Saturday, June 11, 2011
In Limbo - Broken
The thing about blogging, at least for me, is that it is a very vulnerable thing. It's my own fault, I've chosen to be very honest about this horse time. I am not the kind of person who can write some sort of Christmas Letter blog where all the stories are about how fabulous the kids are doing without mentioning the daughter in rehab.
Because there are plenty of places where I do write that very thing, all day. It's called WORK. Where the sun is always shining, the birds are tying ribbons in our hair, and things are just getting better all the time, darn it!
I'm even quite good at it. Inspiring some say. But this blog is about being honest, and therefore, about being vulnerable. And not just to whoever reads this. For me the act of putting things into words makes them real in a way that nothing else does. It requires me to examine myself. To embrace what I may not want to embrace. To take in my flaws and weaknesses and realize that they are, indeed, part of me, and are inescapable.
Yet this most recent ... incident...
I just haven't wanted to talk about it. Which is unfair of me, really. The blogs I follow are honest. Are authentic. Are the places where people share the tough times. And while I've bounced around and commented, I swallowed my tongue about my own place in time.
Frankly, I come from a long tradition of suffering in silence. When things go wrong I get in the cave and hide out. It's not particularly healthy and it certainly isn't anything I'm proud of. But if I've been sent to this life to learn a few things, one has got to be to live with the integrity I admire in so many.
Without going into more detail than I can stomach for the moment, let me just share that I had a very scary incident with Smokey. We were on a trail ride with two others and he bolted. Then, crossing a street, he bucked.
I wasn't thrown. I wasn't injured - except where it counts.
I dismounted and my trainer and friend rode him back. She encouraged me to get on her horse, but I was too shaken, too angry. She encouraged me, after a mile of walking, to get back on him.
I couldn't, I wanted nothing to do with him.
Nothing. Not him. Not any horse.
I walked back on a river of anger, fear, humiliation, and sadness for two miles.
I would have kept walking, walking far, far away, but for the email Stephanie sent me.
Which I'll post tomorrow.