Secure attachment to this moment is about finding safety, security, and perfect acceptance of what is, while still being free to miss what was, and long for what will be.
In 2017 I was given the opportunity to practice one of the more difficult principles we teach in Natural Lifemanship – Secure attachment is only found when we are able to feel an internal sense of connection during attachment with AND during detachment from important relationships. The possibility that we can experience a deep sense of connection to others when we are physically alone is, oftentimes, difficult in theory and in practice. I will share my personal story of growth, change, transformation, grief. . . and loss…extreme loss, and how our child helped me better understand that secure attachment extends beyond the relationship with self and others. We can also seek to find a secure attachment to this life and this moment, in general. We can be “securely attached” to a thing, an idea, a moment, a belief. . . Secure attachment extends to “what is”, and that requires the ability to be connected to not only what is right here with us, but also what is gone, or not even here yet.
In Natural Lifemanship (NL) the way we conceptualize secure attachment, connection, attachment, and detachment are important. Specific language and concepts help people effectively transfer learning organically and seamlessly between species and space. This language also provides the space for abstract human concepts to become more concrete and physical, oftentimes making them easier to internalize. Many times in NL physical concepts have an emotional counterpart and vice versa. Attachment can be equated to the sharing of physical space. Detachment can be thought of as exploring physical distance. Both attachment and detachment can exist when there is a concrete felt a sense of connection, as well as an internal sense of connection. Alternatively, a sense of aloneness can prevail regardless of proximity. Children and adults with a secure attachment pattern are able to feel connected and secure in their intimate relationships, while still allowing themselves and their partner to move freely (detachment). It is this kind of relationship that we help people find with a horse – this is part of the reparative experience for our clients. . . and, I would say, for many of us as well.
More about attachment and detachment in therapy sessions can be found in this blog by Kate Naylor. More about how spiritual intimacy grows through connection with detachment can be found in this blog by Laura McFarland. When you sign up for Basic Membership you gain access to more than 5 hours of video demonstrating how attachment, detachment, and connection play out in a relationship that is built between horse and human + more online learning and many other benefits. View all of our membership content here.
But I Miss The Caterpillar…
A year ago, I was reading our two-year-old (almost three-year-old) a book called “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” On the last page when the caterpillar turns into a beautiful butterfly, our child said, “But where is the caterpillar?” I reviewed the process the caterpillar had gone through in this sweet little book we’d read many times, and he said, “But I miss the caterpillar.” We had a wonderful conversation about change and transformation. . . and loss. You see, this conversation happened about two weeks after our nanny, Carolyn – “Kiki” to Cooper – died a sudden, tragic, unexpected, and untimely death. Carolyn had been our full-time nanny, traveling with us as Natural Lifemanship was growing, since Cooper was 3 months old. She was a member of our family, and like a second mother to me in every way. She drove me crazy and I loved her dearly. She made it possible for us to work in a field about which Tim and I are deeply passionate, while still spending as much time as possible with Cooper. . . something about which we’re even more passionate. She helped us raise our child. I think I’ll just repeat that again for emphasis. She helped us raise our child. She helped me, in very practical ways, navigate this whole working mom thing. She loved Cooper and he loved his Kiki. This was a major loss for our family – couched between and among more loss. In the latter part of 2016 and throughout 2017 our family tragically, suddenly, and unexpectedly lost three more significant relationships. We lost two more the “normal” way – it was expected and it was time, and still painful. After my son and I talked about how change and transformation are often accompanied by grief and loss – in two-year-old language, of course – my little boy said, “I miss Kiki too. AND I don’t wike (like) butterflies.” At that moment, stories of Kiki walking the streets of gold, pain-free, with her mother and with her Jesus, did very little to offer me comfort. . . I must admit I agreed with my little philosopher. I do believe death is the ultimate transformation, and I wasn’t particularly fond of butterflies at that moment either!
