Please Don't Quit Before Things Get Good
How I hugged nineteen horses for healing
I had to force myself to eat breakfast and decided on cereal, my hands shaking as I poured milk in my bowl. I began to argue with the voice in my head that bullies me and makes me feel small. That was a big mistake because after a while, I wondered if the bully was actually being convincing.
Of all days to be on the verge of a humongous panic attack, this day would be the worst. I had an opportunity to start equine-assisted therapy (see more), which I’d never done before, and I’d been excitingly counting down the days until it started. I couldn’t wait to meet the horses and the people I’d be working with, but the little bully in me was relentless, telling me that neither the horses nor the people there were going to like me.
There was a point where I contemplated not showing up at all, if only to bring down the tension in my body. When I thought of the alternative, sitting on the couch all day with no friends and nobody who understood me just like every day, I redoubled my efforts and left the house and started driving to the farm.
When I got there, a group of women were standing in the parking lot. I walked up and introduced myself and gave a few hugs. There was one woman that I hugged who I thought was part of the staff, but she was actually a client like me. After we hugged, the woman gave me a strange look as if she had noticed something I hadn’t. I wanted to ask her why, but my usual awkwardness took over, and I just smiled at her.
The therapists called it an introduction day, meaning we would just walk around and pet and brush the nineteen horses in the pasture. I was suddenly so excited I couldn’t stand it. The horses were trained to work with trauma survivors, and the therapists explained that a horse would see right through any mask you wore down to the “real” you. I was already desperate to drop my mask and let myself be seen, at least by animals to begin with.
I’d always loved all kinds of animals. In fact, I grew up so introverted that I would have walked past a hundred people just to get to an animal. It was an unfortunate trait of mine that lingered well into my fifties. As I walked into the pasture, all I could see were the beautiful horses. In my mind, all the people had disappeared.
A horse walked right up to where I was standing, and I pet his mane and looked him in the eyes and told him he was a good boy. That same horse followed me around everywhere I went until the end of the first session, and when I went back for the second, he was right there waiting for me.
I stepped away from the group and went to stand under the barn for some shade. My favorite horse followed me inside, and another horse was already in there. The two of them competed for my attention, putting their heads on my shoulder and drawing me in for hugs with their giant bodies. One of them started kissing me repeatedly on top of my head, and all of a sudden I burst out laughing. It felt like a big stress release, like getting scared in a dream and waking up abruptly and gratefully realizing I was safe.
In that moment, I had never felt safer.
For a person who doesn’t trust anybody, I trusted that those horses wouldn’t hurt me. I trusted the two therapists as well. Somebody diagnosed with complex PTSD may feel that the world doesn’t have very many places for them to feel safe. When such a place is found, it must be loved and cherished.
When we were almost done with the horses and started packing up, the lady who had given me the strange look after our hug came up beside me with a slight smile.
“I see you, you know.”
I was so stunned that I froze up and couldn’t ask her what she saw. I just stood there probably smiling like an idiot.
“You’re gonna be okay,” she added as she walked away. I wished she would come back so I could ask her how she knew.
This equine therapy program is once a week for five weeks, so I will have an opportunity to ask her if I get brave enough.
On the drive home, I imagined what the therapists must have thought of me. I petted and spoke to nineteen horses and barely any people. Even so, I found it very healing and felt the safety my nervous system craves more than anything. It also made such a difference that the horses saw through my mask down to the real me, especially as I’m just figuring out who that is now.
I’ve been trying to manage my complex PTSD symptoms alone in earnest for more than two years. It’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do. There were days filled with grief and crying and shaking like a leaf and being afraid of every single thing in the world. There were many times I wanted to give up and forget the whole thing. I’m so glad I didn’t.
If you’re standing at that edge right now, where everything in you wants to quit, where the fear feels bigger than any possible good outcome, please just take one more step. Show up scared. Do the thing your body is screaming at you not to do.
Because here’s what I’m learning: the moments that change everything often wait just past the point where we want to turn around. Being seen, the unexpected gentleness, the love that meets us exactly where we are, all of it can be waiting on the other side of fear.
You don’t have to believe it will all be good. You just have to not quit before you find out.