Horse-assisted psychotherapies show tremendous promise in helping people with trauma, which is notoriously difficult to treat. Trauma lives not only in our conscious mind but deeper in our nervous system, in parts of the brain responsible for basic survival. We can’t will our way—or talk our way—out of it. Horses can help people regulate those deeper brain regions. Recently I attended a training in one particular therapy model that’s captured my attention. It’s based on healing through connected relationships, beginning with the horse.
The Model
The model is called Natural Lifemanship. I found the name corny at first, but now I get it. Beyond just therapy, this is a way of being in the world—a guiding mindset for building relationships in all areas, with people and animals. The Natural Lifemanship school of therapy is called Trauma-Focused Equine-Assisted Psychotherapy (TF-EAP). It’s based on the structure and function of the brain, and it combines neurobiology with sound relationship principles. People learn these principles in the context of their relationship with the horse and can then transfer them to other relationships in their lives.
The founders, Bettina Shultz-Jobe and Tim Jobe, have backgrounds in psychotherapy with at-risk groups and horsemanship with challenging cases, like wild mustangs. (In his job starting mustangs, Tim could take a horse never before touched by a person and be riding him in a couple of hours—and not through coercive techniques.) In other words, the founders have deep expertise with both horses and psychology. And the method goes far beyond just that “magical” quality that contact with horses can have. This work has clear principles, organization, and purpose and has helped a lot of people.
The Neurobiology
A horse’s brain works in similar ways to that of a traumatized person: the lower, survival-focused brain regions are largely running the show.
The Equine Brain
Horses’ brains are naturally built this way. Compared to humans, horses have a small neocortex, the region responsible for thinking. In herd life, only the lead mare needs to do much thinking. Horses mainly need their fight-or-flight reflexes, and they need to follow the herd. Survival is the horse’s essential skill, and it’s governed by the lower brain.
The Human Brain in Trauma
With trauma, a person becomes stuck in those same lower brain regions. The fight-or-flight response actually has a third component: it’s fight, flight, or freeze. When a person is stuck in these states, the survival regions of the brain get over-exercised, the nervous system becomes dysregulated, and the person has trouble regaining internal calm—the calm that’s necessary for good relationships and physical wellbeing.
That over-exercising of the lower brain leads to two things, anatomically: it builds up the lower brain and simultaneously sacrifices connections to the upper brain regions, where thinking and emotional connection happen. There’s a use-it-or-lose-it phenomenon with brain pathways. A traumatized person has trouble with self-regulation because many of the cross-brain connections that allow us to consciously calm our survival reflexes have been lost—or in the case of childhood trauma, perhaps never created.
Healing the Brain
The good news is the brain has plasticity, and new connections can be formed. The most effective trauma therapy will first regulate the lower brain and then engage the upper brain regions, thereby forming new pathways, helping all parts of the brain to integrate with each other for healthy functioning.
In Natural Lifemanship, it’s crucial to understand which part of the brain a horse or person is responding or reacting from. (Responding is associated with calm, integrated thinking; reacting is habitual and reflexive.) This understanding is important because if someone’s in survival mode and you try to reason with their thinking brain, they’re simply not there to receive what you have to say.
Horses demonstrate this phenomenon. A scared horse cannot learn. The best horsemen understand that training through intimidation will ultimately fail. The horse might robotically comply out of fear, but he’ll eventually make a panicked mistake, or try to run away from the rider’s signals, or become injured from the constant stress. But a horse in a calm, connected state can develop and flourish.
And here’s what gives rise to a powerful road to healing: humans and horses are born with an innate desire to connect.
We want to form safe, caring bonds with other beings; we yearn for experiences of trust and mutual understanding. In fact, as psychology’s well-established field of Attachment Theory teaches, we need those safe connections in order to have a healthy nervous system. Natural Lifemanship uses the power of emotional connection to heal and integrate the brain of both human and horse.
How Natural Lifemanship Works
Although the principles can be applied in any setting, the primary mode of TF-EAP is working with horses in the round pen.
The person gradually builds a healthy, connected relationship with the horse by learning to make requests of the horse, recognize the horse’s signals, and respond appropriately.
This process requires the person to become aware of her internal state, which the horse instinctually senses. (You could do the same outward gestures with different internal states and get a completely different reaction from the horse.) Throughout the work, the therapist and horse together help the person develop self-awareness and self-regulation, as new neural pathways are formed.
If the person’s nervous system is too agitated, the therapist can use specific techniques to calm those lower brain regions. Certain types of sensory input and movement—namely, rhythmic and repetitive—have been found to regulate and soothe the nervous system. (Think of a steady heartbeat or rocking a baby.) TF-EAP therapists use a variety of proven methods to help the client regulate her brain from the bottom up; in other words, beginning with the lowest brain region that needs support. The survival-focused brainstem has to settle before higher brain regions like the limbic system and neocortex can be engaged in relationship-building activities.
The Horse-Human Relationship
A connected relationship is one in which both parties choose to do what’s right for the relationship, and those choices are made freely and willingly.
In Natural Lifemanship, the relationship with the horse is not a metaphor or proxy for a human relationship; rather, it’s a real relationship. Although there’s apparent overlap with many schools of Natural Horsemanship, there are important differences, too. Instead of viewing the human as the horse’s leader and asking the horse to be submissive, Natural Lifemanship seeks a dynamic of mutual respect and trust, with self-regulation and good decision-making on both sides. The horse learns to pause, think and freely choose to do the right thing.
This key conceptual difference arises from the model’s basis in neurobiology. Just as a human can develop new neural pathways, a horse can, too. Interactions with humans offer a unique opportunity to actually build up the horse’s neocortex (and capacity for self-regulation) in a way that wouldn’t happen in herd life.
And because horses are so direct—their responses are immediate and honest—they provide excellent feedback for the person. Horses sense how we really feel. Communication is visceral and genuine. When it goes well, there is a simple, genuine pleasure. Connection is inherently rewarding for both human and horse.