Death is also the ultimate detachment from the ones we love, and can result in disconnection. . . or not. It takes many of us years to learn how to deeply connect with those we can see, hear, feel, and touch (attachment). It is often much harder to find that connection when we are physically separated (detachment). Connection with distance takes practice and intentionality and a willingness to sit in the pain of disconnection, for moments, instead of avoiding it. It is a secure attachment that helps us navigate detachment and loss. Typically death is much more painful when it results in disconnection. I say typically because I do realize that sometimes death and disconnection are needed for healing and closure to occur. Sometimes death makes it better. There were moments this last year that I felt this disconnection. . . those are the moments when people describe agony worse than losing a limb. . . slowly. . . without any form of anesthesia. I felt that kind of pain over the last year, many times. I felt it in the moments that I could no longer remember someone’s hands. . . or hear their voice. . . or recall their smell. Our child felt it the night he told me, “I don’t remember Kiki” and wept in my arms. At the core of much developmental and attachment trauma, is an inability to find an internal sense of connection to others when together. . . through shared space and experience, eye contact, touch. . . this transfers to an inability to feel an internal sense of connection when there is distance. Of course. I continue to muddle through the agonizing moments of detachment and disconnection. The freedom to “miss the caterpillar” guides me back to an internal sense of connection with relationships that meant so much to me, and mean so much to me. . . still. Feeling “allowed” to miss what is gone helps us stay connected, even when detached. Our freedom to grieve what once was and what will not be in the future opens us up to a connection in detachment.
However, 2017 definitely hasn’t been all about, what most would deem. . . loss. It has been an amazing year for Natural Lifemanship. We have grown, we have changed, and, I would argue, that we are in the midst of a massive transformation. I’m experiencing how these concepts of attachment can be practiced in not only relationships, but also with ideas, businesses, and moments of our lives. I have always loved butterflies. However, butterflies are sort of the end product, and they don’t really live all that long. A close friend of mine recently pointed out that butterflies get all the credit, but that the caterpillar does all the work. For Pete’s sake, The Very Hungry Caterpillar worked his little tail off to grow, and then he had to sit in a dark cocoon for two stinkin’ weeks! Time in the cacoon isn’t just a long nap, by the way. He worked hard! The butterfly’s journey is really that of the caterpillar. The growing pains of this year are no joke! Sometimes I miss the simplicity of 8 years ago when it all began. I miss the caterpillar, but I still long for the butterfly. Transformation is always predicated on the death of something. . .which means that detachment is a vital part of life and growth. If we want to be securely attached – to a person, an idea, or a moment in time – we must have an internal sense of connection when we are attached and when we are detached.
To be securely attached to the present and the future we have to maintain a healthy connection to the present, and future, AND to the past – connection to what is and what was and what could be. They all matter – that which I am attached to today and that which I have detached from – I need to be connected to both. Secure attachment to this moment is about finding safety, security, and perfect acceptance of what is, while still being free to miss what was, and long for what will be (detachment). This is at the crux of what we teach in NL. We learn to find this through the relationship with our equine partner and then transfer this way of being in the world to every part of our lives.
Our business has changed. Absolutely. We have grown up, matured, and deepened. Transformation, indeed. When Tim and I started this business almost eight years ago, we only dreamed about where we are today, but I still miss the caterpillar. Doesn’t mean that I don’t fully love and accept where we are now. Doesn’t mean I don’t long for the butterfly, but the caterpillar did a lot of work. (And still is!)
October 2017, in the midst of all this loss, Tim and I found out that we are going to have another baby! It really is a miracle of grand proportions, a welcomed gift, and. . . a surprise. We also found out just two days before our first ever conference, and before the busiest fall training schedule, we’ve ever had. Can good news come at a bad time? Well? It did for me! I am well aware of the transformative process every part of me is undergoing and will be undergoing as a result of this new life inside of me. I am also very aware of the loss. I kinda miss the naïve bliss of my first pregnancy. I long for the butterfly. I grieve the loss of the caterpillar, and I strive, each and every day to deeply revel in this beautiful moment.
