Cheryl L. Eriksen's Blog, page 5

August 5, 2021

Rediscovering My Strength – that time I made success my only option

Deep breath in, let it out. I can do this.

I concentrated on the ground ahead of me, one step, two steps, now three… I can do this.

The earth rose sharply ahead of me. My right foot slipped a bit in the slick clay mud. I glanced around, looking for something to grab on to. I should have stayed closer to the trees.

I searched the ground, there had to be something I could brace against, or something to give me traction. I lurched forward, willing my feet to inch up the rain-slicked clay bank. The hill so steep now, my upper body was less than an arms length away. This may have been a bad idea.

I tried to inch my right foot forward again. Just then, both feet slipped out from under me, I fell flat, face down, and slid back toward the creek…

There was a time when I hiked regularly. Perhaps a younger, thinner, stronger, and fitter version of me could have made this same trek with little difficulty. I’d never know since I’d not felt any of those qualities in what seemed like quite a long time. In fact, it was a desire to reclaim myself and figure out where exactly my life was going that had brought me to a little 127 year old cabin in McKee, Kentucky in the first place.

The cabin had no internet, no television, and no cell reception–exactly what I was looking for. Of course it did have electricity, running water, and air conditioning–I mean, come on–I’m not Laura Ingalls Wilder. I’d found the listing for the Lakes Creek Cabin on Airbnb, it seemed like a perfect chance to get away and clear my head after an extremely difficult first half of 2021. I packed up a few books, my journals, and some colored pencils–my plan: write, read, draw, hike, meditate.

(Lakes Creek Cabin, McKee, KY)

Upon arriving at the cabin, I immediately felt as if a part of me had always belonged there. Boedy and I settled in easily. We went for a hike first thing, then I read on the porch until dark with Boedy at my feet. That night–journaling, drawing, and more reading. Perfection.

(Boedy)

The next morning, my head felt clearer than it had in a while, and my body felt light and energetic. I sat on the porch, meditated in the early morning sun, and then, back to my book for a while. The first thing I “missed” when I arrived was the lack of access to a weather report of any kind. Something I noted as I looked up at the sky, my phone resting useless in my pocket. But I’d grown up without cell phones and computers, I knew how to tell if it was going to rain. I’m not helpless, I reminded myself. It had been cloudy all morning but didn’t seem stormy. I’d likely see rain, but nothing severe.

I’d hiked about twenty-five minutes before the sky opened up above me and a warm rain fell, quickly soaking me. Boedy trotted on ahead, seemingly oblivious to the rain. I knew he would tell by his actions if there was severe weather in the area. But the dog continued on, never giving the rain a thought. I decided to keep going.

(Boedy, coming back to see why I’m so slow!)

The rain was invigorating, I felt renewed, as if layers of heavy and suffocating life had washed away from me. The earth sang all around me, each rain drop bringing forth a beautiful melody of sound, smell, and vibrant color. My steps lightened, I felt like I was waking up from a long, dark winter, my soul stirred within me and a smile spread across my face.

(after the rain)

The rain had let up by the time I reached the creek and worked my way across the stepping stones. Feeling pretty accomplished, I started up the steep bank, the trail continued on far above my head. I can do this.

(creek crossing, be careful!)

I took a deep breath and let it out. Carefully, I brought my right foot forward and under me, then the left… swooosh! both feet slipped out from under me. My body slid several feet back down toward the creek, stopping when my feet hit a moss-covered patch of ground. I hadn’t climbed high enough to be in danger of death (the trail was really not that difficult or dangerous, except that it was so slick from the rain), but I certainly could be in trouble if I broke a leg or something like that. It was just me and Boedy, no one would even come looking for us until the next day at the earliest. I tried again, and again my feet slipped out from under me. This could be a problem.

I lay on the hillside considering my options. I could slide the rest of the way down and go back the way I came–the bank on the other side was not as slick or steep. But I wasn’t ready to give up. Something had been awakened within me since I’d arrived at the cabin. It was a feeling with a faint and pleasant familiarity, like the feeling you get when you pick up a well-loved book you haven’t read in many years. I can do this.

The path up the hill was clay mud mixed with loose stones, I knew I’d never get my boots to grab hold of it. Carefully, I drew my body up so I was on my hands and knees. Digging in with the toe of each boot, I pushed each leg forward, bit by bit, hand over hand, I clawed at the rocks and buried my fingers in the clay–pushing and pulling with all my strength, I slowly inched up the incline.

