 and website, they are always there to help. You are worth it.

Click image to listen to the podcast!

Please enter your email below to receive new posts directly in your email inbox!

Email Address:

Subscribe

What to do when your horse says “NO!”

Find out why.

Email Address:

Subscribe

__ATA.cmd.push(function() { __ATA.initDynamicSlot({ id: 'atatags-26942-620d9c6dc8c78', location: 120, formFactor: '001', label: { text: 'Advertisements', }, creative: { reportAd: { text: 'Report this ad', }, privacySettings: { text: 'Privacy', onClick: function() { window.__tcfapi && window.__tcfapi( 'showUi' ); }, } } }); });