This year has been all about transformation. Our three year old has recently decided that butterflies are okay. In fact, a few weeks ago he pointed to the body of a butterfly in our living room and said, “The caterpillar is still there. It’s just different.” After a long pause and a deep breath, he said, “But I still miss the caterpillar.” This past year I thought we would have to teach Cooper about grief and loss – hopefully, we did guide him through this process a bit – but he taught me about transformation and true connection. What a gift it has been to grieve with my child. Secure attachment is about looking forward and looking back while maintaining a felt sense of connection now – Just like a child builds a secure attachment through this dance of looking forward and looking back, moving toward and moving away, all while feeling the satisfaction of safety and connection to self and others. . . at this moment. I long for the butterfly and this lifelong transformative process, but I miss the caterpillar. Secure attachment in our relationships can’t exist if we feel chronic disconnection when there is distance. Likewise, a secure attachment to what is and to our future only exists when we find a healthy connection with the past. I so look forward to 2018 – the growth, the change, the transformation . . . and the inevitable loss. . . and the beautiful connection that comes in the midst of it all. I miss the caterpillar, and that is okay, because, really. . . I should. Plus, our three-year-old says it’s okay!
Oliver was sitting in a stall with Banjo, holding a saddle close to his chest, slumped over in defeat. It was yet another session that he tried to ride Banjo and failed. The Equine Professional and I stayed connected with Oliver, guiding him through self-regulation exercises and resisting the urge to rescue him or provide detailed instructions. Oliver wanted us to provide direction and he became frustrated at times when we encouraged him to find his own path to connecting with Banjo. Banjo stood beside him, patiently waiting and breathing slowly. Oliver continued to hug the saddle and his eyes seemed to glaze over at times like he was a thousand miles away. Banjo stomped one hoof, then another. Oliver blinked a few times and looked at him. Oliver started to check out again, but not for long. Banjo continued to make the request for him to stay present, using body movement and breath to get Oliver’s attention. Banjo was consistent and they continued this back and forth interaction until Oliver became calm and fully present. Oliver tilted his head and stared at Banjo with a gleam in his eye, a slow smile appeared on his face. It was in that moment, while sitting in the corner of the stall, that hot summer day, that something shifted in Oliver. He dropped the saddle, took a big belly breath and realized that this relationship was going to be different…it had to be different.
Oliver’s chronic anxiety led to an environment where his family managed almost every aspect of his life. He had little independence. At 12 years old, he was sleeping in his parent’s bed with the overhead light left on. Oliver was afraid of the dark, among other things. With peers, he tended to be controlling and confrontational; he struggled with reciprocity in play. During our intake session, Oliver hid behind his mother, continuously rolling his eyes, speaking in a goofy voice, and laughing nervously after everything he said. He avoided eye contact and deflected direct interaction. His parents answered questions for him. When we redirected our attention to Oliver, he appeared startled and confused, like he had just woken up.
After picking Banjo that first day, Oliver walked, almost stomped, directly to the barn. We had to jog a bit just to keep up with him. He told us he wanted to ride Banjo and looked at us expectantly. The Equine Professional and I paused and looked at each other to check in, communicating non-verbally that we were on the same page. We knew that if we intervened and said “no”, we would be setting the tone for the therapeutic relationship going forward, one of power and control. Instead, we trusted the process, we trusted ourselves, and we relied on Natural Lifemanship Principles. We communicated to Oliver that only he could decide what was best for his relationship with Banjo. Over the next several sessions, Oliver and Banjo danced. Oliver moved forward with the saddle and Banjo moved away. At times Oliver was able to self-regulate, opening himself up for connection. In these moments, Banjo moved closer to him. Oliver got excited, quickly grabbed the saddle and marched over to meet Banjo. Banjo immediately backed away. Eventually, Oliver realized that his agenda to ride was taking him further away from what he desired most, connection.
Oliver then chose to move from the barn to the round pen to work on his connection with Banjo. He often began sessions by pacing around the perimeter of the round pen, pulling weeds and throwing them out of the round pen like a baseball. At first, this startled Banjo, but Banjo continued to be patient and cautious. Picking and throwing weeds was a regulating activity for Oliver that allowed him to connect with himself. His connection with-in opened the door for connection with Banjo…Banjo began to follow Oliver, stopping when he stopped to pick up another weed and launch it outside the round pen. Oliver would then continue to walk and Banjo would follow. At times, Oliver would run around the round pen and request Banjo to follow him. Banjo is an older horse and preferred to walk. Oliver was able to stay connected and realize that Banjo had some requests of his own. Their connection grew stronger. At times, Oliver’s mind would wander while he walked, Banjo would gently nudge him in the shoulder to help him stay present. Oliver found his own way to regulate and connect, by pulling and throwing weeds. This was more powerful than anything we could have suggested because it came from within. It was a reminder to keep the process client-led and provide a space for our clients to experiment and explore.
