Fear
Our nervous system state is inextricably tied to both our emotions and our physical posture. No matter who I’m teaching or what they’ve come to learn, I find myself always coming back to the concept of the nervous system— the big, broad general umbrella of all the systems in our body that work to keep us alive. And how when we or our horses become dysregulated, we trade our ability to live in the moment to simply survive instead.
The automomic nervous system is responsible for unconscious, involuntary movements in our body to either keep us safe in the case of a real or perceived threat (sympathetic system) or conserve energy when we are safe (parasympathetic system). These pathways unconsciously pull our bodies into postures fit for what our brain stem instantaneously decides is safe or not safe. When our sensory systems take in information that suggests that we’re not safe we go into the sympathetic nervous system. If we don’t get enough novel movement to gather enough sensory information to decide, the reticular formation of the brain stem will default us into the sympathetic nervous system as a “just in case” policy. In freeze mode, the tendon guard reflex curls us inwards, dehydrating our fascia and sending our blood inward to protect our most vital organs. In fight or flight, this same reflex system erects our neck and spine, getting us ready to coordinate contralateral movement, while simultaneously dehydrating fascia and directing the body’s resources inward. The body tightens from the big toe, up the achilles tendons, hamstrings, sacrum, the long muscles of the back, up the neck and to the occiput. We all know what this looks and feels like on our horses.
It helps us understand why we can feel tension or pain in our bodies in times of stress, even without physical activity to “cause” it— these involuntary and unconscious processes go on in the body to ensure our survival, and it’s up to us to learn to regulate them so we can begin to live.
“Having a biological system that keeps pumping out stress hormones to deal with real or imagined threats leads to physical problems, such as sleep disturbances, headaches, unexplained pain, or oversensitivity to touch or sound”
Not only does fear (conscious or unconscious) put us into damaging physical postures, but it can dramatically change who we are in the world.
Do not let fear turn you bitter.
Over the last few years, I have watched fear turn some of the most empathetic and skilled horsemen into sour, defensive humans. I’ve seen friends, colleagues, and mentors, all who have experienced something in their lives either with their horses or something fundamental in their broader life, even as a child, lose themselves in survival mode. Without the awareness to learn from the fear, it just leads to discontentment, frustration, stubbornness, and even aggression. I watched a gifted equine therapist abandon her intuition and miraculous energy work for aggressive and contraindicated adjustments to try to prove herself to clients, and look like she was “doing something”, out of a fear of not being seen as good enough and not being able to help those horses. Her fear drove her to pushing horses’ ribs and scapulas into inflamed nerves, harming the horses and losing the trust of her clients and me, her colleague and mentee.
Fear of not being able to help can quickly turn into a reality of causing harm.
I’ve felt bitterness spreading through my own stomach and ribcage out of fear of not being able to make everyone happy– the deep, impossible longing to meet everyone’s needs and keep their horses as happy and healthy as possible.
I’ve seen fear of getting injured by horses drive practitioners I once looked up to to physically attack not only their own horses, but other people’s, when the horse is only responding to the human’s lack of security. We get traumatized and triggered by our experiences, and when we fail to identify fear as fear, we put up strong walls. We might call them boundaries, but in this way they’re used as barriers.
Boundaries are love– Nahshon Cook said that.
And barriers are fear– I said that.
Safety is a feeling.
We’re never truly physically safe, and don’t need to be to experience the feeling of safety– our bodies are perfectly designed to respond unconsciously and quickly to the slightest threat to that physical safety and keep us alive. So too does our sympathetic nervous system respond when we FEEL threatened. Unsafe. Insecure. And it could have absolutely nothing to do with our survival at all. If we imagine a terrifying situation, our bodies respond the same way as if it were happening then and there. Our nervous systems are responsive to both real and perceived threats.
Much like I can make your mouth water by describing warm, gooey, freshly baked cookies– your body behaves as if the cookies are real. When we recall memories characterized by fear and anxiety, we are in fact practicing fear and anxiety at a physiological level.
Many of us actually respond to real, physical threats and dangerous situations with calm, poise, and ease. And yet, the emotional, mental feeling of being unsafe, without the presence of any real physical threat can put us even more in a panic. Or a rage. Or a freeze depending on who we are and what we’ve experienced and who we are.
