What a Horse Taught Me About Fear

Sometimes achieving your dream doesn’t go as expected.

Photo by Fabrizio Verrecchia on Unsplash

The day Tex stepped off the trailer ramp and into my world was one of the happiest moments of my life. At 44 years old, I’d finally done it — I’d bought a horse.

It had taken most of my adult life to resurrect this childhood dream and bring it to fruition. To push through my excuses and take the risks necessary to invest in myself- inviting joy and pleasure into my life. And for the first few months, it was everything I’d hoped for.

If you know anything about horses though, you know that after the honeymoon period, the testing begins. It’s not so different from any relationship, really. We push boundaries, miscommunicate, and inevitably trip one another’s triggers along the way.

During a particularly challenging moment on a trail ride, we both got scared. I saw it in Tex’s eye as his head twisted sideways. He felt it in my trembling body as I tried to hold on. Both of us frightened, nobody in charge. We disconnected, unraveled, and nearly flipped over in the process. Feeling a 1,200-pound animal churn uncontrollably underneath you is not an experience easily forgotten.

From that day forward, everything changed. I got back on the horse, but the joy was gone. Hyper-vigilant, I looked for threats in every corner. I braced for trouble. In an attempt to get back on course, I brought in expert help. I watched training videos. I read books. I tried everything I could think of that might help me “conquer” my fear.

Then, one sunny day I found myself in the arena with him, his gentle eyes looking into mine. In that moment I realized something I hadn’t yet tried: to simply be with my fear. Accept that it was there. Befriend it, rather than fight it. Explore what it might have to teach me.

I stood in front of Tex and just breathed. In and out. In and out.

Suddenly, I started to see all the places in my life where fear was driving my bus. OMG… lightbulb flash! It wasn’t the horse — it was me.

I realized my life was absolutely ruled by fear. Fear of not having enough. Fear of not being enough. Fear that my marriage was in trouble. Fear that I’d never be loved for who I am. Fear that I was being ground into dust by a job that I was only pretending to love. Fear that the people I trusted were, in fact, untrustworthy. Fear that so many of my choices were adding up wrong.

The horse was meant to be my escape. A place outside the pressures of my life, where I could turn back the clock and recapture those fleeting moments from childhood when I was most fully myself, and free. Instead, all my fears followed me to the barn.

Tex held a mirror up, and I could no longer deny what I saw there. Fear had not suddenly jumped out of the bushes at me that day on the trail. Fear was my constant companion.

I wish I could say that revelation was a turning point for me and Tex. It wasn’t. With time, I accepted that my fear was not his to carry or to cure. The biggest love I could possibly give him was to let him go. After 2 years together I returned him to his previous owner, a woman who adores him and is best suited to meet his needs. The decision broke my heart, but it also unlocked something inside me.

I had fear’s number now and was determined to not let it rule my life or steal my dreams any longer.

I looked at everything I was afraid of, and I got busy.

I quit that job I was pretending to love. I confronted the painful wounds infecting my marriage. I stepped away from people that routinely made me feel bad. I faced fear head on. I acknowledged it was there, but didn’t let it suffocate me. I set boundaries, drew lines, stood firmly for myself.

I raged and grieved. I meditated and prayed. I invested in therapy and found a spiritual mentor. I dove deeper than I ever have before into healing the traumatic wounds from my past.

It has been a few years now since I made the decision to let Tex go. I could have taken the easy road — said it was the horse that was the problem, and that I had good reason to be afraid. There’s plenty of evidence to support that interpretation of events. But I know the truth: Tex came into my life to show me exactly what I needed to see.

I call Tex my Buddha because he invited me to sit with myself. To be with my truth without judgment. Without shame. Accepting what is and learning to work with it, rather than clinging to ideas of what “should” be. Forgiving myself for my imperfections. Loving all of myself, not just the “good” parts. Giving myself the tenderness, compassion, and time that I actually need to heal, instead of soldiering on through life like a warrior.

It all starts with just being with what’s there, not trying to solve, or fix, or dismiss the uncomfortable feelings as they arise.

Day by day. Minute by minute. One breath at a time.

Who knew a horse would turn out to be one of the most profound teachers of my life?