A few yards from the top, my knees were screaming with pain from the rocks and the unfamiliar pressure. But I would not give up. Push and pull, push and pull, a few more feet to go. Boedy stood above me (show off), watching my progress, wondering why on earth I was so unbelievably slow. Push and pull, push and pull, push and pull. I finally made it to the top. Victory!

(soaked, filthy, exhausted, happy)

I felt like a new woman. Or, maybe like that adventurous child I had once been, before life happened. Sure, my body was still 44 and way out of shape, but my spirit was renewed, and with it, my mind. What other obstacles could I conquer? If before this trip, you had shown me a picture of the hill I climbed, and told me I would scale it on my hands and knees–I would have said yeah, right! Maybe at one time I could have done it, but not now. No way, no how. But I would have been wrong. Because, as physically ill-prepared as I may have been for that challenge, I had something else even more important–the will to try and an absolute refusal to give up. Success was the only option I gave myself. No plan B.

I returned to the cabin wearing mud-covered clothes like a badge of honor. Soaked with rain and sweat, my hair stuck to my face, my knees bruised and sore, I’d never felt more alive.

As I sit here now writing this blog post a month later, the significance of that experience is suddenly very clear. I am currently standing at the bottom of another steep hill. At the top is something I’ve never had before–a published memoir, a new career, and a life that not only accurately reflects, but also honors my authentic self. It’s a terrifying climb. Looking at it right now, I don’t know if I have what it takes to make it. But then I remind myself–I do–I have the will to try and an adamant refusal to give up. Success is the only option I give myself. Onward and upward. I can do this.

Thank you for being a part of my journey. Peace.

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Published on August 05, 2021 19:02

July 25, 2021

Find Your People – a lesson in honoring your authentic self

I stood quietly in the center of the arena, my arms loose at my sides, my energy low, my gaze soft. I turned slowly, taking small, quiet steps as the young mare jogged around me in a lazy circle. She looked comfortable, her head, which at the start she’d held unnaturally high, was beginning to drop, her jog was slowing, her eye was softening. She licked and chewed thoughtfully, then dropped her head a little further. This is what I’d been looking for. “Good girl,” I cooed. The mare sighed, her nostrils flaring slightly with a soft outward breath.

I was aware the barn owner had been standing outside the arena, watching me work with the little mare. I hoped he’d be pleased, I had gotten the mare to calm down and jog slowly after a relatively short amount of time. I knew the mare’s owner, an older gentleman, wanted a nice, gentle, quiet trail horse. I thought with more soft, low-energy handling, this mare would be just what he’d hoped for when he’d bought her.

“What are you doing?” The barn owner, Dave, interrupted my thoughts.

“I’m longeing this mare, her owner asked me to.” I’d worked for Dave for a couple months but was doing this work with the mare on my own time. My job was stall cleaning and general farm work, but I wanted to be a horse trainer. I had trained other horses, had graduated from a horse program, and shown horses for about twelve years. I picked up clients where I could, and this mare was my first potential client horse after my recent move to the area.

“That’s not the right way,” Dave scoffed as he barged into my work space. He grabbed the longe line from my hands and picked up the whip from it’s place on the ground at my feet. He then proceeded to snap the whip repeatedly, stepping aggressively toward the little mare, and chase her around the circle yelling “Trot! Trot! Trot!”

The mare’s eyes bulged from her head, the whites shown in the dim light of the indoor arena. She lifted her head high, pinched her lips shut, clamped her tail and went into a fast, choppy trot. Dave continued to yell and snap the whip. The mare went faster. She looked terrified. Her discomfort was palpable, as was the uncomfortable intensity of Dave’s energy. After a few minutes of this, Dave yanked on the line and demanded the mare stop.

“Whoa!” he yelled.

She stopped, keeping a wary eye on the man. Dave then shoved the line and whip toward me, I put up my hands defensively, then took them from him.

“See?” He said, his tone condescending. “That is how you do it, that is how you make her go. You can’t have her going like you did. She’s lazy. You have to make her behave. You must be dominant, make her move her feet.”

“Um…ok…” I whispered, looking at the horse, her eyes still wide with apprehension.

I felt like an idiot, or, more accurately, I felt I’d been treated like an idiot. Did this guy not understand the horse’s owner didn’t want the mare to be fast? I’d seen the Dave yelling at other horses, spurring them into fast work, their tails wringing, ears pinned–they looked miserable to me–and always seemed so…terrified.