One day, Oliver came to session after a particularly hard day at school. He was having trouble regulating himself and asked for our help as he sat in the middle of the round pen. I asked Oliver to lie down on the ground and close his eyes while the Equine Professional put Banjo on a lead rope. Oliver became attuned to his breath and the ground beneath him, engaging the lower regions of his brain. We then asked him to bring his awareness to Banjo, bringing his limbic system online. The Equine Professional walked with Banjo around the pen while Oliver kept his eyes closed and tapped into his other senses to locate Banjo. Oliver was engaging in bottom-up regulation. He then used his neocortex to problem solve where Banjo was in the round pen while continuing to regulate the lower regions of his brain by rhythmically rocking back and forth. While his eyes were still closed, Oliver made a request for connection. He wanted Banjo to stop eating grass and to come to greet him in the center of the pen. The Equine Professional dropped the lead rope. We asked Oliver to imagine what it would look and feel like for Banjo to approach him while keeping his eyes closed. “Well, he would take one step forward….then he would eat a little more grass…then take another step forward…then another step” Oliver replied.
Banjo began to slowly approach Oliver, one step at a time while continuing to enjoy the delicious grass beneath him. Oliver became a little impatient. He took a big belly breath and said, “I wish he would just hurry up”. Banjo immediately pulled his head up from grazing and quickly walked over to Oliver, nuzzling his hair when he reached him. Oliver opened his eyes and laughed in pure joy.
Oliver was building pathways in his brain for a new way of interacting with others and began to employ a whole-brain understanding that true connection comes from within.
Although I had been informed ahead of time that the white Egyptian Arabian mare we were working with for our Natural Lifemanship Intensive Training had some facial deformities and neurological issues, I was surprised by the strength of my visceral response when I actually saw her in person for the first time. She snorted through one working nostril perched on a jaw that veered off to the left, leaving her tongue dangling with seemingly no place to rest. Her face just looked so . . .wrong. I felt a variety of emotions: pity, sadness, alarm, revulsion and a desire to turn away, layered with shame and self-condemnation for my instinct to do so. I was both amused and repelled by her name: Dollface. It seemed to draw attention to her deformity without dignifying it anyway. The training participants gave a collective gasp as they approached her pen, and began murmuring among themselves. I knew working with Dollface would challenge all of us in interesting ways. I was curious how her physical appearance would influence how both the horses and humans involved in the training responded to her. Over the course of the training I observed the following:
Over-compensation for a perceived disability
Many people were afraid to approach Dollface or make relational requests. They felt pity for her and didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or challenge her. “Her life is already hard enough,” was a prevailing sentiment. Giving Dollface a pass on taking responsibility for herself had led to a series of behaviors that were damaging her relationships. She was pushy, demanding, and reactive when approached or touched. She clearly wanted to engage but did not know how to do so in an appropriate manner. This left her without the friendships she desired, both from horses and humans. People with disabilities or special needs often report that others make false assumptions about their intelligence or capacity to interact “normally” and treat them like children, speaking slowly and carefully, avoiding eye contact, and acting in a generally uncomfortable manner.
Lack of acknowledgment
In an effort to not treat Dollface differently, some people went to the other extreme of acting as though she was the same as the rest of the horses, hiding or denying any internal discomfort or uncertainty about how to approach her. This set up an emotional incongruence that felt unsafe and confusing for Dollface. She was different. Her appearance did take getting used to. Horses are prey animals, and experience an incongruence between our inner emotional state and our exterior presentation as dangerous and possibly predatory. Acknowledging the reality of the situation and any discomfort we might have about it is an important first step to proceeding in a way that is healthy for the relationship. We first have to become aware of and accept our own prejudices and preconceived notions before we can work on changing them.
Making assumptions
Dollface had experienced some early trauma besides being born with a facial deformity. She was removed from her home after a murder-suicide by a rescue organization that cared well for her physical needs but expected little from her in terms of appropriate behavior due to her history and disability. Because little was expected, little was required, resulting in what you would expect from a spoiled child: selfish behavior. Although this might look like kindness on the surface, horses and humans who are entitled and selfish do not have mutually satisfying relationships. They are tolerated rather than enjoyed. At first I heard a lot of reasons why Dollface shouldn’t be asked to do much relational work in the round pen due to being tired, overwhelmed, or uncomfortable. When people stopped making excuses for Dollface and began asking her in a predictable, consistent, patient manner to stop squealing, biting and being aggressive, she became more regulated and able to connect relationally in delightful ways.