As human and horse begin to co-regulate, they help each others’ nervous systems become calm, integrated and functional. And that quality of mutual benefit is essential for true connection and healing. Natural Lifemanship teaches a profoundly empowering skill: how to develop a strong relationship that’sgood for both parties.
These are two key principles:
“If it’s not good for both, it’s eventually not good for either.”
“Regardless of the task or activity, connection is always the goal.”
These principles can be applied to work with horses and to all relationships with people and animals.
Compliance Versus Cooperation
In order to create connection, we need to understand the difference between compliance and cooperation. Compliance is a submissive action; it’s reflexive and robotic, arising from the lower brain’s survival instinct. On the other hand, cooperation is willing and freely chosen, arising from an integrated, whole-brain process in which the horse calmly figures out what to do.
So how do we tell the difference?
Well, it can be hard, because both can lead temporarily to very similar outward behaviors. Certainly, there are emotional cues, which can be subtle. But the real answer lies in the process.
Asking For Connection
As Natural Lifemanship explains, “Connection is predicated on a request.” In other words, rather than waiting for connection to magically happen, we need to ask for it. And how we ask—or how strongly we ask—has a major impact on the horse’s (or person’s) response.
The teaching is this: neither placate nor coerce. Both those extremes will eventually lead to aggressive behavior from the horse. (And as we talk about the horse here, continue to think of parallels with people.) Between those extremes lies the powerful zone of growth and connection.
An essential part of the process in TF-EAP is learning to make requests in an authoritative, calm manner, using the appropriate amount of pressure.
The Pressure Continuum
In this context, pressure is not a bad thing but just a fact of the universe. Making a request is a form of pressure. The goal is to use the least amount of pressure necessary.
Too little pressure and we’ll get ignored. Too much pressure and we’ll get fight-or-flight-type reactivity. Imagine an example: if someone yells at you when you’d’ve been happy to listen to a kind request, you might be mad (fight) or scared (flight) or too startled to know what to do (freeze).
Similarly, too much pressure can scare or anger a horse. If he’s in this state and still complies with our immediate request, he’s in his survival brain. This is not freely-chosen cooperation, and it’s not connection.
The appropriate amount of pressure compels the horse to search for an answer but leaves his options open, so he can figure it out and make a voluntary choice. This is the sweet spot of learning and relationship-building.
When we make a request of the horse, he can do one of three things: ignore, resist or cooperate. Herein lies one of the most powerful insights of the work: resistance is not necessarily bad. It means he’s trying to find an answer.
If he tries some wrong answers, we just keep the pressure the same. In order to do so, we need to stay calm and maintain control of our body energy, which can be hard to do when we’re not getting what we want. (Master horsewoman Sarah Dawson described this phenomenon during foal training: “I have to be careful I don’t take offense to any of the wrong answers he tries. He’s just trying to figure it out.”) We need self-awareness and self-regulation in order to succeed at this step.
Then—and this is equally crucial—when the horse begins to find the right answer, we immediately release the pressure. Which probably sounds familiar; the timing of pressure and release is the most fundamental skill of horse training. But you’d be surprised how often people mess this up, with horses and with other humans.
In the Round Pen
So, what does all this look like in the round pen?
With the horse lose in the pen, we apply pressure by raising the energy of our body and directing that energy—movement, sound, internal state—toward the horse.
We might lift our arm or swing a rope; cluck or make other sounds; walk more energetically or, at the extreme end, stomp our feet. Depending on the sensitivity of the horse, we could get a response from just a small shift in our energy. The specific direction of our energy is crucial, beginning with the direction of our gaze.
And an important note: we need to learn to raise our energy while maintaining a state of calm. Energy and agitation are not the same thing.
In the following series of photos, I’m working with Cruz on attachment, which is a central part of the method. In this case, attachment means I’m asking him to follow me. Here’s what to look for:
The Request
To ask Cruz for attachment, I apply pressure to his hindquarters. (Another difference from typical horse training, which drives the horse forward from the hindquarters. Here, to ask him to move forward I’d apply pressure near the girth region, where my leg would be if I were riding.) To begin with the least amount of pressure, I simply look at his hindquarters, with my torso pointing toward that part of his body. If necessary, I can increase my body energy and movement from there.
The Release
I want him to turn his attention toward me and begin to move in my direction, so those are the things I reward by releasing pressure—specifically, by lowering my body energy/movement/gestures, backing away, softening my voice, or actually turning and walking away. I don’t reward submissive gestures like dropping his head and licking his lips. If he does those things after I’ve released the pressure, that’s all right; it’s a sign of relaxation (along with yawning, sighing or snorting in that particular relaxed horsey way). But if he does those things in response to pressure, it’s a reflexive, lower-brain attempt at submission, which we don’t want.
The Connection
When he attaches and follows me, I let myself really feel the enjoyment of it—which he senses and enjoys as well.
So let’s begin…
Cruz ignores the subtler signals, so I kiss to him and swing the rope to help me raise my body energy:
He searches for an answer by trotting away, but since that’s not what I’m asking, I keep the pressure the same:
As soon as he starts to slow down and shift his attention toward me, I lower the rope and back away. He walks toward me; I release further by turning and walking away, allowing this sense of connection to soothe my own nervous system:
When he reaches me, I stand with him calmly, letting my body energy completely relax. I scratch his withers, praise him, and enjoy hanging out with him:
Then I ask him to follow me again, simply by looking toward his hindquarters and kissing to him. This time, he responds to those cues—much less pressure than before—and attaches:
When his attention wanders, I simply notice and make the request again, using the least amount of pressure necessary:
Again, he attaches, and we both enjoy the connection:
We finish by standing quietly together again. Even when he looks across the round pen, we’re still connected. He’s relaxed, not alarmed by whatever he sees, and he easily brings his attention back to me (notice the tilt of his ear in the second photo):
Photo series by my husband, Philip Richter
Horsemanship Insights
The legendary horseman Bill Steinkraus wrote, “Since the horse will have the last word in any case, we must try to ensure, through skill, tact, and moderation, that this last word is ‘yes.’”
