Jumping into the field of Equine Assisted Therapy (EAT), Equine Assisted Psychotherapy (EAP), and/or Equine Assisted Learning (EAL) can be daunting – figuring out how to be properly trained and prepared can be even more so.
You can’t just google “get certified” and find a website that explains it all. It’s a bit of the wild west out here – so many teachers to choose from, so many approaches, and no central rules or regulation.
So what is an aspiring equine assisted practitioner to do?
The short answer is “do your research”…but, that’s not a very satisfying answer, is it?
So, we at The Natural Lifemanship Institute have put together a list of things we consider to be incredibly important to a thorough and quality certification in Equine Assisted Services (our inclusive term for EAT, EAP, and EAL) – and we’d like to share it with you!
Over the three decades that Natural Lifemanship founders Bettina and Tim Jobe have worked in the field of Equine Assisted Services (EAS), they have learned quite a bit about what is needed for effective, ethical practice.
It isn’t a simple process, nor should it be…because when you enter a field in which expertise is needed in both the human and equine realm, there is a lot to learn. Of course, we would love for you to train and get certified with us…but more than that, we want you to find exactly what you need to nurture your continued growth in this ever-growing field. Below are our Ten Things You Need to Know When Choosing an EAS Certification – we hope it is helpful!
1. Teacher Experience!
First and foremost, as you begin a certification, you want to know you are in capable hands. This is why understanding the qualifications of your teachers and trainers is so important.
Consider their experience!
How long have they been doing actual EAS work? In this newer field, many teachers may have great ideas but haven’t actually been offering EAS sessions for very long, or for very many total hours of practice. Consider some practitioners see 25 clients a week while others might only see one or two – weeks and months may not be the best measure of experience.
Time in the “pen”, so to speak, makes a world of difference when you are teaching both theory and skills. So as you do your research, ask yourself, how many hours of experience does this trainer have?
Malcolm Gladwell argues it takes 10,000 hours to master a skill…do your teachers come even close to that in either clinical experience, horse experience, or both?
2. Excellent Equine Experience!
Understanding the nuance of relating to equines and partnering with them in this work is a process that can only evolve with time, practice, and seasoned guidance.
Working with equines is just like any other relationship – intimacy, trust, and clear communication come with intentional effort over time. . .
There are no shortcuts to good horsemanship. Be careful of programs suggesting otherwise – there are no cheat sheets and quick fixes to understanding the complex and often understated ways equines communicate their needs.
Each one is an individual.
Not only is it important to learn about general equine behavior, learning, and communication, it is also important to learn about the specific equines with which you hope to work.
This takes time.
3. Clear ethics!
As you search for a program, consider the language that is used and the ethics that are both implied and explicitly stated.
The ethical motivations and underpinnings of any good certification program should be clear and readily available to you.
How does a program see the clients, the animals, and the therapy team? How does the program value experience, working within one’s skill set, perspective, theoretical underpinnings, acknowledgment of science/research, and a practitioner’s personal growth?
All of these are areas needing attention and guidance if one is to practice any helping profession ethically. It should also be evident that there are checks and balances in the approach itself, to safeguard against damaging bias and countertransference.
4. Personal Growth!
As NL says “the horse doesn’t know who the client is”…in our unique field we are relying on feedback and communication from our equine partners to help us move forward in our relationships with our clients.
Because we cannot ensure our equines only pay attention to client issues, our own patterns and internal experiences absolutely will and do influence our sessions.
Therefore, we cannot separate our own personal development from our professional development. A quality certification program will require you to consider your own internal experience as much as the client’s and horse’s in order for you to become a more conscious and effective practitioner.
Reflecting on your own relational history, your personal blind spots, triggers, motivations, and being in tune with your own body/mind/spirit should all be valued in your professional development.
5. Depth and breadth of learning!
What would you prefer if you were a client – a practitioner who had spent 5 days learning EAS, or a practitioner who had spent a year (or more) in coursework, practice, supervision, and consultation?
