I recently realized that I don’t often write about my experiences with therapeutic riding and equine-assisted learning. I post enough pictures, I mention it in my blog, and I definitely talk about it to those around me, but I never express my thoughts through writing. And truthfully, I am not sure I can organize my thoughts into just one article, or even all that well. However, I am going to try, because it is one of the few things that I can pinpoint has physically, emotionally, and mentally changed my life.
My first introduction to equine therapy came when I was about fourteen years old. Attending a Catholic high school required me to complete an inordinate amount of service hours each year in order to graduate. At the time, I wanted nothing more than to be riding horses ... not “serving” others. (How odd to think that now, all I want to do is find a career that allows me to do just that.) Therefore, the only “acceptable” solution in my mind was to find a way to combine service with horses. As a result, I began working with a woman by the name of Ann, who used her own resources to provide lessons and therapy to inner-city kids from the “local” detention centers. And so, twice a week I would get dropped off at the stables, a yuppie white girl in a plaid skirt and pressed Oxford, ready to guide kids my own age—with lives completely opposite of my own—through the tasks of grooming and riding their equine partners.
The kids who came for the program were in Juvie because they had committed crimes—arson, theft, violence, murder—and they most definitely did not look like anyone I grew up or went to school with. They clamored out of their buses in dark, oversized clothing—a sharp contrast to my svelte jodphurs and riding boots. They never made eye contact, and their demeanors were more than just a little rough around the edges. However, each afternoon I was there, I experienced something that you really need to see to believe. As the weeks went on, these kids became my peers, and the horses became their friends. Their rough edges disappeared, and they handled their mounts as though they were carrying a raw egg around all day without breaking it. They sat tall in the saddle, they looked me in the eye, and they had conversations without curse words. They delivered pats on the neck to their kind steeds, and for the first time in their lives, no one was telling them that they were “wrong,” a “detriment to society,” or “useless.”
And yes, it has taken me years to realize the effect that those kids had on me, and the hope that existed those afternoons. The “problems” I thought I had as a teenager were not really problems at all. And now, almost thirteen years later, I am having a similar experience with a different group of kids and their families—realizing yet again that the challenges we think we face daily are not even close to those of who may be around us.
Following my experience in high school, I investigated volunteer opportunities with an equine therapy program for kids and adults with mental, physical, and social handicaps.