Natural Lifemanship explains what that “skill, tact and moderation” consists of in its most evolved form: it’s about understanding the horse’s mind, including the neurobiology, in order to form a true partnership.
The very best compassionate horsemen might talk about leadership and submission (both Steinkraus and Sarah Dawson sometimes do, eg.) But in practice, the way they relate to their horses aligns closely with Natural Lifemanship principles. The best horsemen do create partnerships of mutual respect and trust. For them, this framework can provide some new language, a subtle shift in thinking, and a brain-based explanation for why their methods work. Plus maybe a few new tools and techniques, in the round pen and elsewhere.
In other cases, horse trainers could benefit from a major paradigm shift that encompasses not only their ideas but also their actions.
The Main Ideas
Submission should not be the goal. We do need to stop the horse from misbehaving because it’s not good for the relationship. But we don’t want the horse to be stuck in his lower, survival-based brain. We don’t want to dominate or control him; we want him to learn to appropriately control himself.
The most effective trainer neither coerces nor placates the horse. Instead, she uses well-timed pressure and release to have a conversation, with a goal of mutual understanding, trust, and connection. To succeed at this, she must be able to regulate her own internal state, in order to help the horse learn to regulate his. She does what’s right for the relationship, and the horse learns to do the same.
When horses learn to slow down, think, and freely choose to do the right thing, they become not only happier but better at their jobs, whether competing or trail-riding for pleasure.
Connecting in Everyday Life
Although Natural Lifemanship arises from a framework of healing trauma, it can help everyone. We all benefit from enhanced self-awareness and self-regulation. We all benefit from relationship-building skills. Through this work, we can learn to stay calm and grounded when faced with challenge; to enjoy more fully those moments of connection with others, and to create the most fulfilling relationships possible with people and animals.
A Few Takeaways
Make connection the priority.
Whether talking with coworkers, walking your dog, or working out a disagreement with a family member, prioritize connection and you’ll get a much better outcome. Rather than fixating on issues, trying to control others, or insisting you’re right, try to connect. This approach leads to considerate listening and more genuine self-expression—which make for better immediate experiences and healthier relationships.
Plus, connection feels good; it cultivates wellbeing for yourself and those around you. As you go about your day, remember you can connect with others even in casual interactions.
Do what’s right for the relationship.
Let this principle guide you in your relationships with people and animals. Do what’s right for the relationship, and ask the other to do the same. This means you’ll communicate what you need and be aware of the other’s needs. You’ll make your own requests and listen to theirs.
Be aware of how much pressure you’re using.
When you communicate with others, be aware of how strongly you’re coming across. Think about what constitutes pressure in a given situation, and be mindful of how you apply it. Use the least amount of pressure necessary to get a response. And make sure you learn how to take the pressure off when you need to! (To learn more about this, you can attend a Natural Lifemanship Training.)
Cultivate your self-regulation.
In order to make use of these ideas, you need to be able to regulate your own system. Like well-traveled paths in the woods, the brain pathways we repeatedly use become our go-to reactions, while the ones we don’t use wither away. Notice your habitual thoughts and reactions. Learn to pause. You might make some subtle shifts that have a profound effect on how you feel and how you relate to others. A daily meditation practice can help.
Natural Lifemanship is both a science and an art. It helps us heal and evolve so that we can, in turn, have a positive impact on those around us. And the bottom line is, it just feels better when we live by these principles.
See more, and meet the horse-celebrity Grappa, at GrappaLane.com.
In truth it was the horsemanship aspect of NL that hooked me first. I didn’t grow up with horses. I didn’t grow up in barns with trainers, no competitions or shows, no one telling me how it should be or what is the ‘right’ way. In 1998, I was a sophomore at Prescott College and I met a woman named Barbara Rector. I don’t remember the name of the class she was teaching, something about horses and healing … it caught my attention and that was the beginning of something great. Barbara opened a window in my heart and gave me a glimpse of what’s possible between horses and humans. However . . what I found outside that environment was confusing.
After I met Barbara I dove head first into the field of ‘Equine Assisted’ services. I pursued the field academically and practically as I started to develop my own thoughts and ideas in the world of horsemanship. What I found in that world was that there were a LOT of opinions. And most of those opinions required me, the human, to take care of the horse. To manage the horse. To tell the horse what to do. It never made sense to me and yet it seemed like it was the only answer… clearly horses couldn’t take care of themselves. And so my journey began. Because I didn’t feel I had enough knowledge or experience, I decided I needed to learn as much as I could from other equine professionals. I met some absolutely brilliant ‘horse people’. I stayed on that path for many years, trying to make sense of something that never felt quite right.
In 2015 my partner, Matt, and I purchased Dandelion Farm and moved Discovery Horse and our herd of 8 horses home in the late fall. I had been anticipating this day since 1998. I was terrified and excited. I was committed to find a way to live and work with my horses that felt good for everyone. That encouraged us all to grow and be accountable. That felt safe and equal. That fostered connection. I was committed to listen, to make mistakes, to apologize and I was committed to showing up.
Slowly but surely, I started to see how this new way of being together was affecting the herd. I saw more confidence, less reactivity. They ran TO me when I went to the pasture. They couldn’t wait to get up to the arena when people were here. When people came to the farm I allowed space for them to step into that sort of relationship experience with a horse and amazing things were happening. I really started to question how one form of training could work for every horse. I was seeing in my own herd instances that defied that logic. I started to understand that being with horses is more about the relationship than it is about knowledge and rules. A relationship that invites each person/being to be their own expert in needs, wants, boundaries and connection.This was an incredible revelation but one that left me feeling weak in the knees . . because being in this sort of relationship with the herd required me to trust myself, and to see myself as an expert, a task I have spent years working on but by no means have mastered.
