I did not limit my experience of stretching the boundaries of my experience to those of human beings. This chapter included my equine friends and their trainers and owners.
Horses are magnificent and majestic beings. To me, they are almost mythical in the magic they bestow energetically. I have always loved them and owe my first experiences of grounding to them.
When I was a toddler, my family owned a horse and my father would come home from work every day and saddle us up for a ride.
I lived for the moment he would lift me to the saddle and sit behind me. It was our special time to be with each other in the woods.
We were silent and I could feel the rhythm of the horse beneath me and the closeness and safety of my dad behind me.
It felt still and expansive all at the same time.
I could feel the same magic, when, as an adult, I treated horses. I became known as the “Horse Hugger” because my work involved long releases at “transverse planes” of fascia. It looked as if I was moving down the body of the horses hugging them.
All my horse hugging taught me that this work was “real.” A horse was not going to change their gate or experience decreased pain because either of us “willed” it. They were either in pain or they were not. They either moved freely, or they did not.
The human critical mind says, I hurt, I hurt, I hurt.” When they first feel improvement, they say, “I used to hurt, I used to hurt, I used to hurt….”
Not so with horses. They are fluid beings, and their survival depends on flight and movement. The second they are free from pain or restriction they just move forward.
They are constantly in the moment.
They are also energetic and physical mirrors to those that care for and ride them. I treated many of my equine friends’ trainers along with them as their physical restrictions were analogous. Both the horse and the rider had the same issues because they were both only as free to move as their counterpart.
Likewise with their emotional and energetic “state of mind.”
It was a natural progression for my patients to begin bringing their furry loved ones to appointments. I treated cats and dogs and even one bird.
I realized my boundaries were being stretched a bit too thin when there was an ”unwinding” that was so loud my husband stood outside the treatment door wondering if he should call 9-11. The same week a patient barged into my kitchen with her groceries and yet another brought a bunny and a dog which was not exactly a good combination.
It was time to move out of the house with my practice and secure my boundaries. I had learned enough about “how far to go.”
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