Dave left the arena. I walked over to the mare, scratched her neck, and told her I was sorry. She let out a short sigh and licked her lips. I then continued as I had before, slow, quiet, and calm, trying to help the mare relax. I soon had the mare jogging quietly around me. I spoke to her softly, “easy girl, sweet girl.” It was then that I noticed Dave had returned. He was looking at me from across the arena, arms crossed over his chest.

The next day I received a call from the mare’s owner. He had heard from Dave who’d told him I didn’t know what I was doing, I didn’t have enough experience, I wasn’t tough enough, and if I kept working with his mare she would become dangerous. I felt humiliated and quit the barn job soon after.

That was twenty years ago. In the years since, I have worked in many areas of the horse industry for all types of people–some have allowed and even encouraged me to be myself–focusing on relationship and communication, trying to understand how to ask a horse for what I want in a way that is comfortable for the horse. Others have not been the type of people I felt safe being myself around. The type that seemed to believe if I wasn’t trying to dominate the horse, I wasn’t doing my job.

When I was younger, I struggled with having the confidence to forge my own path in the horse world–I knew what kind of trainer I wanted to be but I didn’t know how to market myself or how to show confidence to prospective clients. I could prove myself if I could get a hold of the horse, but struggled so much with communicating with prospective clients, that they understandably didn’t want to hear what I had to say.

Why do we hide our true self?

No one wants to be singled out. It’s scary, it’s uncomfortable, it’s vulnerable, it emotionally feels unsafe. But the truth is, even though it’s you that feels like the weird one, they are the ones with the problem. I’m not here to say people who use the old ways and methods of dominance-based training are wrong or bad or don’t love their horses, it is not for me to decide that for them, nor is it what this post is about–they are on their own path and will make change when and if they are ready.

What I am saying is that when people are presented with a way of being that is not compatible with what they are doing, they start questioning what they themselves are doing. This should be a familiar feeling for those of you who have changed their way of being with and working with horses. I would imagine that, like me, there was a point where you saw or read something new and questioned if perhaps you could do better? This openness is not something everyone possesses and it is a wonderful strength to have. The ability to look at different ideas, methods, etc. with curiosity rather than straight judgement is a valuable skill.

OK, then why do I need to find my people?

We can’t change people who don’t want to change. If they aren’t ready, you’re wasting your time. I get it, you’ve discovered something new that has changed your life. You feel good, it’s working, you want to share what you’ve learned with others. You want them to feel the joy and excitement you have found. There’s just one problem–they don’t care. Not only do they not care, but the change you are so excited about is likely making them very uncomfortable. It makes them feel like they must question what they are doing and further, they feel like you, by simply doing something different, are passing judgement on them. Again, that’s on them, you are not responsible for (nor can you control) how they feel about themselves, you, or anything else.

One more time, lets say it together! I am NOT responsible for (nor can I control) how anyone else thinks, feels, reacts, or responds to anything I say or do.

You’ve just got to keep on keepin’ on–just keep doing you.

I know. That feels weird, uncomfortable…maybe even a little terrifying. At least it did for me (and still does sometimes). We are pre-programmed to crave community and acceptance. For our cave-dwelling ancestors, being accepted and part of the group meant survival. That instinct (safety in numbers) is deeply ingrained in our DNA.

When you find your people, you find opportunity for growth. When we’re afraid, or feeling like the odd man out, we don’t stretch ourselves, we don’t open our minds, and we tend to live life from the neck up–stuck inside our heads–hung up on the “what if” rather than seeing the beauty and possibilities of growth, peace, joy, and life blooming all around us.

I know it’s hard to go against what is considered “normal.” But, what I am finding is, the more effort I put into being true to myself, AND (this is important) noticing, feeling, and carrying forward the honoring of my authentic self into all areas of my life, the happier (and I mean genuinely happy) I am. Additionally, I am in a better mental space to help my horse, to grow in my skills, and to be open to new learning and opportunities. When I weigh that out, it’s easy to see that enduring a little discomfort from the energy of people on a different path is a good trade for the benefits you receive in all areas of your life from being true to yourself.

How do I find my people?

Several years ago I asked this same question to my instructor in a human spirituality holistic health course I took as an elective in my social work master’s degree program. She paused reflectively and responded,

“I can’t answer that for you…”

Ugh. Deflated.