So here I was. Armed with this new revelation, finally feeling good about how I was showing up with my horses, yet still feeling isolated in my belief systems. I struggled to find language, confidence and community to foster what I was practicing.
Enter Natural Lifemanship. In June of 2017 Discovery Horse hosted a NL fundamentals training at our farm. Our trainers for the weekend, Reccia and Claire, presented the attendees with a challenge . . . a request . . . they asked us to believe, for the weekend, that horses could make choices. I’m not sure . . but I think I might have actually ‘whooped’ in agreement. As the weekend progressed I felt as though Reccia and Claire were speaking my language while at the same time opening my mind to a whole new way of supporting my clients, my animal partners and myself, from a place of science and principals that made absolute sense and fell in total alignment with how we had been operating at Discovery Horse. And I found a community that honors the horse as an equal partner and views our connection with horses as not only foundational to our work, but as real and vibrant relationship in its own right. I left that weekend feeling empowered by the fact that I wasn’t alone.
At the time of this writing, I am nearly done with the process to become dually certified as a Natural Lifemanship Practitioner and Equine Professional. As a practitioner of the Equine Gestalt Coaching MethodⓇ my scope of practice is coaching and equine-assisted learning. I am a consummate seeker of knowledge and experience and have been certified and trained with some of the best individuals and models our industry has to offer. The NL model has provided me with a framework that beautifully encapsulates all of my background and training while the principles tie it all together. Since June I have attended a mustang intensive in CA, attended the first NL conference in TX and I participated in a group consultation as part of certification. I have been consistently impressed and inspired by the staff of NL and the individuals that choose to embrace their work.
I have been very impressed with the depth and professionalism the certification process provides. I am a business owner, coach, horse professional, mom and spouse and the flexible learning platform made it possible to add this to my already full life in a successful way. The community itself is exceptional. The conference was one of the best I have attended, providing staggering amounts of information and representing all facets of equine-assisted professionals. Tim and Bettina truly foster a non-competitive environment focused on growth and learning. The word ‘authentic’ rings true at a deep level. It is clear that this is a community committed to doing the kind of work that changes lives.
Ultimately the principles of NL require us to take responsibility for ourselves while in relationship, which of course requires connection. I have integrated the NL model into many of my client sessions and have consistently seen results that exceed expectation. I like to imagine a world where this happens as the rule and not the exception. I am so stoked to see the impact NL is having on our industry and the relationships we have with our equine partners. I believe that the power of their principles reaches far beyond the field of trauma. . . .it is really a recipe for life as their name so beautifully implies!
As a student of Barbara Rector’s we were asked to make a safety agreement as a group before we began our work. The agreement Barbara used was:
“I agree to be responsible for myself today, thus contributing to the safety of this group”. Not until the moment of writing was I aware how full circle this statement would come in my life. After 20 years of searching, Natural Lifemanship has helped me access my ability to trust myself, allowing me to confidently embrace and facilitate the horse and human connections I always knew were possible.
Experience the Natural Lifemanship principles for yourself and find the pieces you’ve been missing as well by signing up for one of our trainings in your area. Also, be on the lookout for our trainings coming up in 2019.
Leslie and I arrived at Miracle Farm in Brenham Texas with great excitement for our Natural Lifemanship Rhythmic Riding Immersion. This was the next stage of our education: an advanced intensive training designed to help us experience and understand more deeply how rhythmic patterned sensory input and movement helps a person learn to manage – or regulate – themselves through stressful or emotional moments of life.
Research shows that connected, attuned and healthy relationships are the paths (literally: neural pathways) to building resilience and to overcoming the effects of complex trauma on our brain and our body. To create that kind of relationship, a person has to be able to manage themselves first; to understand when fear, anger or defensiveness is present, and to be able to do something constructive with those feelings. We call this “regulation”.
Our group for this training was small, and the trust for each other was immediate. That, we would soon learn, was important as the work we were to do over the next three days was going to require vulnerability, persistence, failure, change, support and a willingness to risk it all. Our goal was to build a relationship with a horse that puts connection above all else, recognize when “compliance” or “dissociation” is offered instead of connection, and actually ride/dance to the rhythm of music by the time we left on Sunday.
To prepare ourselves for the work at hand, each day started with a mindfulness practice and drumming exercises designed to get us in touch with our own internal rhythms, and to find ways to merge that with our partners. Together we had to learn to dance independently and also in sync, often at the same moment.
We met Pete in an open arena with four other horses. He seemed somewhat willing to notice that we were there and offered, at a distance, a bit of connection. Pete stood alone and independent, he was attractive, and had the cutest white snip on his nose. Leslie and I chose him as our relationship partner for the weekend.
Other than the fact that Pete lives at Miracle Farm, we knew nothing about him. We were excited, and began the process of attuning our senses to Pete’s non-verbal communication, his rhythm, his desires and his ability to connect when asked. It was Leslie’s job to establish our first connection and to obtain his consent in putting on a halter, but only five minutes into the process we knew one thing more – when asked to connect Pete can be aggressive. Ears pinned, nose out, and at a fast pace, he moved toward Leslie. He made it very clear how he felt about connection with us and our request for relationship!
Deep breath; we had our work cut out for us this weekend. Was this acceptable behavior? Do we recognize similar behavior in other parts of our lives? How do we respond? Do we allow it? Does Pete really desire a connected relationship with us, or is that just our “thing”? And how do we help Pete change this mal-adaptive behavior (behavior meant to keep him safe in other situations, but not appropriate in this situation) through a connection and not by punishment?