Differences in acceptance between horses and humans
Initially, I wondered how the horses might react to having Dollface in their midst. Only one of them had been with Dollface prior to the training. For the rest of them, she was a newcomer, so I was curious if they might perceive her birth defect as a threat to the safety of the herd. Horses depend on every member of their herd to be appropriately in control of themselves and aware of potential predators and other threats so that collectively they can maintain safety. None of the horses seemed to notice that Dollface was a bit different from them. Other than a bit of interest from one of the geldings when he discovered Dollface was in heat, they treated her exactly as they did each other. They expected her to behave like an appropriate herd member, and let her know when she did not.
Differences in self-acceptance
Apparently, no one ever told Dollface she was different. She saw herself as a completely normal and functional horse. She did not hide herself from either the people or other horses at the training. In fact, her behaviors involved attention seeking; she was not shy about demanding that we spend time with her. She had learned to eat, drink water, breathe and move with her twisted jaw and now that she was learning some relationship skills was also learning to make friends and have mutually satisfying connections.
By the end of the training, we had overcome our reservations about working with Dollface. Our prejudices and fears had been challenged by her self-confidence and insistence that we treat her like a normal horse. One of the participant’s re-named her Hope. That seemed much more fitting for this spunky, endearing, feisty survivor.
An Experience of Connection Over Prejudice Video
Sign up for our Relationship Logic Immersion training at Horse Sense of the Carolinas September 7th-9th, to get an opportunity to work with an untrained horse like Luna (her new name!). The horses at this training are rescue horses that have a story and a past – we hope to positively contribute to their successful placement in a “Forever Home” by helping them develop needed emotional and relational skills. Through this process, participants can deeply internalize NL principles of connection and learn how these transfer to human relationships, including the therapeutic relationship and process. There is a possibility that Luna, will be participating in the training.
As I entered the 2017 Natural Lifemanship Conference I felt very small, and insignificant compared to others there. I felt the need to make myself humble, kind and help out to be seen by others. This was the agenda of my 4yo little girl self that insisted that she must sacrifice her own needs, thoughts and ideas and voice to meet these things in others in order to get attention. She believed the only way to get attention and love is by catering to others and sacrificing yourself.
During the conference, I was fighting to be true and authentic and not fall into this agenda to get attention through submission. As I did so, the tension in my shoulders increased throughout the day. A self-regulation exercise at the conference revealed the tension in my shoulders was connected to the 4-year old self. She was pressing hard onto the upper portion of my right shoulder to cause me to submit, cower down and be passive to others at the conference and I was trying to resist her insistence. She wanted me to accept her way to protect me from getting hurt and trying to connect in the only way she knows how through submission. At that moment, I just assured her that I love her, I see her. I explained inwardly it’s safe to explore a new way, but the sharp pain of pressure in my shoulder remained.
Later that evening after the day was done I found a quiet spot to put on my bilateral nature sounds and focus in on my little girl and that pressure in my shoulder. Quietly and with love I entered into how scared and terrified she was. How she was trying to protect me and help me get attention in the only way she knew how and I was resisting her. I just sat in the rocking chair and loved her, held her, rocked her in that terrified-place she was living. I explained to her this new community of connection the NL community offered is pure and allows her
to be completely herself and that she doesn’t need her old ways of cowering. At this exchange, a deep rumbling of weeping arose within my chest. It rose and fell like waves rising and crashing at a deep place within my core. At the same moment, a great sense of gratitude fell over me. I was grateful with all my being to be now offered the love I always deeply desired.
Though my heart desperately had looked for love all these years, I came to rest on the truth that what I was truly seeking was true, pure, connection that sought good for both in the relationship.