Then that fear itself, despite its detachment to any physical reality of threat, can actually do damage to our bodies. We see what happens to horses stuck in or continuously looping into their sympathetic nervous systems– how their necks and backs invert, their chests and shoulders compress and narrow, and the hind end slowly loses its ability to carry weight and posture the horse. We see thoracic sling atrophy, suspensory strain and injury, and nerve compression. Mental and emotional stress physically harms the body if we don’t learn how to identify and release tension.
Horse with thoracic sling atrophy and highly compressed front end. Front limbs are splayed and externally rotated to provide the stability that the thoracic sling lacks.
I have developed a strange relationship with pain because of fear. Historically, when I have experienced low level pain, I’ve tended to tune it out and push myself even harder, out of a deeply ingrained (and irrational) fear of not being good enough, or being seen as weak or lazy.
Then when the small pains persisted and my body had to develop compensation patterns, I eventually ended up with acute severe or chronic pain… to which my instinctive response has been clearly identifiable fear– fear of being dysfunctional, crippled, unable to do my job, or that the pain may never go away. And it’s this fear itself that keeps my body in a state of dysfunction. I’m actively working on my reaction and perception of pain. I’m relearning how to listen to my body. I’m learning to address fear and ask it where it came from and what its value is. Through asking and listening, I find clarity. And through clarity I find relief, even from ailments that seemed entirely physical, like my toes burning and blistering.
We have so much more control over our internal, physical experience than we realize. And ironically it comes from radically accepting the LACK of control that we have over our physical environment and interactions with others within it, including our horses. Realizing that our sense of safety is just a feeling, and we get to decide how safe we are. And that we could even produce a feeling of safety and share it with others. Simple, but not easy.
This is deep work, and I’m only just at the beginning of it. And as I go along, and I keep watching what fear does to me and to those that I love, I feel compelled to share this message and hope that we can all start to identify the feelings that come up, ask where they’re coming from, and respond accordingly.
We may wall ourselves up from other humans to feel safe and look resilient, but we cannot hide these insecurities from our horses. They will mirror or respond directly to these feelings. For a horse that already has a dysregulated nervous system, the fear that they sense within us acts as confirmation of their own fears, and we render ourselves useless in helping them cope, and create a barrier to allowing them to help us heal. Then our fear leads to bitterness. Listen to it, and meet it with empathy and tenderness.
We are not available for connection when we are in a state of fear. We may be able to hold down the fort and have obedient horses from that space, but it doesn’t allow room for joy and comfort on either side of the relationship. We blind ourselves to what is within and around us.
What behaviors or feelings do you experienced that may be fear in disguise? How might your experience be different if you changed the way you look at what you feel and what you see? What if your horse is responding correctly to what you’re feeling inside, but incorrectly to what you think you’re showing on the outside? When we find the truth, our horses will forgive us for our lack of clarity or our unkind behaviors. Can we forgive ourselves?
I deserve more than just to survive*.
It’s the trauma that tells me otherwise.
The little t’s that taught me to push
through pain, all hamstrung out,
tongue stuck in my throat,
unable to swallow but not feeling anything
that would keep me
from walking
from seeing
from being productive
from serving everyone
except myself.
Accept myself.
I deserve more than just to survive.
To lie down before the blisters on my toes
light me on a fire without passion
or before passion for healing others’ hurts
burns me into dysfunction.
I deserve more than just to survive.
To see myself from the inside out
without eyedrops
as whole, as capable, as brilliant
as others have seen
but without their words to build my truth.
I deserve more than just to survive.
It shouldn’t take fear to slow me
down enough to feel more
than everyone else’s traumas.
I deserve
to ask the right questions,
to ask how a heart this open
can learn to let go
of everyone else’s wounds
so I can heal myself.
And because the question is true,
I know the answer is something about
saying no
and knowing
boundaries are love
and trusting that I am more than what could fit inside
anyone’s sentences.
And that any sentences
that turn me into someone else’s
past oppressor
do not make me their oppressor
and therefore
I don’t deserve their fear
or fear of them because
I deserve more than just to survive.
*Italicized text are borrowed phrases from Nahshon Cook, inspired from his clinic in Athens, Ohio 2024.