Over the next three days, Leslie, Pete and I climbed what seemed to be a staircase. With each step up – and often when we felt like we’d left the aggressive behavior behind – Pete brought it out again. At first we were shocked, certain that we had overcome that on the previous step! By Saturday afternoon we kept seeing the same pattern emerge. Every time we moved forward with deeper connection Pete became very uncomfortable. His stress started to rise and the negative behavior returned, however now a new adaptation was added: whenever the stress reached a certain point, Pete started to pump his hind legs up and down. We thought that he was trying to regulate, but dang! Was all of this too much? Should we slow down? Should we speed up? What? Clearly, Pete was not the only one going through this process, and Leslie and I learned to open ourselves to the feedback from each other. Whenever one of us began to doubt the process or our attempts to move through it, the other filled in with support. We often wondered if it was Pete’s behavior that was causing the defensiveness in our own brains and bodies, or – was it the other way around?
By Sunday morning, we were not sure that our rhythmic ride was going to happen by the afternoon. We were open to all possibilities and stayed committed to an attuned connection with Pete. However, by mid-morning, Pete had said “yes” to the bareback pad, and so it was time to ask if we could ride. Like all of the previous steps, he aggressively said “no” at first, only this time we got to “yes” much quicker. I was the first to ride, and within minutes we were fluidly moving around the pen. We found stop, go, left and right without the use of my hands or reins. Leslie had the same type of ride. We exhaled and broke for lunch early. The three of us had overcome what had once been a brick wall boundary – together.
After lunch, we saddled up, and it came as no surprise that Pete provided us with the opportunity to work through some more stress. But now, his former aggressiveness had changed to just a little bit of defensiveness. Once again, I was the first to step on and this time there was nothing to work through! Pete and I headed to the big arena, both of us a little nervous for the unknown that lay ahead. Two songs played as we warmed up in a walk, and then my first song (“Fly” by Celine Dion) came on. Pete and I found our Rhythm quickly, but I honestly have no idea how we did it. There was no technique involved; we just felt each other. We found a walk and a trot beautifully, and – somewhere in that song – we found trust. We were totally connected, both of us feeling the power of the moment.
Then it was time to step off. I was overcome by the intensity and the work of the weekend that had culminated in the past 30 minutes that, as a person who has many horses living on her own property, I had never felt before.
Then, it was Leslie’s turn to fly. And while that is her story to tell, I believe she had a very similar experience. I kept the beat for her as well, and the final song found the three of us walking together, Leslie on Pete, she and I holding hands. Only the three of us could really know where we had been together, all that had been accomplished, and the connections that had been developed between us.
At the end of this type of immersive experience there is usually an opportunity to reflect on and talk about all that you have learned. It is these final moments of the training that Leslie and I learned a little more about Pete. He had participated in these type of trainings before, but he had never been able to complete them. His aggressive and defensive behavior had been evident, but he had also displayed signs of colic (stomach ache), severe diarrhea, and lameness. In fact, Pete had recently seen three different veterinarians in the farm’s attempt to figure out what was causing the lameness issues. They saw it, but could not find any medical reason for it.
Unbeknownst to us, Miracle Farm and Natural Lifemanship were wondering if Pete’s physical condition had something to do with his adaption to his environment and life on the farm. Leslie and I happened to be next in the line of folks that had the opportunity to help him work through his difficulties. We saw his shallow breathing, we heard the stomach rumbling, and we were aware of several other physical aspects of his adaptive behavior, but he never colicked, and he absolutely never took a faltering step during our rides of a lifetime. Pete made it through – he had crossed a threshold that he had never crossed before. Along the way he had also developed some new neural pathways that would allow him to do it again. Leslie and I are so grateful for those that had helped Pete before us, and were honored beyond our imagination to have been on the part of the journey that allowed him to cross the final threshold.
This was an intense weekend. At each step along the way we had to be willing to risk the relationships we had developed to see if we could take them one step further, one step healthier. This is the work that our clients – individuals who have experienced complex trauma in their own lives – their families, and their friends must be willing to do in order to heal and regain their life and relationships.
We see this frequently at Windows to My Soul. An individual makes a huge breakthrough, or finds a subtle change that allows them to deepen their connections and discover more resilience, direction, or empowerment. Yes, it can and does happen, but it is often not a “big bang” moment. We frequently have to climb that same staircase that Pete climbed, and with every step there is the opportunity to develop a new neural pathway to success instead of the old one that has us stuck in and feeling trauma. Over time, conscious choices begin to help direct us toward the new path, leading to an implicit neural pathway that creates successful, healthy, connected relationships automatically.
We know that the next time Pete is asked if he would like to participate in a training or carry a rider that his brain and his body might feel and express the same automatic reaction (old neural pathway) to the request. But we also know that he has developed a new pathway that will allow for healthier relationships, and an ability to help him recognize the universal need for connection. Once, only one choice was possible for him. Now there are two.
It is Leslie’s and my sincere wish that Pete will be surrounded by folks who understand that, and are willing to support Pete as he strengthens his pathways to connection, particularly when reverting to the old pathway can be so much easier.
And if Miracle Farm is ever ready, our trailer will be hooked and ready to roll to Texas! Pete has a forever home at Windows to My Soul, any day, any time.
Edited by: Leslie Exter
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Typically, when we think of objectification we think of the overtly negative kind. Women’s bodies as objects for other’s consumption, children as extensions of ourselves, or the Earth as a disposable resource for our own benefit. Yet, a more subtle objectification is alive and well in human nature – that is, the deification of someone or something, the act of putting someone not below us, but above us and on a pedestal.
This can be seen clearly in the equine therapy world, where there seem to be two opposing camps at odds with each other. One believes horses are a useful tool for the healing and growth of humans – the other believes horses to be wise beyond measure, bordering on otherworldly, and having unknowable gifts to offer us.