That night at the NL conference demonstration, Tim showed with the horse, Jack, how he gently invited the horse to a pure, true connection that offered good for both in the relationship. It was clear from watching how safe and secure that invitation was. I realized that was what Tim offered me that day in February 2017 at the NL Fundamentals Training during the Rhythmic Riding demonstration. Tim offered me a true, pure connection that didn’t take from me, nor demand any part of me that met his needs. He offered me a
connection that had my back, that held me as the horse did and if I couldn’t connect with the horse, it was ok, he would connect and hold the horse. I only had to connect to me and my deep grief. The grief of having no support for so long and the deep desire to be seen and connected. It was there in that moment with a gentle hand on my leg his touch said, “I see you, I’ve got you, it’s ok, just let go and be held.” When I connected to myself and what I was feeling, it was then that the horse met me there with connection and held me from
beneath. I was not alone. I was held by this beautiful horse that carried me on his back and a man that didn’t take from me but offered to be my strength and stability while I fell apart.
That experience was so terrifying, but so deeply satisfying at the same time. I wanted to run from the eyes and attention of everyone that was holding me at that moment. I was so fearful it would turn against me, but it DID NOT, the care and connection were true and secure. That secure holding experience just made me cry deeper in grief of not having it for so long. Now at 40 years of age, I was being offered it freely by a tender, strong and loving cowboy, a beautiful horse, and a crowd of strangers that desired the same kind of connection.
After the NL demonstration at the Natural Lifemanship conference that night, I rocked that scared 4yo inside of my heart. I cried and cried with the grief of so much time gone by without a secure connection and yet I was overflowing with gratitude my body felt it could not contain. With bilateral nature sounds in my ears, chest heaving, tears falling and body rocking, Texas raindrops began to fall on me. I felt as if a deep cleansing and filling was happening as I received the pure connection this community offered and all of me moaned and cried with gratitude. I sat in that place for a long time. Suddenly out of nowhere, I felt a pop in my shoulder and the pressure that 4yo girl held on me was released. With clothes damp and rain diminishing the thunderous shaking within me softened and became like a soothing lullaby. My eyes closed and a soft sadness fell from that little girl inside. She realized her attempt to protect me had hurt me and kept me from connecting truly with others. With soft whispers and loving kindness, forgiveness and grace was exchanged. Peace within us was found and connection deepened to a quiet place.
As I looked out into the darkness of that cool Texas night I felt a nearby presence that approached more as I moved through this inner exchange. In this quiet place, I realized it was the paint horse I met in the pasture the day before. He was the lowest in the herd and approached them with a fearful submissive stance. I noticed his position then and my 4yo little girl could relate with his position and loved him for it.
That night as inner peace was found, this paint horse stood nearby in the pasture, almost there to acknowledge and honor the little girl he met the day before. I was drawn to get up and go near the fence and show my gratitude for his appearing. As I walked in the darkness in his direction I could feel my attention on him made him uneasy. In honor of his concern, I turned my body parallel to him and looked away, yet stayed connected to him in my heart. I knelt toward the grass to make myself even less threatening and listened as He grazed even closer to me. My little girl self so wanted to have a physical contact with him, but inwardly extended honor and gratitude for him seeing her and honoring her at her most vulnerable.
In desperate waiting for more closeness, out of the darkness the black lead mare ran between us and moved the paint horse far away from me. At that moment, my little girl fell away and my adult self stood up and appeared along the fence. I was shocked and saddened, but also realizing that black lead mare just gave me a precious gift. She reminded me I am no longer a scared submissive little girl, I am a confident and beautiful woman that doesn’t need sympathy but encouragement to move forward, walk boldly and be me. As I made my way to the bunkhouse and prepared for bed that night, I heard a whinny out in the pasture. I felt called to meet it. When I arrived at the fence the black lead horse stood close to the fence and grazed while I stood beside her. Her presence assured me, all was ok and I did not need reassurance from anyone that my experience and my healing release needed validation. All was good in the pasture and she was calling me to graze on and just confidently be me.
July 1, 2021: It has come to our attention that this blog post is being misused on Twitter to justify animal abuse.
Please see the official statement from the author that is available here.
