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Being a Friend First

When it’s cold and the sky is spitting a nasty blend of rain and snow down on you, and you are excited to come out and see a horse anyway… that is where the magic starts.

Juno came to the farm in mid-December, when his recently acquired safe home fell through and the person who wanted the best for him trusted me to offer him a good life. Being plucked from all that is familiar and taken away from the friends and family you know isn’t easy on anyone, and Juno was no exception – but he was impressively open to trusting new people from the start. It has been imperative for us not to break that trust – to be slow and patient, to begin every new relationship and activity with sacred introduction, and no matter what he may have been like or done in the past, we have made choices based on how he feels and responds each moment, as opposed to acting on assumptions or expectations.

Equine Guided Education and Coaching is a way of working with horses to teach and coach people… and the same way that every session helps me learn and grow as a person while I facilitate, it can also benefit the horses and enrich their lives. Beyond giving them the opportunity to express their opinions, and giving them a job that is not competitive or physically demanding, this work can be done in a way that helps horses heal from past trauma or anxiety much the same way it can help people.

Fortunately for me, and for Juno, we have amazing people who come to us, like this girl we’ll call Kate. From her first time meeting Juno, she has been open-hearted, present and thoughtful. Our goal in working together has been to give Kate a safe place to open up about anything she’s challenged by in her life, to help understand and regulate emotion as it inevitably flows into what we are doing with a horse as well as life elsewhere, and to build her confidence and presence through learning to care for, communicate with, and do basic activities with horses.

Everything starts at liberty – just being free around each other, and focusing on building a relationship. There is play, there is sharing of thoughts and feelings, and there is curiosity and there is mystery. Learning how to just be around each other comfortably is a benefit for the nervous systems of both horse and human. Social animals feel good about making friends. The first time Kate invited Juno to follow her on a walk around the paddock, the weather was miserable, but the feelings were of pure comfort and joy in connection, as he eagerly walked alongside her and she beamed with excitement.

Sometimes we have fun with inventing new activities or games… like asking the horse to carry her jacket around the paddock. Every step of the way, Kate is attentive to how Juno is feeling about what is being asked of him. She never rushes him for the sake of accomplishing a task, and has been learning to recognize when and how impatience and frustration can sneak up on us and get in our way.

When the goal is for the horse to be comfortable and happy, every small step can be a resounding victory. At first, when Kate introduced the halter and lead rope into our activities together, Juno was inclined to shake his head a lot and walk too quickly for her to stay next to him, especially when something was introduced for him to carry on his back. We explored what being asked for too much too quickly feels like for us as people, too. We came up with options, like taking a break and doing something fun or easy together for a while and then trying the more challenging thing again in a different way.

When Kate walked Juno around the paddock with his saddle on and he was finally relaxed and enjoying the walk as much as the ones they had done together at liberty, it was the look on Kate’s face that said it all: she was happy, comfortable and proud of herself and the horse.

The day that Kate’s mother told me that she was having a hard time when other girls her age taking riding lessons were asking her questions like, “Can you canter?” and “Have you jumped yet?” filled me with sadness. What this girl is learning with a horse is genuine relationship, sensitivity to his feelings and her own, and a solid foundation for anything she may want to do in the future, with or without horses. It’s hard to quantify depth as opposed to scope of accomplishments. I hope she can respond with, “Do you take walks with your horse with an invisible lead rope?” and “Have you helped a worried horse feel safe in a new home yet?”

When Kate does get on the horse, she spends time with Juno on the ground first, making sure they are both comfortable. She talks to him – about how she is feeling and how she hopes he will feel if she rides him. If he tosses his head or pulls away, she knows how to listen, to care, to patiently try a different approach. She knows how to check in with her own feelings and determine whether she is ready or if she needs to take a break and reset.

The kindness and the trust these two are sharing is beautiful. He sees her arrive and hangs his head over the gate in anticipation of a friend. She is always happy to see him, and it is in the being together, not the doing together, that she is finding joy.

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Beyond Words

My first vinyl collection was a beloved assortment of stories, handed down from older cousins, uncles and maybe even my mother. The records were well-loved with a few skips and scratches by the time they came to me. Among the favorites were Dr. Dolittle, The Jungle Book, and Ferdinand the Bull. It’s no wonder that I grew up understanding that animals were friends and allies, with hearts and minds and voices of their own. I had conversations with dogs and chickens and horses on the regular, as they were all very good listeners, and quite capable of making me feel better on a bad day and not-so-alone any time.

Somewhere along the line of growing up, I lost faith that I could really understand them. I wasn’t entirely sure they could understand me any more either; maybe they could pick up some basic or obvious sentiments, but I began to doubt the level of communication I had once believed in devoutly. The record collection shifted… folk and rock music began shaping the way I related to being human, focusing on lyrics and words and how they resonate with people.