“What I can tell you,” she continued, “is that they are out there, and when you are ready, you will find them, and they will find you.”

Yeah…that answer wasn’t what I was looking for. What I didn’t understand then, but am beginning to understand now, is that there isn’t a simple answer–all of my people aren’t living in some commune in Ypsilanti, Michigan. There’s no map, and no set of instructions. But they are out there, sprinkled throughout the world, perhaps, just like me, wondering where their people are.

(You do you!)

To find them, you must be true to your authentic self. It takes a little discomfort at first, a bit of bravery to live your truth. But when you are able to put that authentic version of yourself out into the world, you will attract like-minded people. When you encounter someone on a very different path, acknowledge that to yourself and move on. Remember, you can’t change people who don’t want to change. When (and if) they are ready, they will find you.

If you haven’t realized it yet, this lesson goes far, far beyond our work with horses. This is a life lesson. If you are not able to be true to your authentic self, and unable to find a confidant on your journey, you will struggle greatly to find true inner peace and happiness. In the working world, this looks like job burn out. In relationships, this looks like hiding parts of yourself to please others. If you are changing yourself into something uncomfortable for you, in order to “fit in” to a place, job, relationship, social group, etc. please take a step back, and ask yourself why. Are these people part of your tribe? Are they worth giving up a piece of your true self for?

So often we give this power over our expression of authentic self to strangers who don’t matter anyway. People outside the arena wondering what you’re doing with your horse, or people reading a blog post that wasn’t written for them. Other times it’s people closer to you like your riding instructor, trainer, or barn owner. Sometimes being true to yourself means moving on to people and locations more in-line with the person you wish to become–that acknowledgement could be your opportunity to move on, to grow.

Finding your tribe, and living true to your authentic self is a journey. Wherever you are on the path, you will someday look back in wonder at who you used to be and look forward with curiosity at who you will be when you fully become who God mad you to be. You got this. Keep on keepin’ on. You do you and the rest will fall into place.

As always, Peace and Love, gentle friend. Cheryl

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Published on July 25, 2021 13:00

July 13, 2021

Books That Changed My Life with Horses

I’ve been building a library of horse books since about the age of 11. I have no idea how many I have in my collection, now over 30 years on from when I first held the story of Man O’ War in my hands and read it by the light of my Raggedy-Ann lamp. A couple years after that, I got my first non-fiction horse book–a study of the body language of horses. At that point my horse library began in earnest.

For today’s post, I’d like to mention six books that have had a profound impact on how I view, understand, and interact with horses.

The Body Language of Horses Tom Ainslie and Bonnie Ledbetter (1980, William & Morrow publishers)

This was my first non-fiction horse book, a Christmas gift I received at the age of 13. I was still very new to horses at that point, having just started riding lessons and joined 4-H a couple of years before. This book offered my first glimpse of the world of horse body language. Up until that point I was unaware of body language as communication, beyond the pinning of ears or a kick or bite.

The most impactful stories which I still repeat to this day were the ones that demonstrated the affect of environment on behavior. This book is over 40 years old but still has much to offer. Of course we have learned more in the decades since, but it is well worth the read for the stories alone, if not for the valuable introduction to equine body language.

Getting In TTouchLinda Tellington-Jones, with Sybil Taylor (1995, Tralfagar Square Books)

I believe I read this book around 1999, and again in 2006. I was first introduced to Linda Tellington-Jones during one of my horse courses in college but it wasn’t until after graduation that I found this title at a book store. At the time I was looking to reconnect with that part of me that had read and loved The Body Language of Horses. During my time in college I’d become more of the mind that training was something you did to a horse–you taught him the right answer and he was expected to obey, no matter what. I struggled with the aggressiveness of that mindset, it never really sat right with me.

When I discovered this book, I was embarrassed to talk about it with my peers so I kept it to myself. But the content was so fascinating, I became particularly interested in the discussion about whorls and other facial features, and the behavior they seemed to be connected with. In 2006 I started work at a large Thoroughbred farm where I had access to hundreds of horses. I pulled out this book and reread it, comparing the information with the horses I worked with every day. Much of it was very accurate.