******************************************
Can Animals Consent?By Sarah Schlote
This interesting question, which came out of a post I shared on Facebook (here and here) about a yoga on horseback video that went viral recently, elicits differing opinions. Some claim that consent is a human construct linked to morality, and therefore cannot apply to animals philosophically or legally (calling it anthropomorphism). Others claim that since all mammals share a similar neurobiology, responses to safety, danger and life threat, experience emotions, are sentient and perceptive — and that since both human and non-human animals can express “yes” and “no”, aversion, attraction, fight, flee, freeze, fawn, collapse, submit, and make informed choices — they can indeed “consent” or not (in their own way). This second group suggests that to deny animals the ability to consent is anthropocentric and can be a way to justify the exploitation of non-human animals for the benefit of people.
This article certainly will not resolve this debate, and its goal is not to malign or shame any particular horsemanship discipline, method, or equine-assisted intervention approach. Rather, I hope to invite curiosity and offer a different lens in a spirit of gentle openness and non-judgment about ideas that, while controversial, are nonetheless important to reflect upon.
The word consent means to permit or allow. Barbara Rector, one of the pioneers in the field of equine-assisted practice, understood the notion of consent in relationship with horses. Her exercise, Con Su Permiso, which means “with your permission” in Spanish, speaks to the idea that animals can communicate consent or permission through their body language and that healthy relationships are built on a foundation of mutual respect. Words are not the only way to express when something is a “no” or a “yes”, and Barbara is not the only person championing the idea that horses (and, indeed, mammals in general) can express permission or objection through their body language, of course. But, even so, this idea is not consistently applied in the field of animal or equine-assisted interventions.
A common statement heard in the industry is that the horses are always free to move away if they ultimately do not want to take part in something. However, what is the interpretation if they do not move away? Is it always because they are choosing to stay willingly and without coercion? One might not move away but show other signs of “not wanting to be involved” that are often missed or dismissed. Does that mean that someone (human or animal) who goes into submission, freeze, or collapse in the face of something they don’t want to do or experience is consenting? Shutting down technically is “allowing” something to happen on some level, but only because the other options (fighting back, fleeing) might not be possible or might lead to greater harm, punishment, pain or death. Equating “going along with” to “consent” is a very murky and dangerous proposition. There’s a distinction between being in the lower parts of one’s brain, dominated by survival physiology and reacting out of self-protection (instinctual), and being integrated and able to express conscious choice freely from one’s neocortex, when regulated and connected to self and other. And even this is not a clean dichotomy, but more of a continuum. Regardless, can consent happen when someone – human or animal – is hijacked by fear, terror, or primal subcortical self-protective responses in the face of coercion, control, threat, or helplessness? Can healthy relationships exist under those conditions? And how can there be connection in relationship without consent? Even the polyvagal theory proposed by neuroscientist Stephen Porges proposes that the capacity for social engagement and connected relationships decreases the more the nervous system is activated in sympathetic charge or in a dorsal shutdown.
Evolutionary biologist Marc Bekoff states, “over the years, I’ve noticed a curious phenomenon. If a scientist says that an animal is happy, no one questions it, but if a scientist says that an animal is unhappy, then charges of anthropomorphism are immediately raised. This ‘anthropomorphic double-talk’ seems mostly aimed at letting humans feel better about themselves”(2009). This phenomenon also occurs when people use “human” concepts like “addictions” and “neglect” when referring to other mammals, instead of sterile words like “stable vices” and “deprivation” which minimize and deny that non-human animals also sense and cope with pain and distress in ways that are remarkably like our own. The same also happens when discussing other animal emotions, in spite of the evidence from the field of affective neuroscience, or even when wanting to use the word “trauma” in relation to non-human animals, a leap many are still reluctant to make. The same can be said for extending the idea of consent to non-human animals as well. This does not mean that there are no differences between humans and non-human mammals, for indeed there are. But all too often a false dichotomy between us and them is created that seems to promote the status quo, rather than face the cognitive dissonance or discomfort that comes when recognizing the impact of one’s actions on others.