It has taken one very persistent horse to reconnect me with believing in different ways of communicating again. Daisy joined me fourteen years ago, as I set out to learn and practice and explore the field of Equine Guided Education and Coaching. She and I have always made valiant efforts to speak to each other – sometimes her frustration at my lack of understanding resulting in her boycotting everything I ask of her until I finally “get it.”

In general, we have a decent level of understanding one another, which I would expect from being together through three states, nine different farms of residence, five different equine family members, and hundreds of people of all ages coming to sessions. What I did not expect was the way she is able to clearly communicate with people she has just met.

The first time I remember Daisy taking the lead in a client session was about seven years ago. She was often overshadowed by my elder mare, Taj, who held a commanding presence and was rarely subtle, so it was easy to follow her lead. I, myself, thought of Daisy as the young, friendly ambassador who was able to disarm people who had resistance and tended to make everyone feel welcome. It was in the round pen with an independent-minded woman with whom my co-facilitator and I were working hard to find a way to connect that Daisy took over. Ignoring the ample green grass, the mare stood stock still next to her, appearing to go inward in a reflective, self-focused, resting stance. Neither of them moved, the woman assuming a similar pose, and to any onlooker, it might have appeared that nothing was happening.

As the minutes ticked by, it was at first a challenge to be patient and allow the ongoing silence and stillness. After a while, it became easier to stand and observe, and clearer that something was, indeed, happening between the woman and the horse. After what must have been at least twenty minutes, Daisy finally began moving her lips, licking and chewing and shifting her weight, eventually moving from that spot towards us onlookers on the outside of the pen. The woman thanked her and came over to explain her experience; Daisy had taken her through a range of thoughts and emotions, had helped her cut through to the core of her angst and indecision, and to recognize the next steps she wanted to take in her life.

For some time, I attributed the experience to the woman finding a way to quiet her mind enough to process her own issues and recognize her intuitive guidance. Fundamentally, I was trained to ground my reflections, insights and thoughts in observations of the horse’s and the person’s behavior and body language, and most sessions were heavily focused on movement, interpretation and helping people uncover their own relevance to what transpired. So what kind of grounding was there in someone reporting that one of the horses just told them some things they needed to hear?

Through the years, I noticed that Daisy would often volunteer more interaction with people than just welcoming them upon arrival. She would find ways to get their attention and work to help them stay present. One method she finds particularly successful is to lie down next to them. Sometimes she will roll, rise up and shake off, sometimes she will relax into a sleep state, and sometimes she will stretch flat out into REM sleep and dreaming. Daisy’s act of communicating through lying down has been contagious. Not only have many people been moved to be on the ground with her, but the other horses have begun to do the same thing with more precise timing.

People have reported feeling strong waves of emotion, immense gratitude, specific visual images, and sometimes entire messages that felt like direct conversation from them. The horses do not have to be lying down for this to happen, but sometimes it seems to be how they find “a way in” with people. Let me be very transparent here… I am extremely skeptical of most people with the title “Animal Communicator.” I have had some unfortunate experiences involving self-professed animal communicators with the horses. What I am witnessing here feels like a different way of sharing feelings and insight. Perhaps it is simply that the horses are creating time and space for people to relax enough to feel their own inner knowing with more clarity. Perhaps it is a non-verbal way to communicate that is beyond body language. Perhaps it is a combination of both.

What I can ground in observation is that more relaxation and more sleep results in healthier horses and healthier people. In addition, the profound experience of a horse choosing to stand with, or lie down with a person creates a remarkable space of openness to trust and connection to the thoughts and feelings that arise. There is something fertile in the space of allowing thoughts and feelings to arise without striving for the “right words” right away. If and when we need the words, they will come.

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The Energy of Empathy

The small but sturdy paint mare stood stock still in the cross ties. Her breathing was somewhat shallow, her eyes and ears wary. The girl was brushing her. The brush swept across her flank in a manner that felt methodical and distant. Every day, girls of various ages would halter her, walk her into the cross ties, groom her and tack her up for their riding lessons. Sometimes the girls were happily chatting to her, their words lighthearted and friendly. Sometimes the girls whispered their sadness to her, trusting her with their most sacred feelings. Sometimes, like today, the girls were silent, tense, biting their lips as they powered through the mechanics of what they were there to do.

It was these times that worried the mare. She was an experienced lesson horse, and she knew that when the girls were quiet and tense, there was little chance that they were thinking about what they were doing, or truly considering her or themselves at all. It usually meant that the riding lesson would be a struggle. The mare tried hard to understand what they were asking her to do, and she knew they were trying to understand what the instructor was asking them to do, but it was very often forty-five minutes of feeling their frustration increase, their hands jerk the reins harder on the bit in her mouth, and their kicks to her sides become increasingly more desperate and painful.

She was bracing herself as the girl hoisted the saddle up onto her back. Her nine-year-old fingers were fumbling to get the billets into the buckles to secure the girth when the instructor’s voice boomed through the barn, “You are late and this is no time to dawdle! Get that tack on and get out here now!”