Many people scoff at the idea that the shape of the horses muzzle or the way the hair grows on the forehead could have anything at all to do with horse behavior. They are of course entitled to their opinion. But, I think skeptics tend to look at this backwards. No one is saying a particular whorl pattern CAUSES a specific personality trait, only that horses with specific whorls tend to have certain traits. Is it so hard to believe that whatever part of the DNA is responsible for certain personality traits also happens to be linked to the DNA that is responsible for a certain physical feature?

Tug of War: Classical Versus “Modern” DressageDr. Gerd Heuschmann (2007, J.A. Allen & Co.)

Written for the good of the horse. Dr. Hueschmann presents a sobering look at the direction “modern” dressage has taken, how far it has veered from it’s classical beginnings, and the damage it does to the horse. I can not look at today’s dressage horses the same since reading this book in 2007. The use of rolkur in training and the type of “dressage” it creates is unmistakable and devastating to see once you’ve allowed Dr. Heuschmann to open yours eyes.

I was taught classical techniques but had also ridden briefly under a trainer that did “modern” (or what I call “cram and jam”) dressage. My formerly light horse became heavy and resentful within a just a few weeks. I soon realized my arms hurt after a ride. If your arms/hands are sore, you’re doing it wrong. I stopped riding with this instructor and took over my own training until I could fine another like-minded instructor to help me. I also apologized profusely to my horse. It was almost 10 years after that experience that I read this book, which shed light on why my horse and I struggled so much with the other style and reaffirmed my belief in soft hands and classical methods.

Unfortunately, in the years since this book was first released, the “modern” training techniques are still in use and being rewarded in the show ring. The horses look fancy and flashy to the general public when compared to classically trained horses, drawing people to the sport, which I gather is why they allow it. But the horses are suffering for it. Please, even if you are not interested in dressage, read this book. For the good of your horse.

(It is not anti-bit, it is anti abusive use of the bit/hands)

What Horses SayAnna Clemence Mews & Julie Dicker (2004, Trafalger Square Books)

I believe I read this around 2009-10, I saw it in a book store and though “Ah, yes! This is just what I’m looking for!” What is funny though, as I walked around the store holding this book, I distinctly recalled picking it up a year or two before, reading the blurb, and putting it back thinking “This is too out-there for me!” I almost put it back a second time, but, as with the TTouch book, something in my life had flipped back to an earlier time, a memory (?) or maybe just an idea. But now, I was ready to listen.

This book was my first introduction to animal communication. The amazing stories were great to read, but also held a tiny bit of familiarity for me. This was something I understood on a deeper level. I wasn’t yet ready to dive in head first into the world of animal communication, but a door had been opened, and my curiosity piqued. I would revisit the subject again in the future.

At the time of my first reading, one thing really stood out for me. I realized that, despite my studies on equine communication through body language, I really had no clue how little we who focused solely on body language understood about horses. I also for the first time realized the depth of animal soul and what a disservice we humans did to them when we measured their ability to communicate and relate to the Creator through our own inadequate lens. We have so much to learn.

The Tao of EquusLinda Kohanov (2007, New World Library)

Although not the same style (training/communication/behavior focused) as the others, I added this book for two reasons. One, because this was my first introduction to the idea of incongruent human behavior (feeling one thing but presenting another) and how it affects the horse. Prior to that (2012), I had always been told and had never questioned the old adage that you must not let the horse know if you’re afraid or unsure or lacking confidence in yourself or the task ahead. The idea was that if you let the horse in your true feelings, he would a) also be afraid, and/or b) take advantage of you.

Kohanov turned this idea on its head for me. The horse already knows what you are thinking and feeling, it’s not something you can hide. The horse is fine-tuned in reading energy and intention, it’s part of their innate survival instincts. By attempting to hide these feelings, we are actually making the horse less comfortable.

The second impact this book had on my life is that it inspired me to finally write my own memoir called, Follow Me, Friend. You’ll hear more about it in the coming weeks as I prepare for it’s release!

Healing for HorsesMargrit Coates (2002, Sterling)

This is one of my most recent reads (2020). Farletta’s osteopath recommended it and loaned me her copy. Wasn’t I surprised when I found it on my own shelf! Apparently I had been nudged in the past to read it but it wasn’t quite the right time yet.

The author developed her own method of body work with energy and, while it shares similarity with Reiki, it isn’t a “system” or something that you have to learn but something that comes from a place of love (I will note here that Reiki is NOT a religion nor is it linked to a specific religion). What really resonated with me is the author’s description of how her work with energy actually brought her to faith in God, something she did not have before. I have had a similar experience. Where I’ve always believed in God, I feel closer to Him because of the love and light that is the energy we share with our horses and every living thing.

