I Went to See Some People About Some Horses

"Sure, I'll Check Out Equine Therapy, To See How it Helps Other People"

I’d heard of equine therapy for PTSD but just never had any desire to partake. I always envisioned equine therapy comprised of a nice trail ride and commune with nature. Traversing a trail on the back of a horse would bring a different perspective than just walking on the ground. I also figured to get anything out of equine therapy, you’d need to love horses. I respect horses, but I’ve never loved them. I find them uncomfortable to ride and they sure do poop a lot. I have always felt they belong running around in the wild and not being stuck in a stall waiting for some large person to climb on their back. I hold zero judgment for people who do keep and ride horses. I’m just not that into them. Part of the reason might be my mom has always loved horses and found a connection with them. I grew up in a constant state of begging my mom to have a connection with me. So, I just never really got into horses.

What I do like about horses probably doesn’t have anything to do with therapy. Horses say fuck it and poop wherever and whenever the hell they want. If you piss them off or pose a threat, you’re going to get a solid kick in the teeth. If a person gives us a hard time we say, “Hey man, get off my back.” If you give a horse a hard time while on their back, they will buck you the fuck off. Hmmmm, maybe what I like about horses does relate to equine therapy.

When I found out a fellow first responder friend helps run equine therapy through an organization called Zenerosity, I decided what the hell, I should go and find out what it’s all about. I will be able to have an educated conversation about equine therapy with other first responders seeking help with their PTSD. I signed up and actually looked forward to it.

When I arrived at the horse place, a wave of apprehension gripped me. During my journey through PTSD, I learned to identify when my body feels crappy emotion so I can deal with it and move on. I approached the check-in table and felt my body getting tighter and my brain upping its state of hypervigilance.

There were about five or six of us first responders and I think four equine therapists. I don’t even remember exactly. The session began and we sat in folding metal chairs arranged in a circle. We introduced ourselves by name, department, and years in. “Christy, Berkeley Fire, 25 years total.” The lead equine therapist cryptically talked about what was going to happen and then sent us off into the ring with the horses that were identified by what color harness they wore. We were instructed to find “our” horse, the one that we connected with. I walked straight towards the horse that was laying down, ignoring everyone, and exuding, “I could give a shit, this is dumb.” I approached “I Could Give a Shit” and petted its mane and he got up. We stood together and he let me scratch his face and ears and under his adorable hairy chin. One of the equine therapists approached and asked, “Is this the horse you feel attracted to?” I paused and replied, “Well, I don’t know if ‘attracted to’ is the term I would use, because I am not that kind of a girl, but yes, I feel a connection with this horse.” I felt my body tense—Do NOT ask me any more questions lady, this is dumb and you are dumb. She got the message and walked away to talk with someone else. Then a different equine therapist approached and asked, “Are you a caretaker?” I just looked straight at her and suddenly all of my armor disintegrated around me. I answered, “100 percent, through and through.” She said, “Well, this horse here finds the caretaker. Every single time.”

“Ya, but he really didn’t find me, I found him,” I said with skepticism.

“He got up for you, stayed and his head is leaning into you. Trust me, he is very particular and very careful.”

I asked, “Where do these guys hang out?” She said, “They have 17 acres of open space they get to run around in. A couple of them don’t want to be out in the open space. Like that girl there.” The therapist pointed to a honey-colored horse in a stall. “She likes her stall. We let her out to run around in the hills and instead, she just hangs out by the gate wanting back into her stall.

Once we all had found our horse, we returned to the circle of folding chairs. This session had a Christmas theme as it was held right before Christmas. In the circle we shared a little about ‘finding our horse’ and then they passed out random notebooks and pens. We were instructed to write a letter to Santa. I know this sounds a little hippy-like, but remember it is therapy - and therapy is all about getting out of your comfort zone. I wrote:

Dear Santa,

I want a house—actually a small cabin, in the mountains where it snows in the winter. Where it is quiet and secluded. I would very much like there to be a lake nearby that I can swim in during the summer and skate on during the winter. I’d like to have a wood-burning stove. And an outhouse is totally fine. I really want this. Please. Thank you Santa!

Love, Christy

The next step was to “mail” our letters to Santa. We entered the horse ring and were instructed to lead our horses. I found Orangy, took hold of his lead, and said, “Alright buddy, let’s go.” He just stood there, not moving a muscle. I gently pulled and said out loud, “Let’s do this. Come on…..here kitty kitty kitty…” Nothin. I tried again but that horse wasn’t having it. I became quick fodder for a horse therapist. One came over and asked, “How’s it going?”