The “horse as a tool” camp has a long history; throughout their generations, horses alongside human beings have been work animals. They carried warriors into battle, pulled farm equipment, were a mode of transportation, and then more recently, a source of recreation. None of these activities with horses lends itself well to seeing them as sentient beings. To care for them and think about them as we do a human would interfere with the work. And generally speaking, humans also have a long history of seeing animals as fundamentally different from us; they couldn’t possibly share in our experiences, feelings, and needs. Much of horse training reflects these beliefs – domination, power, and control continue to be the go-to for working with horses, no matter their job. For this camp, horses are considered less intelligent than humans, less capable of self-control/self-determination, and certainly in need of our leadership. In equine therapy specifically, this plays out as horses being a facilitator for therapy and not much more. They are an object for practicing leadership skills, setting boundaries, for guiding through obstacles; and when the horse listens and does what he is told, we humans feel strong and confident. Also in the “horse is a tool” camp, there is the horse that isn’t even a horse – he is a representation of my angry father, or my cold mother, or my demanding boss. He doesn’t necessarily have to do anything to make me feel that way, I just feel it because I needed to – and the horse was there to embody those feelings for me. It’s easier to project onto him than onto an inanimate object, like in the empty chair technique commonly used in office therapy – and easier to project onto him than a real person, because a person is inclined to express their own thoughts and feelings that don’t fit for our projection. The horse’s feedback then, his own experience and behaviors are not often taken into consideration – it would give him more dimension than would be helpful in the “horse as a tool” paradigm. He is something of a chess piece moved through a session in order to produce feelings or reactions in the human client. His presence is very useful, but he is not an individual and there is no dual-sided relationship there. The relationship is all on the human’s terms.
In more recent years, thanks to science and some evolution of thought, we are beginning to be reminded that humans are also animals, and perhaps not that different from those who surround us. More consideration for the welfare and internal lives of horses has arisen – a very good thing. However, it seems we are overcorrecting a bit, and now witnessing another camp forming. Or actually, simply growing in prominence – as this camp has been around as long as the first, really, but gaining traction in this new attempt at honoring the horse. This second camp sees horses not as tools or mere utilitarian devices, but as powerful spiritual guides, insightful creatures with gifts for healing. In this camp, horses are mystical, operating on another plane of existence, and here to give us messages that our limited human brains cannot detect for ourselves. They are, in a sense, deities walking among us. Some would say this is a beautiful correction to the idea of horses’ as lesser beings and tools for our use. But, to me, this is simply the other side of the same coin.
If a horse is a tool we use him for our benefit, and often miss the real flesh and blood animal standing in front of us. We see only our desires for him, our own goals, our own path. We control him to practice leadership or we project onto him to provide catharsis, and we worry very little about his own desires and needs. We don’t take in his presence, his behavior, as information on how we can change to be in better relationship with him, this specific horse. We miss that he is perhaps checked out, or stressed out, or confused and irritated – because we just want him to do what we ask, or represent someone he is not. But the flip side is not much better – here’s the thing, if a horse is a sort of a god – a creature capable of telepathy and mystical healing, he is STILL an object. In this camp, much value is placed on the act of just being with horses. It is often argued that simply sitting with them provides healing, growth, and insight. Now, as a horse lover myself I can honestly say there is something lovely about sitting with horses. There is a peacefulness there, and much like meditation, when I am still and peaceful I have clarity of mind. But to say the horse, while grazing and drinking water and pooping on the ground, is sending me messages from others on another plane of existence, is telepathic somehow, is to continue not seeing that horse, for who he is. He is still an object, a representation of my inner world. (Not to mention, feeling peaceful while sitting with horses may feel nice, but it is not therapy. We cannot ethically call this sort of work psychotherapy, we cannot bill insurance, and we certainly cannot be taken seriously by the psychotherapy and medical fields. Feeling peaceful momentarily or experiencing catharsis does not equal therapeutic growth. )
There is a fine line between being spiritual and twisting spirituality to suit ourselves. This treatment of horses crosses that line, frequently. I by no means intend to suggest that a spiritual connection with a horse isn’t possible – on the contrary, I firmly believe it is. But, I have seen time and time again this desire for a spiritual connection taken to an extreme that renders horses one-dimensional, and even more upsetting, continues the destructive paradigm of power and control – the exact paradigm this camp set out to destroy! When the horse is simply a conduit, a reflection of our inner world, or a creature on a pedestal, we still control him. We decide what he tells us and when, we decide what his behavior means to us. We go to him when we need something from him, and think little of how our interactions could be mutually beneficial from his perspective. What disturbs me about the blending of the spiritual with horses is I rarely hear of someone getting a negative message from their horse. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard people speak of communing with horses and receiving the message, “I don’t really want to be around you, will you go away?” – and yet, I see horses respond to people, through their behavior, with this exact message frequently. So what’s happening here? To me, it is the disconnect between reality and human projection. We want to control the information we receive. No one wants to hear that they are a mess and not fun to be around. But, spirituality, when it is done in the search for wholeness, has real darkness to it. There is brutal honesty, grief, and unpleasantness when we dig deep – as well as the good. If your spiritual connection with a horse is all telepathic sunshine and rainbows – it might be worth questioning. It’s scary to release control of both sides of the relationship, but it is also where the real, tangible healing happens – healing that can be carried forward into new relationships.
Horses are animals, mammals, similar to us in some ways and different in others. They have their own desires, their own needs, and their own priorities. We, over the centuries, have domesticated them and insisted they live alongside us. The least we could do is learn about their communication, their behavior and do our best to see each of them as an individual. Whether we see the horse as a tool or an otherworldly being – what ultimately suffers is the therapy, and the horse’s welfare. (Keep an eye out for blogs on those topics later).
