I’m running late and have been dealing with stuff that has me stressed, so I arrive pretty frazzled and not really having thought much about what I’m about to do. The ungrounded feeling persists throughout the service.

I meet some of the horses and learn a little about them. There’s a specific horse the therapist thought would be a good match for me but that horse is out with their owner. The specialist has an idea of which horse to pair me with. She’s a beautiful white horse. They also introduce me to Ricky next to her, and he comes running right over. He might be lonely because his roommate is out.

He’s been used in equine therapy but not too much. He’s huge. He’s a mustang. He was born in the wild. I hold my hand out for him, and he sniffs me. I do it again and he seems to use his nose to fist bump me. I feel a connection to him.

I just looked up mustangs. Apparently they’re not usually huge. Apparently they’re known for their resilience. They can often be easily spooked and have a strong fight or flight response. I think the connection made a lot of sense.

I think it’s possible the specialist was a bit nervous to pair me with Ricky. But out of touch as I felt, I trusted the sense I had that we were choosing each other. The therapist asks about where my connection to animals comes from, and I never really thought about it. I try to. He highlights this connection as a strength, and that knowing this about myself is also a strength.

I learn where it’s best to touch Ricky. We bring him to an area he can roam and run. He rolls around like a happy puppy. Apparently this is both playful but also good to scratch their backs and just help with spinal health. It’s very cute.

It’s interesting how it’s different being with a horse than a llama. He’s so mighty and so majestic. But the specialist and the therapist remind me how they’re prey animals. I am their predator. This is strange.

The therapist has me put my hands on Ricky’s torso and try to align my breath with his. I learn about Ricky’s body language. The therapist encourages me a few times to slow down my breath and observe how Ricky responds. It is clear that he is soothed and responding when I am taking long, calming breaths. So am I. And that’s what I understood going into equine therapy, that horses are very emotionally attuned to us and will mirror the energy we give off. I can’t fake it and convince a horse I’m fine. They will feel the internal turmoil I mask away. If I want the horses to feel safe with me, I need to emotionally regulate, deep inside, where I usually don’t have to.

As I learn how to walk with and lead Ricky, I feel uncomfortable at what feels like me having to be dominating, even though all I’m meant to do is tell him to walk on and give him a very gentle tug. To direct him to turn, I basically just hold my hand up to him and move in the direction I’m wanting to head. But it feels difficult.

He keeps wanting to eat hay. The specialist wants me to direct him away from it. She asks if I’m letting him do that because it’s what he wants or what I want. I want him to be happy and have what he wants. She asks if I want to be stopped or if I want to walk. I struggle to even imagine wanting something besides giving him what he wants.

That’s a familiar feeling.

I talked in therapy yesterday about not knowing even how to evaluate whether something is too much or not working for me, and that even if I could, I wouldn’t know how to advocate for myself. I can handle more than is good for me, and so I do. And I think that has played a role in making me the kind of person who is very uncomfortable with recognizing my desires are at odds with another and asserting myself over them. I can see that I should want to keep walking, but my feelings prioritize the immediate happiness of Ricky. My feelings mirror his. They are real, but partially that is because I habitually do this.

The specialist teaches me that horses are pack animals and they want to partner with me. That I’m not dominating him by directing him with confidence and occasional assertiveness but actually doing so makes him feel safe around me, knowing what to expect from me and that I have a plan. She is against humans being dominating to their horses and can see a clear distinction in what that means and what she’s suggesting I do. This is helpful to understand.

I curry Ricky, which is basically grooming him with a particular kind of brush. I had told the therapist I was struggling to feel present. But as I brush Ricky, I am attuned to his body language. When he raises his head up higher, it reminds me to slow down my breath. I remember to do so on my own as I continue.

There are some distractions in the form of the barn kittens that have come over. They are so friendly and cute. They’re curious about Ricky, but when he is curious back, they get spooked, which makes sense because they’re about half the size of his snout.

I ask if I can curry his belly, and the specialist says yes, that actually that’s a really good thing to do especially because they can’t really keep the flies off of their bellies so they can get bit there a lot and be very itchy. So I reach down low to get to Ricky’s underbelly. I can tell he’s appreciating it. I’m not scared of him. But I am also cautious, not knowing horses or him well enough to have confidence that I’m doing the right thing, wanting to respect what he wants.

In hindsight I’m seeing the distinction between respecting what he wants and letting him have everything he wants without regard for anyone else including myself. I do not want to be someone who doesn’t respect others. But I do want to be someone who respects myself and values myself even when my needs are inconvenient or even unwanted.

I trust Ricky. And I understand that he does not live to serve me. His top priority is not to protect me. If he becomes afraid, he may react, and that reaction could cause harm to me. I want him to have what he needs. I want him to feel safe. I want him to be able to run from something that scares him. I want him to fight something that tries to hurt him.

I wouldn’t want him to live in fear or pain. I wouldn’t want him to be trained to fight his instincts that are there to keep him safe. Being a therapy horse doesn’t mean he lacks those instincts. He has been trained to not overreact. He has been chosen because he is reliable and predictable. But not because he has learned that he’s not allowed to feel uncomfortable, scared, threatened or that he’s not allowed to protect himself if he does.

I was trained to push those feelings down. To not believe they were real. To believe they were an overreaction. To not react to them. To not express them. To trust someone else to evaluate my feelings and responses for me.

My goal is for Ricky to trust me and to feel safe with me. This trust is not meant to replace his own instincts. We are meant to be partners.

I don’t know if a horse can be psychologically beaten into submission. I don’t know if they could recover from that if they were. How they might trust it’s safe to unlearn what became a twisted way to stay safe. How they might learn to feel their own feelings again. How to rediscover instincts they were forced to forget.

Ricky was born in the wild. And now, despite his size, he is entrusted with a therapy patient on her first day with a horse.

Surely if we can be changed so severely once, if we can be so decoded, we can be changed so severely again, recoded, recalibrated. It’s easier to doubt it when you think about those changes as damage and healing. But when it comes down to it, it’s just change. From how I have been hurt, I can see that I am capable of incredible adaptation and change. So maybe I can start to see that as evidence that I can trust myself to change again.

I was changed by a person, by the environment he created, by the circumstances that established for my life, by the choices I made to survive it.
I am trying to change now, with the help of people and Ricky the horse and Z the llama. I am changing my environment. My circumstances are different. I am making choices that serve to change me into someone who doesn’t hurt as much as I do, who doesn’t struggle as much as I have.

I am a person choosing to change myself.