The requirements for certification in the EAS field are wide and varied – pay close attention to what it takes to become certified and consider the client perspective. What is best for our clients, who have little to no information about what it takes to say “certified in EAP, EAT, or EAL”?
Programs of excellence should offer theoretical and scientific underpinnings for their approach to both equines and humans – and should give you plenty of hours of not only learning but practice and reflection as well.
6. Practical Experience!
Practical experience is where the deeper learning happens…it is where theory is infused with reality, where cognitive information becomes embodied, where knowledge becomes wisdom, and where practitioners develop the “art” of their work.
Some programs do not require a practitioner to have ever worked with clients before becoming certified. Quality EAS isn’t just about what you know, it’s about what you do with what you know. Practical experience is necessary for quality work.
7. Trauma Informed Care!
The term “trauma informed care” has become a buzzword in recent years, but what does it really mean?
Trauma Informed Care means that practitioners operate from a foundation of knowledge based in brain science – it conveys an understanding of how life’s rhythms and relationships impact an adaptable brain and body from a macro level down to the smallest neurons.
This knowledge informs the way in which practitioners engage with clients AND their equines, both in and out of session.
Trauma Informed practitioners value relationship, rhythm, and science in their approach – it should be explicitly taught, as well as modeled in their everyday behavior.
Trauma Informed Care should create safety and flexibility in the certification learning environment as well as in client sessions.
8. A Blend of Science and Art!
Relationships are an art – an improvised dance informed by all that each individual carries within them as well as the energy between the two.
There is no doubt that intuition and experience are paramount to guiding clients through a healing process unique to their needs. However, there is so much that the relational neurosciences can offer us so that our work is better informed – making our art more effective.
It is common in our field to acknowledge the art of EAS, what is less common is the incorporation of the sciences that can inform and guide our individual approach.
The fields of interpersonal neurobiology, attachment, somatics, and more have transformed psychotherapy and our understanding of living beings, with so much to offer this work – it would be negligent to ignore them.
9. Individual Support!
No two journeys are the same.
A certification process needs to be flexible and helpful to your specific skills, goals, and dreams. Whether you are a seasoned clinician, an experienced horse professional, a student just starting out, or something in between or otherwise – you can reach your EAS goals.
Look for a certification process that not only considers your experience an asset but offers teachers who know your field of expertise.
EAS can be blended with a wide variety of therapeutic approaches – and the certification process should reflect that!
And finally, more than anything else…does a certification process offer you….
10. Relationship!
Rather than a nameless, faceless, and relation-less training process, how about one where you know your teachers, engage with them in a variety of ways on a variety of topics over time, and develop a supportive and engaging network of colleagues?
Relationships are the vehicle for change – whether in therapy, in learning something new, or out in day to day life.
Can you speak to someone when you need guidance? Do teachers care about your individual development? Is your time valued and respected? Relationships make all the difference.
So what kind of relationship do you want with your training and certifying organization?
Wondering how to get started with NL?
The Fundamentals of NL is the entry level training for all certification paths. The next cohort starts September 13th and registration is OPEN.
How Cross Brain Connections Literally Saved My Life!
In this blog, I will discuss how a healthy brain develops and how trauma impacts this process by localizing neural connections in the lower regions of the brain, the part concerned with survival. I will share ways we can capitalize on the brain’s neuroplasticity and capacity to heal with strategies to increase cross brain connectivity, ending with an example of this from my own personal experience of being assaulted on two different occasions.
There is a great deal of discussion in Trauma-Informed Care about cross brain connections, neural pathways that connect throughout the different areas of the brain, leading to a greater capacity for self-regulation and smooth emotional state shifting in response to environmental cues. Brain development begins in utero, developing sequentially from the bottom to the top and from the inside out in response to sensory input. The first part of the brain to develop is the brainstem, which is responsible for regulating autonomic functions like heart rate, breathing, blood pressure, body temperature, sleep, and appetite. We generally do not have to think about these functions unless something goes wrong with them (during an asthma or heart attack, for example). The brainstem, which as its name suggests, is at the base of the brain, is responsible for basic survival and is where our fight, flight and freeze responses originate in response to a trauma trigger.