The mare could feel the girl holding her breath, using all her might to tighten the girth. By now the mare had begun to pin her ears, trying to show the girl she was worried and did not feel safe. She began to side-step with her hind feet in some attempt to move away from the girl who felt like she might explode. “Don’t let that mare walk all over you,” the instructor sounded angry now, “Tighten that girth and get to the bridle!”

All the girl’s desperation and anxiety came through in one swing. The riding crop landed with a resounding smack on her hindquarters, and in less than a fraction of a second, the horse defended herself. In an immediate reaction to the perceived attack, she kicked out at the girl, landing a hoof squarely on her thigh and sending her reeling against the barn wall.

Healing happens when we experience somatic empathy. When another person – or another being – is fully present to us and how we are feeling, we experience something more than just being understood on a cognitive level. We experience a resonance and a relief that is beyond words, beyond thinking, and that is truly curative.

Horses live every moment being fully present. When we are interacting with them, or even just near them, they are taking in our somatic cues and the energy of our true feelings. We can opt to try to power through, to force our agenda, to ignore both what they are feeling and what we are feeling. Or, we can take every opportunity with a horse to learn more and more self-awareness, to become adaptable and resilient, and to heal the parts of ourselves that have not been acknowledged, soothed or allowed to release the past tension, grief, anger, fear or frustration they are still holding onto.

The girl is now an adult, returning to horses for a new experience; for healing and for changing old patterns in her life. One day, as she was beginning to brush a horse in the field, she felt something constrict in her chest and her solar plexus, at the same moment the horse pinned his ears and side-stepped away from her.

A memory was welling up in her body. Often we block some or all of the cognitive portion of a traumatic memory; rather than feel the pain of it, it seems easier to try to suppress it, or to make it go away. But the body remembers, and all it takes is a situation that reminds the body just enough of that past experience to bring it back.

With the horses, an opening is created for somatic empathy. Instead of powering through and continuing to try to make the horse accept the brushing, she stood next to him, breathing deeply and regularly, and talked to him about the memory that was emerging.

Her mother had been running late that day, as usual. She snapped at Angie to move faster, to get her riding gear and get into the car. Angie could feel the tension in her mother as she turned the key in the ignition and unclenched her teeth just long enough to take a drag of her cigarette. “Goddam it!” her mother swore as a warning light flickered on in the dashboard. “We’re going to have to stop for gas.” Angie shrank deep into the back seat, hoping that it wasn’t somehow her fault that there wasn’t enough gas in the car.

She was pretty sure it was her fault that her parents yelled at each other all the time. And she knew that she had to try harder not to talk too much around her father. She loved his attention when she started a story and it seemed like he wanted to hear it. But she would always take too long, and he would cut her off and be done with her, sending her to her room.

When she got to the barn, the other girls in her lesson class were already taking their horses and ponies to the mounting block to get on. She held her breath, waiting for her instructor’s angry words, admonishing her for taking too long. Angie loved this horse. She loved all the horses. She wished she could stand and pet them and talk to them and love them for the whole lesson. But she had to learn how to be stronger, be a better boss. “Horses need to know who’s boss,” the instructor would say.

Angie didn’t feel like a boss. She felt like a nervous little girl who was trying hard all the time not to make anyone angrier or more upset than they already were. She was worrying about not being a good boss when she was hurrying to brush the mare. And she was worrying that she wasn’t strong enough to get the girth tight enough… not just because the leather would slip through her small fingers when she tried to pull on it, but because she didn’t want to hurt the horse. It seemed cruel the way she saw the instructor pound her knee into her belly and yank the girth to make it so tight so quickly.

When the yelling started, she felt hot tears behind her eyes. She was trying so hard to be good, to be on time, but she was way behind and now the horse was stepping away from her, making the job of tacking up even harder. She knew she had to show her she was the boss. She bit her lip even harder and tried to emulate the instructor… or maybe what her father would do, be tough… and she picked up the riding crop and whacked the horse with it to make her behave.

The hot tears that she held back over forty years ago came back. They leaked out of her eyes on behalf of her love for that mare, her shame over hitting her. And for her fear of disappointing her parents and her instructors, but not knowing how to be true to herself back then, how to love herself the way she loved others. My gelding sighed deeply, yawned, and cocked one of his hind feet – settling in to relax next to Angie for as long as she needed him.

Somatic empathy happens without physical contact. It is simply one body feeling something that another body is experiencing. A person may want physical contact, and the horse may accept that, but touching is not necessary for the horse and the human to be connected in somatic experience. In this time of limited physical contact, of social distancing and self-isolation, I find it intriguing and helpful to explore the way in which matter and energy are interchangeable. How far apart can two bodies be and still experience what is happening in the other? If horses are any indicator, it’s a lot farther than six feet.