It’s been a stressful morning for a lot of reasons and I’m aware on the drive to equine therapy that I’m stressed and rushing as usual, but it feels extra silly to be doing that on the way to slow down. I take some deep breaths in the car and arrive slightly calmer but with a lot in my head.

It’s really hot out. Cowgirl is here this week, who the therapist had thought would be a good match for me. But I’m already bonded with Ricky now. I say hello to lots of horses on the way to him. Cowgirl is next to him, and I meet her. She is sweet and small and very pretty. She says hello to me.

Ricky is standing in the sun and is not as excited to see me as I am him. I wonder if he senses my stress. I take long deep breaths, and while he doesn’t come up to me he lets me go up to him. I pet his neck. His head is lowered, a sign he is calm. His eyes are watering, maybe from the heat, and tears are actually falling from his eyes. They say horses are a mirror.

Once Ricky has his halter on, I lead him to the area we will be working in. Once unharnessed, he rolls around for a little bit. Once he’s ready, we start working. I brush him and we spray some fly spray on him. Then I practice walking with him. I’m reminded that he feels safe when I am guiding him confidently, not dominated. The therapist and the specialist put out cones for me to practice turning and some stuff to step over. It goes well. There’s one right turn where Ricky isn’t following my lead, and I stop him because I think we are going to overshoot the turn. We recalibrate and continue.

They ask how it went, and I say it went well. I’m feeling very in sync with Ricky, other than that one turn. When I describe what happened, they compliment the way I handled it, that I saw we needed to pause, that I did, and that we were able to make the turn because of that. The therapist asks where my head is at, and I recognize I’m not thinking about anything but being here.

Ricky hears some trucks outside and tunes into the sounds. The therapist and the specialist point this out. Soon after, he is more relaxed, still listening but not stressed. The therapist tells me horses have a lot to teach people like me who experience hypervigilance, about how to evaluate that something isn’t a threat and return quickly to calm. It is helpful watching him do this. He listens to his intuition, he isn’t completely unafraid of anything, but he knows when something is safe that he can return to baseline and not linger.

The specialist asks how much I think I’m using the rope versus my body language to guide Ricky. I think about it. I’m not entirely sure, but I know I’m not really tugging on the rope at all, other than gently a couple of times to stop him or if he has stopped to get him going again. She asks if I think I could guide him with just a thin string. I say yes. We take the rope off and replace it with the string.

It goes very well. I never have to tug. I’m supposed to look toward where I’m going, not at Ricky. For the first few moments I’m looking at him and he’s looking at me and the therapist reminds me to look where I’m heading. It’s hard to remember sometimes because I just want to look at Ricky’s handsome face. Ricky, on the other hand, is looking at me to evaluate if I know what I’m doing and if he should trust me. After that reminder, we have no trouble at all with any of the turns, and it is an amazing feeling. I know I’m truly working with him, not dominating him. He’s trusting me.

The specialist asks if I want to try without holding any guide rope or string or anything at all, just using body language, and I am excited to try. I’m unable to get Ricky to start following me without a gentle nudge with the rope, but once he’s at my side, we do really well. It’s incredible. Ricky is a big glorious animal who knows he does not need to stay with me, but he chooses to anyway.

He lets me pet his face, and I feel so comfortable with him and amazed by him. I can tell he is comfortable with me, too.

The therapist asks where my head is at, and I again am fully here. He asks if I want to try intentionally thinking about some stressful things, seeing how Ricky responds to it, and also getting to practice basically taking control of my mind, choosing when to think about things and also when to stop. It’s not something I’ve done or am good at at all. I’m nervous but also feeling some baseline confidence in this moment. Having more control over intrusive thoughts is a dream I don’t even dare to dream. The idea of practicing, in this environment especially, while anxiety inducing is also bringing up some hard to identify but decidedly hopeful feelings.

So we walk. And I decide, probably for the first time in my life, to think about things that are usually intrusive thoughts. Ricky stays with me, mainly. I notice at one point we are further apart than usual. I’m not sure which one of us or both of us created the distance. But we come back together, even as I’m thinking about bad things. Even as I do, I’m trying to stay calm and with him. And then, I try to decide to stop thinking about things. It is probably the most successfully I’ve ever been with saying to myself “okay, time to put that away.” I focus on Ricky, the euphoria that comes from us being so in sync. Part of me does feel something like.. like protectively relieved that I’m not thinking about that anymore, like I am motivated differently to stop thinking those thoughts for Ricky’s sake. But that that feeling is something I can and should apply to myself. Stop thinking those thoughts for Ashley’s sake. I start and stop the thoughts once more as we make our way around.

The therapist asks how it went, whether I was able to do it. It’s true I’m no longer as fully present as I was before, but I’ve never experienced anything like that, either. I understand what a huge lesson it is for me to experience that I can choose to turn the thoughts on or off.

The specialist teaches me how to get Ricky to step toward me and to back up, and how to rotate his hips side to side. He’s such a good boy. I walk with him one more time, still not holding any guide rope, and this time I’m trying to play a bit with pace and maybe stop and start and see if I can get him to do any of those other movements.

I’m able to get Ricky to start walking with me without touching the rope at all. I’m able to get him to speed up and slow down and stop and restart with body language alone, too. It feels effortless. At one point I get a little ahead of him, and he nudges me with his head. The therapist asks after what I thought about it, and I’m not really sure. It didn’t feel aggressive, it was kind of silly. Thinking back now, it kind of feels like he was saying, “hey, wait for me!”

I stop him and try to get him to move his hips to the side. I try a few times and it doesn’t work. The therapist later observes I was trying to challenge myself and asks how it feels that it didn’t work, and I say I wasn’t sure it was going to, which is maybe why it didn’t, but it didn’t ruin how great it felt that everything else went so well. He affirms the good thinking to not be ruminating on it.

It’s time to bring Ricky back to his stable. He has some gunk in his eye, and he lets me get it out for him. I feel deeply connected to him and safe with him.

I showed up really stressed. I spent my time there and left there slowed down. Calm. Present, mostly. Confident. Connected. And having learned some skills that are very specific to this environment and some skills that go far beyond. I said goodbye to Ricky but feel a piece of him in my heart. Maybe that can help me recall the understanding of how my inner turmoil impacts him and how much easier it is to calm it down for his sake, until I can do it for my own sake, too.