I started riding when I was about seven. I’d been horse mad ever since I realised what a horse was, and one day Mum took me and my sister up to a local stable. Would we, she asked, like to have riding lessons. Would we!
I loved it from the very first lesson. I was obsessed. I read every pony book I could get my hands on. I painted horses, I drew them, I included them in every thing I legitimately could in lessons. Every magazine or newspaper that came into the house I would scan for horse pictures, all carefully cut out and stuck on my wall or in my scrapbook.
Was I any good at riding? Well, not terrible. But not a worldbeater. Average but hopeful sums it up. Here I am, at my first riding school gymkhana. I am trotting along calmly on the grey pony in the middle of the picture. Fizz, he was called, and fizzy was about the last thing he was. He did not approve of gymkhanas, and he and I sailed along serenely in trot.
I had no nerves at all when I was young and did things that make me shudder now. Ride a hunter along the road bareback in just a halter? Yes. Dive under the stomachs of notorious kickers just because I could? Yes.
How it happened
What did for my nerves was falling off once I had children.
I was having a lesson on a riding school horse, and had a dramatic fall over the fence of the outdoor school. Wasn’t at all bothered about it at the time, and got back on (despite what turned out later to be a broken hand) and carried on.
But then … my husband wasn’t at all well when all this happened, and it dawned on me that if something happened to both of us that would be very bad indeed. And that was the start. I grew progressively more afraid. Horrible catastrophes crashed round my mind whenever I rode. I did still ride, and we had horses at livery with us at home, and I could sometimes be persuaded to ride them. The thought of cantering petrified me, and as things progressed, I was scared to even trot.
Both horses alas had to be put down within months of each other, and when their owner, who was really the one responsible for making sure I did get on a horse occasionally, emigrated, that was really it for me and horses. I didn’t trust anyone else to listen to me, or to take my fears seriously. It was much, much easier not to do it at all, and so that’s what I did.
Until 2022. I felt such a fraud, having a horse-based business and never going near one. When I found myself scared to even approach a horse standing at a fence, I thought something really needed to happen.
WHAT CHANGED?
I belong to Rhea Freeman’s Small and Supercharged Mastermind group, and we were having a Zoom chat. I can’t remember how the subject came up, but I told Rhea and Ruth (of Dressage Anywhere) what a fraud I felt, and how I really wanted to do something about getting on a horse again before the year was out. Even as I was telling them, my stomach was clenching with fear, and I was safely sat at my computer.
Why don’t you try Jane Brindley?, they said. Get some help with the basic problem.
To cut a very long story short, I had some therapy with Jane of Horse Riding with Confidence Scotland. I talked through what had happened, and we did some work over a couple of weeks on processing what I thought would happen when I went near a horse. We worked on techniques to distance me from what I was feeling. It really helped.
I could actually think about a horse again without my stomach spasming with fear, and that was a huge step forward. In an odd way, my stomach got there before the rest of me, because that was fine after just one session. My mind took a bit longer to catch up.
I admit I didn’t then spring straight on to booking a lesson. I managed to waste time doing ‘research’ on the best place to go, wasting yet more time by telling myself I needed to find somewhere close so I didn’t waste petrol and wreck the planet. (Do still feel guilty about that, by the way.) I then dithered between a traditional riding school, and a classical equitation centre.
Actual riding
I finally decided I’d book a session at Historic Equitation, which I thought was not going to be the sort of riding school setup where if you timed your ride wrong, you would be stared at by a load of very critical teenagers. Still bear the scars from that particular, long ago, lesson.
I rang, only to find that Dominic Sewell, who runs the centre, was actually at an event, and would I ring later.
My first reaction was relief. I’d made that first step, so I could tell people I had, but we hadn’t got as far as something written in the diary. So, I prevaricated a bit more, then rang Dom back, really because I’d run out of excuses to put it off.
Can you cope with someone who has completely lost their nerve, I asked. Yes, said Dom. No problem at all. I have some nice quiet horses.
I admit there was a bit of me that thought well, yes, we’ll see.
The first time back
Well, I made it to the stables. Managed to go in, tell someone I was there, and dive off for emergency visit to the loo.
And here is that nice, quiet horse. Esteban.
My aim was just to do a nice walk and not die with fear. Nothing complicated like trot.
I had been quite prepared to go on the leading rein, but Dom walked round with me, and that was fine. It was so, so strange being on a horse. Took me quite a while before I realised that my hips weren’t moving with the horse. Not at all. Sat there like a stone. It really has been like fishing things back through a fog, learning to ride again, but they have started to come back.
Dom then let me walk round on my own. I managed that nice walk, and I did it on my own, and that was huge.
And now?
I’ve not only survived, I’ve found that love for riding again.
And on a note that might be TMI, I have now got to the stage where I do not have to dive to the loo the moment I get to the stables. So there’s that.
I think the hardest thing was getting to the point where I could ask for help. I had an absolute genius for finding reasons why I shouldn’t ride (more on that in another post).
The therapy sessions with Jane gave me the tools to face what was bothering me, and diminish the overwhelming fear into something copable with. I think it also helps to find someone on your wavelength when it comes to actually getting back on the horse because the horse world is, let’s admit it, pretty judgmental at times. Dominic Sewell at Historic Equitation has been brilliant – I think the fact we have an interest in the historic horse in common helps because if I’m chatting on about racing in Charles II’s time, or whatever, I have a lot less mental bandwidth to think oh help.
And yes, I am still riding, a few months later. Here’s Apollo, who puts up with me and my efforts. What a noble creature is the horse.
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