The next region of the brain to develop is the diencephalon, which regulates motor control. (When the freeze response is triggered by the brainstem it indicates that the diencephalon, as well as all of the regions of the brain above it, have essentially gone “offline”). Following that is the limbic system, which regulates our emotions and makes us capable of attachment and relational connection. The last part of the brain to develop is the neocortex, which allows for abstract and concrete thought, impulse control, planning and other aspects of executive functioning. The neocortex may not be fully developed and functional until well into a person’s second decade of life.
Trauma can be defined as input that is arrhythmic and unpredictable. If a pregnancy is unwanted, or the mother is in a chaotic environment due to poverty and domestic violence, or she struggles with a mental disorder or uses drugs, for example, the fetus is exposed to a barrage of arrhythmic sensory input in the womb. The mother’s heart-rate may be irregular, the cadence of her voice may be harsh or distressed, and her body may be secreting stress chemicals like cortisol and adrenaline that acid washes the womb for nine months. The part of the brain that receives the most sensory input will be the most well developed, as the neurons flock there in response to continuous activation. A baby experiencing intra-uterine trauma of any sort will be born prepared for survival, with most of his or her neurons clustered in the lower regions of the brain. A baby whose gestation was full of rhythmic, predictable sensory input from his mother’s well-regulated heartbeat, calm voice, and soothing chemicals like dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin, will be born with up to fifty percent of his neurons having migrated to the neocortex, ready for language and learning. Intra-uterine trauma primes the baby’s brain to form local connections in the lower regions of the brain in anticipation of being born into a chaotic, unpredictable environment. The foundation for future development is compromised, and any subsequent trauma layers on top of this shaky substrate to create a brain muscled up for survival and reactivity, with few cross brain connections allowing for a regulated, integrated response to environmental or relational stimuli.
Dr. Bruce Perry points out that trauma interferes with what he terms smooth “state shifting,” referring to the ability of the brain to communicate between all of its regions to come up with the best response to deal with the situation at hand. Healthy brain development allows a person to accurately interpret input and respond appropriately based on what is actually happening in the present. In the case of a car careening into your lane of traffic, the amygdala sounds the alarm in the limbic system, the diencephalon kicks in and prompts you to quickly maneuver out of the way, and the brainstem briefly shuts down unnecessary functions like digestion that would divert energy away from dealing with the crisis. The neocortex, which would unnecessarily delay the response time, essentially goes offline. Whether the car barreling towards you is a Mercedes or a Chevrolet is completely irrelevant to your survival. Determining the color, make or model of the vehicle occupies precious time and attention that keeps you in harm’s way longer than necessary and compromises your ability to keep yourself safe. When cross-brain connections are absent, and the different regions of the brain lack neural pathways to communicate efficiently, the array of responses a person has is limited. A traumatized individual might get stuck in his brainstem, lose access to his diencephalon, freeze, and be unable to turn the steering wheel, incurring a collision with the oncoming car.
This is essentially what happened to me when I was assaulted in my early 20’s in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. I was using a public restroom when a man who apparently had been hiding in the stall next to mine burst under the dividing wall and attacked me. I completely froze. I could not move, cry out, or think of how to defend myself. I never reported the assault or pursued any kind of help afterward. I simply left it buried in my brainstem and used my already active eating disorder and dissociative pathways to cope. When I unexpectedly became pregnant with my first child three years later, I realized my unhealthy patterns were going to affect my baby in damaging ways. Facing the huge responsibility of carrying and then caring for a child provided the incentive I needed to pursue healing in so many areas of my life. Although I worked hard on my recovery, my very stubborn pathways for dissociating from strong emotions and avoiding what I perceived to be the dangers of intimacy remained strong.