I’d love to hear what books have influenced you! Please share any titles in the comments below! And, if you’ve read any of the books on this list, I’d love to read your thoughts on them (please comment below).

Final thought: The dates/publishers listed in this post are from the actual editions I own. Some have more recent releases, others are out of print. All can be found online either used or new. If you have a local bookstore, please ask them if they can get a title for you. Supporting our local small businesses is good for our communities and our world.

Peace

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Published on July 13, 2021 18:38

July 5, 2021

When you love too much – a lesson about just being (and less doing)

“If love gives too much over to worry, worry will then build a wall.”
C. Eriksen

Wait, what? How can you love someone too much? Let me tell you a story…

Farletta is my heart horse–I love her deeply. We’ve been together for over 15 years. She’s had more than a few health issues through the years, uveitis and a near-deadly impaction colic being at the top of the “horrible, terrifying experiences” list. As I mentioned in my first post, “My Horse’s Midlife Crisis,” Farletta has had some trouble the past couple years not only with soundness, but also with anxiety, especially during her heat cycles. I’ve worried a ton over her, shed a lot of tears, and spent quite a bit of money trying to figure out what is wrong and how to help her.

(photo credit: Jennifer Johnson)

Lately Farletta has been struggling some with her ageing body–arthritis in her knees and hocks, plus some intermittent, apparently impossible-to-diagnose-and- therefore-difficult-to-treat overall unsoundness that may or may not stem from her pelvis, sacrum, and/or sciatica. She’s seen vets, massage therapists, multiple chiropractors, and an osteopath–all have helped some, especially the osteopath, but the problems persist.

I’m currently learning two body work modalities — Reiki and TTouch. I plan to offer these services professionally when I’ve received more training and certification, but, I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t have a habit of learning things with at least some intention toward fixing my horse–Farletta and her health issues are always on my mind. Recently, while taking a TTouch course with founder, Linda Tellington-Jones, I spoke about my concerns over Farletta, and how she didn’t seem to want the body work. She was fidgety and would sometimes move away from me if I tried one of the TTouches or using the Reiki techniques.

We watched a video of Farletta and looked at some pictures while I explained to Linda what was happening and how I just couldn’t seem to find the answer to help her. And how, where she had liked the Reiki and TTouch before, she now seemed resistant at times.

Linda thought for a moment and then she said “Here is what you have to do.”

My eyes lit up and I leaned forward, this was what I’d been waiting for, the solution to finally fix Farletta. I listened expectantly…

“You must stop thinking about it.”

(Um, what?)

“Stop thinking about what is wrong with her. Just be with her. Love her. Enjoy her.” Linda smiled, and asked if I had any more questions. I didn’t. It wasn’t the answer I’d expected at all. I mean, I needed to fix her. Did she understand that? I wanted to say more, to make sure she understood, but I paused. I was paying her to learn, perhaps I needed to listen. Linda had been doing this for 45 years, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try her suggestion.

That evening I went out to see Farletta. But instead of looking at her knees to see how knotty they looked, or if she was bucking them forward, or feeling her hocks for heat, or checking her body for tension, or trying to give her Reiki or TTouch–instead of any of that, I just hugged her. I told her she was perfect, beautiful, and amazing, I told her I loved her so very much, just the way she was, that there was nothing wrong with her. I brushed her, and sang to her, and then just talked to her–like two old friends catching up over coffee.

It was the best night ever. I felt light and happy, like I did when I was a kid–before I had as much horse knowledge as I had now, before I got wrapped up in solving every single problem by myself because I was afraid to depend on others for help, before I let my love for Farletta sour into worry. I remembered what it was like to just be with a horse, to be near one just for the sheer joy of it. No agenda, no desire to produce a result, just her and me, together.

The next day was the final day of the course. When I woke up that morning, I was still riding high from the connection I’d felt with Farletta the evening before. The course was online, so, due to the time difference (Linda was in Hawaii), it didn’t start for me until 2:00pm. I eagerly put on my barn clothes and headed out to see Farletta.

I pulled into the driveway and parked my truck near the barn. Taking a deep breath, I placed both hands over my heart and gave myself a “heart hug,” and then sent that love energy toward Farletta. I reminded myself to not focus on her health issues, but to just be with her.