I said, “It’s not.”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Nope. Aren’t we supposed to just lead our horse around?”

“You are supposed to mail your letter to Santa in that mailbox.”

“OOOOhhh like actually put it in the mailbox.”

An old metal mailbox had been jankily affixed to the railing on the far side of the ring. We were supposed to take our horse with us. I was like umm ok I guess I’ll learn something from walking 30 feet with a horse to put a folded-up piece of paper in a nonfunctional mailbox. I held Orangy’s lead and began walking towards the mailbox. Orangy came right along with me. I put my folded-up letter into the mailbox and still holding Orange’s lead I began to walk to get out of the way so someone else could mail their letter. Orangy said nope. We were stuck again, right in front of the mailbox. Nicki, an equine therapist, and my friend walked over and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Orange won’t follow me now and now we are blocking the mailbox.”

“Do you know where you want to go?”

“I just want to get out of everyone’s way.”

“Pick someplace you want to go.”

I picked some random spot in the middle of the ring that was out of the way and concentrated on it. Orangy still wouldn’t budge. Nicki asked me where I was headed and I told her. She said, “That’s not good enough. You need to go where you want to go, not just somewhere to get out of the way.” And…I start crying.

“We just need to get out of everyone’s way.”

“They are fine. Go where you want to go.”

“Nicki I don’t go where I want to go. I go where I will be out of the way. I only go where I know people who love me will come with me.” Now I am a blubbering mess. “I actually want to go over there.” I point to the edge of the ring that faces hundreds of acres of open space, full of rolling hills and random trees. “I really want to go out there but for now I want to stand against the fence and look out there so all I see is open space and quiet.”

Looking me right in the eyes Nicki says, “Then go.” I started to turn to look back at Orangy and Nicki said, “Don’t look back at Orangy. Don’t wait and see if he is going to come with you. Just go where YOU want to go.” It’s obvious that now we aren’t just talking about leading a horse around. Tears begin bubbling around my eyes while writing this.

Orangy followed me like he too had been wanting to get to the edge of the fence. I almost heard him say I thought you’d never ask. I stood with the front me against the fence so my peripheral vision wouldn’t see anything but open space. Orangy stood on the left side of me with his head against the side of my head. I had to slightly brace myself against his massive weight as he leaned into me. Tears and snot poured out of my face. I’ve made my whole life about everyone else and somehow this silly hour session with a horse has finally made this sink in.

We all did a few more exercises during the session that continued to reinforce this realization for me. One of the exercises included reading our letters to Santa and I was crying so hard I couldn’t get the words out. Nicky had to read it for me. The last part of the session was the revealing of the names and histories of the horses.

Orangy’s name is Teddy Roosevelt but they call him Teddy. When he came to Zenerosity his name was Rosebud. He was once a racehorse that hated racing but was forced to race. Being seen as a lost cause in the horse racing business, Rosebud was abandoned for two years until Zenerosity found him. The morning of the therapy sessions the horses are asked if they want to work and they all excitedly head into the ring. Teddy, on the other hand, is very picky about working and only seems to head out when it’s a first responder day but he still doesn’t always go. Nicki said Teddy hadn’t been working very much lately but for some reason headed out this morning. He’s very protective of himself as he doesn’t want to be hurt again. Race horses have an identifying number tattooed inside their upper lip. At the Zenerosity ranch, there is another former racehorse who will proudly show you the inside of his upper lip. Teddy flat-out refuses to show his and will dish out serious attitude if ever called Rosebud.

I believe the Universe meant for Teddy and me to meet that day. Some part of me felt something was coming and caused my defenses to go on high alert. The pre-PTSD me would have said oh fuck no and would never have let anything through. I would have left the session feeling angry and thinking equine therapy was stupid unless you were a hippy. The post-PTSD me recognized that I felt horribly uncomfortable, and instead of running away, I sat in it and listened. I’ve learned that running away angry gets you nothing except maybe some heart damage and a bad mood. Sitting in discomfort opens up the world and just might heal a piece of your heart. The next time you find yourself out of your comfort zone, just sit in it—even if you only last a few minutes. You just might feel a little stronger and a little more alive.