The following quote aligns particularly well with this trauma-informed perspective:
“Like many vulnerable humans, animals are capable, though often deprived, of making informed decisions about their lives. Animals can express assent and dissent, but we rarely respect their personal sovereignty in ways that acknowledge their aptitude for making choices. Play and cooperation among animals are examples of how animals can express consent with one another, but we don’t speak the languages of other animals, and they typically don’t speak ours. Even when they express dissent to us, their feelings are often ignored. The ways animals are exploited in research, entertainment, food and clothing production, and other areas of human society clearly defy their sovereignty – much like human exploitation does, suggesting that something much deeper is at work here. In addition to the physical violence animals suffer through, they also suffer from fear, anxiety, and depression – like we do – when their personal sovereignty is violated.” –Hope Ferdowsian, MD, MPH
If saying the word “consent” is still too politically laden, too controversial or too far of a mental leap to make, then using “assent and dissent” still conveys the underlying point. Anecdotally and the research shows that mammals – including humans and equines – are capable of choice and expressing their preferences and opinions. This does not mean that learning to tolerate things that are uncomfortable or doing things we or other animals don’t want to do does not have value. There is a need to be able to do so in life, to compromise, to do what needs to get done (even if unpleasant), such as having to do certain tasks or jobs to pay the bills, following through on commitments or requirements (work ethic), or using distraction in order to cope with an uncomfortable or painful medical procedure, for instance. But there is a far cry between getting a horse to comply with a medical practice that might benefit its own health and wellbeing in the long run, and getting a horse or other animal to comply or submit to an activity that seeks to provide some benefit to someone else at its own expense (or, at worst, causes harm to the animal).
While this issue is difficult to resolve at a macro level (such as using animals in medical testing or other industries that benefit humans – a conversation that is beyond the scope of this article), it is much easier to tackle at a micro level, such as in the field of equine-assisted practice, where partnership with a horse should be the foundation for growth and healing. If the healing, growth or enlightenment of one member of a relationship comes at the expense of another whose “no” is not being respected, what message is this conveying? How “healing” is an interaction if the needs of only one are being acknowledged or respected in the process? Doing so comes at the risk of reinforcing an unfortunate win-lose re-enactment that, ultimately, benefits neither and, at worst, is retraumatizing… something that may be all too familiar for either the horse or the human. Peter Levine, founder of Somatic Experiencing® (SE™), uses the term “renegotiation to refer to the reworking of a traumatic experience in contrast to the reliving of it” (In An Unspoken Voice, 2010, p.23). Reliving, or re-enacting, is repeating a familiar situation or dynamic without resolution. Renegotiating is experiencing a different outcome or experiencing oneself differently in a familiar situation, completing what did not get a chance to biologically complete(such as a self-protective response – the traditional definition of renegotiation within SE™) or repairing or restoring what was ruptured, such as relational trust and attunement. For instance, if one of the goals is for humans to connect with animals in a deeper way, how is this possible if the animal’s needs are disregarded in the process and they are tuned out, shut down, frustrated or merely tolerating the interaction? If one of the goals for humans is congruence, assertiveness and greater agency around voicing needs and boundaries, what is being modeled if the equines’ voice and boundaries are disregarded in the process?
It is important to acknowledge and balance the needs of both members of a relationship – even an inter-species one – especially when the relationship is purported to be the vehicle for healing. And, again, compromise and doing things we might not want to do from time to time are also necessary. But there is a difference between getting there through dominance, fear, submission, coercion, and shutdown, and getting there through mutual respect, choice, compromise, responsiveness to signs of “yes” and “no”, and connection. Offering animals choice does not inherently mean that humans have to relinquish theirs – or vice versa. Rather, it is about really hearing what is being communicated and negotiating from there in a way that honours both voices. Even if this is not always achievable for various valid reasons, aiming for win-win scenarios in human and inter-species relationships to the degree that is possible is nonetheless a worthwhile intention.
Even if equine-assisted practices are typically for human benefit, this does not mean that such programs cannot also seek to benefit the animals in some way. At the very minimum, the interaction will be neutral for the animals, and ideally both would gain from the interaction – the ethical concepts of “do no harm” and “do good” apply equally to the human client and the equines involved. The same can be said for the principles of trauma-informed care. Safety, choice, voice, empowerment, trust, collaboration, compassion – and, yes, even “consent” as defined in this article – can be applied to all those taking part, whether two or four legged, to the degree that is reasonably possible. Since these principles are foundational components of human therapy and of animal rehabilitation programs, extending them to equine-assisted practice also makes sense. After all, “a good principle is a good principle, regardless of where it is applied.”
*The word horse in this article was used to lighten the text. The points raised in this post can apply to other equines and mammals as well. Images in this article are by David Karaiskos Photography.
Recent Comments