Until proven otherwise, what we currently know is horses communicate through body language – the combinations of tension and relaxation, ear position, movement, and more. In a therapy session, when a horse leaves us to go drink water – is he telling us that our soul is thirsty and it’s time to take better care of ourselves, or is he rejecting our attempts at connection just like our mother…or is he simply an animal that needs to quench his own, literal, thirst? Which one is based in his reality, and which one is something we decided based on what we wanted to hear/feel/see in the moment? Not to mention, what does this do to the therapeutic growth of the client – to ignore a simple behavioral choice and pile countless meanings on it instead? To interpret behaviors as more than their face value? To expect telepathy? Have you ever experienced that real desire for your spouse to read your mind? To just know you wanted or needed something without having to ask…and for those of you who have been with a partner for a long time – how often does this telepathy occur? For my clients, this sort of thing is often what landed them in relational difficulties in the first place – mind-reading, meaning-laden interpretations of behavior, projection. These are road blocks to true connection – love based on reality, intimacy, authenticity. I, for one, do not want to recreate these unhealthy patterns in my therapy sessions, and therefore, cannot try to control the horse, dismiss the horse, or deify the horse.
The thing that makes me the saddest about these two camps, besides the possible damage done to clients and horses – is that both are missing out on the very real relationship that is possible. I can’t have a connected, nourishing, and challenging relationship with an object like I can with a sentient being. And in therapy, a lack of real relationship restricts significant opportunities for lasting healing. This is different from the cognitive shift that can happen when I see my mother in the horse’s behavior, or lead a horse through an obstacle course, or hear wisdom from within when I sit quietly watching horses graze. None of these activities require the horse to be a sentient being, a unique individual – this same work is being done with furniture in an office, or drawings, or solitary contemplation. And while, of course, these activities with horses can be beneficial, it is difficult for these benefits to last. For lasting change, our brains and bodies have to practice a new way of being – insight alone is not enough. Consider how many people you have met who know the right things to do, and simply can’t do them consistently (myself included!). The beauty of the horse as a sentient being, a partner in therapy, is that I can build a real two-sided relationship with him. I can try to engage, ask things of him, have him ask things of me; I can make mistakes and see the horse’s negative response, and then I can repair those mistakes and see the horse’s positive response. It’s harder, and it’s more vulnerable. There are moments when I will be greatly humbled, and moments when I don’t get what I want. But, it’s also real. With time, I can learn his preferences and he mine – and we can navigate the difficulties of boundary setting, intimacy, listening, and asking. I can learn, deep in my bones, how to be in a healthy partnership where we both heal, and then I can practice it each time we are together. And when I do that, I can go back to my human relationships with new ways of being, not just thoughts. My human relationships transform – and isn’t that the ultimate goal of therapy with horses? To heal not just in session, but out in the world too? But none of that is possible if this specific horse, with his specific temperament, isn’t truly seen for who he really is. Not for what he represents and not for what he can do for me.
Some folks may assume I mean that these two camps aren’t ever doing good work, or that there is malice in these approaches. Neither is fully true. Good work can be done, and it is human nature, not evil, to try to control others and our experience. My argument, though, is that there is a third way. A way in which horses are neither less than or better than, but animals just like us; full of foibles and bad habits and grace and healing – and in this third way are both the human and horse honored for their real, flesh and blood contribution. My argument is for letting go of controlling the other, so we can see what is really there, right in front of us.
You’ve all seen them; those kitschy t-shirts, hats, and signs that proclaim, “My horse is my therapist.” I openly admit, I’ve contemplated buying one of those before or making a sign of my own with this endearing saying for the barn or my home. I liked it. It hit home for me. I felt it concisely and cleverly conveyed the feeling of appreciation and gratitude I feel for what not only my horse has done for me, but for what hundreds of horses I’ve worked with have done for me and so many others. To be frank, I didn’t actually think about it too much. I felt something about it, my left brain filtered it into the “good” category and I moved on from there. I never bought a shirt or hat or made a sign, but it remained in that “good” category in my brain until recently.
I haven’t noticed the saying pop up anywhere in a long time, but just a few days ago, I heard someone say it in passing. I didn’t notice any kind of new thought or feeling about it as I heard it, but I noticed a sensation in my gut. Since I’ve been working diligently the last few months to become more connected and in tune with my body, I was immediately able to recognize that sensation as a warning signal. This particular signal usually means something feels unsafe, incongruent, or off in some way. I was busy with something else that needed my attention at that moment, so I simply took note of my body’s response and set it aside for later reflection.
What about that saying would cause a visceral response from me? Once I had a moment to reflect, it took probably .22 seconds for me to find the answer. You might think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. See, when I open the door for the higher regions of my brain to listen to and connect with the signals coming in from the lower regions and my body, it literally takes my brain that long to process the information. Well, no one has scanned MY brain and measured it, but neuroscience says that’s about how long it takes in a human brain, so I think it’s a pretty fair estimate to say that’s how long it took mine to come up with the answer. And it’s a simple yet complex answer.
The simple part- my horse is NOT my therapist. My therapist is my therapist. My horse is my horse. (Hmmm…I like that saying. Could this be the next NL t-shirt?) The complex part- I feel good when I am around my horse, which can actually be very therapeutic for me. But that doesn’t make it therapy. Seriously, have you ever been to therapy? I have and I can say when I get in the weeds and start doing the hard work on myself, it does NOT feel good. Let’s say it doesn’t always feel good when I’m working with my horse because I do have to work on myself in the process. It can still feel like therapy when I am with my horse, which can feel like my horse is conducting therapy on me. But she’s not. She’s just being a horse interacting with a human. Just like my dog is being a dog interacting with a human when we are together. Just like my dad is being a human interacting with his daughter, and my brother is being a nuisance..err.. I mean, human interacting with his sister, and the cashier at the grocery store is being a human interacting with a customer. And since I have come to learn to see horses as beings just as capable of making requests and choices for healthy relationship as humans, I just can’t tolerate that saying. It makes me sick to my stomach because for me it is the same as saying my dad is my therapist. Say it out loud and tell me that doesn’t make you cringe. And what about my brother is my therapist? Sound good to you? Now try this one- my cashier is my therapist. Ok, so that one makes me giggle a little, but only because it sounds so absurd!