Farletta poked her head over the stall door as I walked up to the barn. Her ears pricked intently forward, her eye bright and inquisitive, she nickered. “You’re here!” she seemed to say, her energy beckoning me. Farletta was relaxed in my presence and engaged with me in a way I had not seen in a very long time. She enjoyed my touch and did not move away from me. I did do some TTouch exercises, but I did them with a grooming energy, not a fixing energy. There was no intention behind them, I was not trying to get a certain result, I just wanted to offer her something I thought she might enjoy, no strings attached.

Excitedly, I reported my results during the class later that afternoon. Linda clasped her hands together and smiled.

“Wonderful!” She said. I grinned.

Elation! I finally understood. The intensity of my worry had become uncomfortable for Farletta. I wore it like a heavy, scratchy wool blanket and thrust it upon her each time I walked into the barn. Worry had robbed us of the joy of simply being.

It has been a month since I stopped focusing on the “fixing” energy (the “what if,” the future energy) and instead stayed present in the moment, just being with Farletta. Of course I’m not ignoring Farletta’s health or lameness issues, but I am approaching her differently, and as a result, am approaching those issues differently as well. I still do the TTouches, but I do them because I think she will enjoy them. I watch her closely, knowing she will tell me if it’s too much or if I’ve brought too much energy to her. The moment my touches turn from “just being” energy into “fixing” energy, Farletta will move away from me, turning her head to look at me like “slow down there, you’re getting ahead of yourself again.” She’s right, I’ve slipped out of the present and jumped into the future (Must. Fix. Everything.) and Farletta can feel that like someone poured ice cold water down her back.

What is interesting to me, and a humbling reminder that we should always place ourselves in a learning frame of mind, is that I’ve been aware for some time of intention energy and how it can influence the horse both positively and negatively. It is usually my first bit of advice when someone is having a problem with their horse–what are you thinking about? What kind of energy are you bringing to your horse? But somehow I completely missed what was going on with me and Farletta. Like totally clueless. I think this is because I thought the fixing energy came from a place of love and was therefore disguised as such in my mind. But now I understand the fixing energy actually comes from a need to control everything (a common problem for many of us, but it is particularly intense in trauma survivors) and that is not love, that is fear. Because I love Farletta so much, it was easy for the fear to masquerade as something it was not.

Farletta is doing great. She is showing improvement in her comfort level and her knees look better. I believe the TTouch and Reiki are helping and Farletta is happy to accept both, as long as I don’t bring that “fixing” energy to her. These days we’re doing a lot of just being together, hanging out, not worrying about the future, staying fully in the present. Admittedly this is not easy for me to do. I come from a long line of extremely talented, thorough, and consistent worriers. Worry is not the enemy, but just like anything, if we give it to much power, it can become a destructive force. Then worry is no longer concern out of love, but of fear out of a need to control.

The lesson learned is about being, not always doing. Be mindful of your energy and what you bring to each interaction. Your horse feels everything, but so too will people around you. We tend to be much less aware of how energy affects us (much to the frustration of our horses, I’m sure) but as with the air around us, just because you can’t see it or always feel it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there–it’s presence in whatever form impacts your life at every moment of every day.

Journey in peace, my friend.

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(Summer 2019)

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Published on July 05, 2021 12:02

June 12, 2021

What is your relationship with fear? – Lessons from the Journey

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know I’ve been listening to Warwick Schiller’s podcast, Journey On for a while now, trying to catch up on episodes from the last year. Warwick has a list of 20 questions he asks his podcast guests. Hearing the same questions asked in multiple episodes led me to think about what my own answers would be. There is one question that sticks out for me–one that always makes me pause, and think…

What is your relationship with fear?

What a loaded question. I’ve been struggling with this post for a few weeks now, trying to figure out how to answer it. Each time I dive in, I realize just how far down the rabbit hole this subject can be followed. Each time I think I’ve captured it, whoops, there’s another level. I’ve run the gamut from the simple views of doing (or not doing) some activity that scares me, to the complexities of understanding fear through the lens of a trauma survivor. The deeper I dove into my own experiences in an effort to define my relationship with fear, the further I drifted from a comprehensive answer.

What I finally realized is, I wasn’t really grasping the question. You see, Warwick didn’t ask how I felt about fear, or how I viewed fear, or even how I dealt with fear. The question is: What is your relationship with fear?

