I was driving home today thinking about Valor and I. Specifically the time I got to yours. About eighteen months ago. We were chatting as I was saddling. You were holding the lead while I did up the girth. I could see it in his eye. The way he stood frozen. But I did it up anyway. The small group who turned up for the obstacles all turned around in unison to watch as my bucking bronco brumby took to the sky with all four feet firmly off the ground. He gave it a good go, then, (I think?), got to eating right where he landed. Which was not too far from where we were standing. For those who don’t know, I was gifted, yes, GIFTED, a ten-day brumby starting clinic and I got to bring the little ragga-muffin home with me at the end.
I didn’t know it at the time, but this horse would almost be the undoing of me. To put it lightly, it was like my insides were held together like a beautiful patch work quilt. All the squares were in perfect place. The design I so carefully picked out. The ones I wanted the world to see, the way I wanted them to be seen. To everyone else, and the naked eye, everything looked perfectly fine. But underneath, it was like someone had been deliberately pulling out the threads, one by one. If someone so much as touched it, I’m sure it would have fallen to the floor in tatters.
I continued around the obstacles and for the most part Valor was obliging. Only, when I stretched out my hand to touch his neck, he flung himself as far away from me as he could. Snip. There goes another thread. So fragile. I sunk deeper and deeper into the mud. The concern and overwhelm was more like quicksand and we were both well and truly stuck. He’d already bucked me off once. “How on earth are we going to get through this?”
“I completely trigger stacked him.” “It’s too much for him.” “I asked too much.” “I should have noticed.” “It’s my fault.” “Of course he’s going to react, you’re trying to ‘fix’ him. ‘Change’ him. ‘Control’ him.” The voices in my mind were repetitive, loud, and there were many.
I took him over to your round yard and ever so gently crept about taking his saddle off. I sat on the grass and “waited for him to calm down. To regulate.” I also promptly told everyone how he,….. “Just isn’t ready.”
Perhaps that was the gift? That even though he was more than ready, he was just waiting for me?
What would have been my answer if someone else offered to work him through it for me? I probably would have gladly given them the lead, and at the same time drowned in a sea of shame that “I’m obviously not good enough to do it myself”. And guilt for having to watch him work through it. Not knowing and stressing if this was the “right” thing to do. And just like signs at the beach say, “King Waves Kill”, we think some emotions do too. That’s if we can bear the discomfort long enough to find out. Doubt. Fear. Pride. Confusion.
So, which is worse? Being taken out to sea on the current of unbearable emotions or being stuck in the mud (or on the grass) doing, “nothing”? Actually, don’t be silly. I wasn’t doing nothing. I was, “connecting”.
My confusion over the “right” thing, oozed all over him. The question of all questions. Pressure or softness? Which one is it? Boundaries, or love? And how do I do that and what does that look like anyway? But what if boundaries really are love? Surely, the clearer my boundaries, the less pressure I need.
I was thinking about how to write what has changed. Change is gradual. And changes in the heart can’t be seen, only felt. I feel it in my body. The way I show up. The way I am clean about what I ask. And why. I feel it in my quiet belief. From the tears that fell, and the stains on my jeans when I hit the dirt more than once. My pride with it. It’s in newfound trust that things can one day work for good, even when they are very bad. Its trusting myself.
It’s remembering that discomfort still visits, but knowing it can’t wash me away. I’m not the same person and he’s not the same horse.
Where we are now is only found in the practise of showing up. It’s found in holding failures and successes loosely. It’s found in surrendering outcomes and trusting whatever is, can and will be used for good. It’s about riding-with-faith that the best is yet to come.
This kind of pure joy isn’t found in the comfort of “just listening”, or in the theology of “work harder, do more”, or “tidy yourself up before you come.” It’s more like a come-as-you-are, ….returning. Make mistakes AND be kind to yourself. What I tell myself weaves its way into my soul. What am I weaving? Or unpicking? Intentionally, or not?
Resilience comes from returning to what is true. Over and over and over again. Truth matters.
On Monday, after nine days off, I did the girth up and sent Valor out on a circle. He quickly got to bucking his way around the round yard. The difference? I chuckled a little and with clarity, asked him to keep moving forward. Trusting he could work himself through it. I thought about not riding that day, for a second. Then got on anyway. Choosing to fix my eyes on the trail ahead. Oh, what sweet joy indeed.
Mel Teunis 