Being steeped in horsemanship and traditional horse training methods, I understand how this saying came about as we humans have a long history of projecting onto and objectifying animals. I see how it could be argued that giving your horse therapeutic powers even though he never completed high school, is an enormous leap from how horses have been treated historically by humans. That’s probably why it got filtered into the “good” category in my brain years ago. But making your horse your therapist is still objectifying, it’s still projecting, it’s still using your horse. So, let’s take the next leap in our development as human beings and figure out how to interact with horses as what they actually are…horses. To learn more about how we do this at Natural Lifemanship, visit the Start Training link or view our online videos and content.
In 2015 my partner, Matt, and I purchased Dandelion Farm and moved Discovery Horse and our herd of 8 horses home in the late fall. I had been anticipating this day since 1998. I was terrified and excited. I was committed to find a way to live and work with my horses that felt good for everyone. That encouraged us all to grow and be accountable. That felt safe and equal. That fostered connection. I was committed to listen, to make mistakes, to apologize and I was committed to showing up.
Enter Natural Lifemanship. In June of 2017 Discovery Horse hosted a NL fundamentals training at our farm. Our trainers for the weekend, Reccia and Claire, presented the attendees with a challenge . . . a request . . . they asked us to believe, for the weekend, that horses could make choices. I’m not sure . . but I think I might have actually ‘whooped’ in agreement. As the weekend progressed I felt as though Reccia and Claire were speaking my language while at the same time opening my mind to a whole new way of supporting my clients, my animal partners and myself, from a place of science and principals that made absolute sense and fell in total alignment with how we had been operating at Discovery Horse. And I found a community that honors the horse as an equal partner and views our connection with horses as not only foundational to our work, but as real and vibrant relationship in its own right. I left that weekend feeling empowered by the fact that I wasn’t alone.
I have been very impressed with the depth and professionalism the certification process provides. I am a business owner, coach, horse professional, mom and spouse and the flexible learning platform made it possible to add this to my already full life in a successful way. The community itself is exceptional. The conference was one of the best I have attended, providing staggering amounts of information and representing all facets of equine-assisted professionals. Tim and Bettina truly foster a non-competitive environment focused on growth and learning. The word ‘authentic’ rings true at a deep level. It is clear that this is a community committed to doing the kind of work that changes lives.
Other than the fact that Pete lives at Miracle Farm, we knew nothing about him. We were excited, and began the process of attuning our senses to Pete’s non-verbal communication, his rhythm, his desires and his ability to connect when asked. It was Leslie’s job to establish our first connection and to obtain his consent in putting on a halter, but only five minutes into the process we knew one thing more – when asked to connect Pete can be aggressive. Ears pinned, nose out, and at a fast pace, he moved toward Leslie. He made it very clear how he felt about connection with us and our request for relationship!
Over the next three days, Leslie, Pete and I climbed what seemed to be a staircase. With each step up – and often when we felt like we’d left the aggressive behavior behind – Pete brought it out again. At first we were shocked, certain that we had overcome that on the previous step! By Saturday afternoon we kept seeing the same pattern emerge. Every time we moved forward with deeper connection Pete became very uncomfortable. His stress started to rise and the negative behavior returned, however now a new adaptation was added: whenever the stress reached a certain point, Pete started to pump his hind legs up and down. We thought that he was trying to regulate, but dang! Was all of this too much? Should we slow down? Should we speed up? What? Clearly, Pete was not the only one going through this process, and Leslie and I learned to open ourselves to the feedback from each other. Whenever one of us began to doubt the process or our attempts to move through it, the other filled in with support. We often wondered if it was Pete’s behavior that was causing the defensiveness in our own brains and bodies, or – was it the other way around?
By Sunday morning, we were not sure that our rhythmic ride was going to happen by the afternoon. We were open to all possibilities and stayed committed to an attuned connection with Pete. However, by mid-morning, Pete had said “yes” to the bareback pad, and so it was time to ask if we could ride. Like all of the previous steps, he aggressively said “no” at first, only this time we got to “yes” much quicker. I was the first to ride, and within minutes we were fluidly moving around the pen. We found stop, go, left and right without the use of my hands or reins. Leslie had the same type of ride. We exhaled and broke for lunch early. The three of us had overcome what had once been a brick wall boundary – together.
After lunch, we saddled up, and it came as no surprise that Pete provided us with the opportunity to work through some more stress. But now, his former aggressiveness had changed to just a little bit of defensiveness. Once again, I was the first to step on and this time there was nothing to work through! Pete and I headed to the big arena, both of us a little nervous for the unknown that lay ahead. Two songs played as we warmed up in a walk, and then my first song (“Fly” by Celine Dion) came on. Pete and I found our Rhythm quickly, but I honestly have no idea how we did it. There was no technique involved; we just felt each other. We found a walk and a trot beautifully, and – somewhere in that song – we found trust. We were totally connected, both of us feeling the power of the moment.
At the end of this type of immersive experience there is usually an opportunity to reflect on and talk about all that you have learned. It is these final moments of the training that Leslie and I learned a little more about Pete. He had participated in these type of trainings before, but he had never been able to complete them. His aggressive and defensive behavior had been evident, but he had also displayed signs of colic (stomach ache), severe diarrhea, and lameness. In fact, Pete had recently seen three different veterinarians in the farm’s attempt to figure out what was causing the lameness issues. They saw it, but could not find any medical reason for it.
This was an intense weekend. At each step along the way we had to be willing to risk the relationships we had developed to see if we could take them one step further, one step healthier. This is the work that our clients – individuals who have experienced complex trauma in their own lives – their families, and their friends must be willing to do in order to heal and regain their life and relationships.
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