Fear is a complex, multi-layer construct, based on life experiences, both conscious and subconscious, cognitively remembered and consciously forgotten, that starts from our earliest developmental moments. Therefore, understanding our relationship with fear includes our ability to recognize it’s role in our life, to acknowledge how it shapes us, and our willingness to touch it, to know it, and to carry on anyway.

Now, you may be thinking: Yeah…that’s not what he meant. Perhaps that is true, perhaps not…after all, whether intentional or not, the question is about relationship–and Warwick’s exploration with relationship and horses has and continues to help a lot of people travel down a path of self-discovery. Such a journey, if traveled long enough, eventually will lead you to discover what role(s) fear has played in you life.

Relationships are complex

As I struggled to answer Warwick’s question, I wondered if perhaps the difficulty comes from trying to understand what “relationship” means in my life, and just how intimately I wish to know and understand fear.

After dwelling on this for a while, I decided fear is like an onion–lots of layers. Many of us are comfortable traipsing around the first few layers: getting on the roller coaster, going to the scary movie, engaging in a potentially dangerous activity like horseback riding, driving on I-75 through Detroit, eating a gas station hot dog. Those relationships are a bit like the barista at your favorite coffee joint–you know their name, you maybe have a friendly chat and share some dog pictures, but that is all the deeper the relationship goes. No commitment, no drama.

For example, there is the fear that keeps you safe…

When I rode and trained horses regularly, my response to fear was avoidance in the name of self-preservation. That means I wasn’t about to ride a horse if I thought there was a chance he wasn’t thoroughly prepared to do what I was going to ask. I accomplished this with tons of ground work, to the point where each horse I started under saddle understood and had done everything I would ask them to do ridden, but from the ground first. I never had any interest in riding out bucks or dealing with other dangerous behaviors from the saddle. In that case, my relationship with fear was one of preparedness and prevention.

And the fear that presents a growth opportunity…

I try to do things that scare me, within reason. In these situations, facing my fear allows me to grow. Moving through a fear of trying something new, changing jobs, taking a chance on a new opportunity, public speaking, starting over, talking to a counselor, being alone with my feelings, allowing myself to process and move forward from my trauma–these have all be difficult, scary, and ultimately life-changing growth opportunities. This is the kind of fear I am most likely to run to. In that case, my relationship with fear is one of curiosity.

But, what about the middle of the onion?

The more layers you peel off the fear onion, the deeper you delve into a true understanding of yourself and what informs the decisions you make every day. You must make a conscious effort to discover the center of your onion, because the fear that makes up the core is generally acted on without awareness or the benefit of knowing why.

The center of the fear onion hides things like fear of shame, fear of abandonment, fear of being vulnerable, fear of trusting others, fear of failure, fear of discovering your negative self-talk was right all along (it’s not), fear of not being good enough. It’s that part of you always waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to discover too late you’ve once again put yourself in a vulnerable position and are about to be punished for it. Those are the messy fears, the fears we don’t like to look at, the fears that society tells us we should ignore, push down, and dismiss because if we can do that, we will appear strong. But “society” is a lying a** hat.

Some people have no interest in going beyond that surface “barista at your favorite coffee shop” relationship. They will or they won’t, it’s not my place to judge, we’re all walking our own path. But for me, to truly answer the question about my relationship with fear, I had to discover and acknowledge what is at the center of my fear onion.

The center of my fear onion is closely linked to trauma (this is true for many of us and it is worth mentioning that trauma is not always obvious, huge, dramatic, graphic, or even consciously remembered, and it doesn’t have to be any of those things to still affect us deeply). Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) causes me to filter my experiences through the “trauma lens,” therefore part of my relationship with fear is understanding fear’s role in that relationship. For me, this understanding is critical to my ability to function in society–to hold a job, have relationships, care for myself, etc. This intimate knowledge creates a pathway to healing from PTSD (a long road I am still traversing but I believe that, because I’m willing to peel back the layers of my fear onion, touch the things that scare me, and learn how to view and handle them differently, I have a chance of flipping the role on trauma–understanding it so I can dis-empower it).

As for Warwick’s question, what is my relationship with fear? This is my answer: My relationship with fear is complex, it is ever evolving, it is a launching pad of self-discovery, an opportunity for growth, and an intimate reminder to be kind, gentle, and loving to myself, and every soul I encounter, for whether we acknowledge it or not, fear is one thing we all have in common.

Peace.

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Published on June 12, 2021 23:03