When I discovered Natural Lifemanship, I knew these principles of relational connection and partnership were the missing pieces to my healing puzzle. I was initially dismayed to find how much I struggled to experience connection in the round pen with the horses, but as I kept practicing asking for attachment and detachment, I found over time that I was starting to feel my emotions and body sensations more consistently and accurately, both with horses and with people. Through both ground (Relationship Logic) and mounted work (Rhythmic Riding), I strengthened the cross brain connections necessary to stay regulated and grounded without checking out in stressful situations. My sense of peace and confidence and ability to stay present and connected to myself continued to grow.
Last year all of this was put to the test when I was out running in my neighborhood early in the morning. I heard footsteps behind me on a narrow stretch of sidewalk bordered by tall hedges and a railing on either side and turned sideways, thinking another runner wanted to pass me. Instead, he grabbed me by the shoulders, muttered the word “sorry” and threw me to the ground. My brain immediately went into gear. Just the night before I had shared a public service announcement from the Austin Police Department with my running group concerning a sexual predator who had been assaulting female runners. I could literally see the list of suggestions in my mind and began sorting through them. “Make noise,” my brain said, and I started screaming as loud as I could. My assailant covered my mouth with his hand. “Fight back,” my brain commanded, and I shook one of my arms free and tried to push him off. As he tightened his grip, I remembered, “Strike where he is most vulnerable,” so I started reaching towards his groin area as best as I could. His eyes widened in surprise and he suddenly let go of me, slamming my head into the pavement. I don’t know how long I lost consciousness, but as I came to, I heard a voice shouting, “Get up! Get up! You have to get up NOW!” I realized the voice was my own; it was my brain, telling me I needed to mobilize in case he came back. I was able to get up and wobble up the hill until I met another runner who took me to her house and called 911.
I reported this assault. I went to the emergency room, made a statement to the police, and described the suspect to a forensic artist who captured his likeness quite accurately. I engaged in therapy, and spent hours in the round pen with horses, crying, connecting, and healing. I shared my experience with my running group and put together a tip sheet for runner safety, which I shared with other running groups in the area. I attended a self-defense class. Despite the temptation to revert to old patterns of dissociating from my fear and pain, I practiced feeling all the emotions in the aftermath of this trauma, letting myself weep when the detective called to say my suspect’s DNA was found on another victim. I gave myself permission to be scared, sad, and also proud. Proud that I had done the hard work to develop the cross brain connections that allowed me to fight back instead of freezing during my second assault. During my therapy for this attack, I was able to process my first one as well.
Cross brain connections are essential for flexible thinking and appropriate responses. Practicing mindfulness and grounding skills on a regular basis allows these neural pathways to develop and strengthen in a brain compromised by arrhythmic, unpredictable input. Research continues to highlight the neuroplasticity of the brain in response to rhythmic sensory input that allows it to heal and integrate following trauma. Expanding local connections into cross brain connections enhances our ability to experience emotional regulation so that we can build healthier, more satisfying relationships with ourselves and with others.
How does one build or repair cross brain connections?
A daily practice of mindfulness (meditation, yoga, or centering prayer, for example) has been shown to improve brain connection and functioning. Exposure to reparative or corrective relational experiences also contributes to building neural pathways from the lower to the upper regions of the brain. Trauma victims often repeat dysfunctional patterns in the relationship due to compromised neural connections in the brain, reinforcing their trauma pathways. Equine Assisted Psychotherapy involves partnering with a horse to provide opportunities for new pathways to form a healthy relationship is built between horse and human under the guidance of a therapist and equine specialist. Clients learn how to build and sustain healthier relationship patterns as their brains literally re-wire through the experiential component of the therapeutic work with the horses. Through a combination of ground and mounted work, a person can learn self-regulation skills, positive coping resources, and begin to heal from their trauma.
What are cross brain connections good for? At some point, they just might save your life.
I read a study the other day that talked about the way the brain functions when our fundamental beliefs are challenged. Basically, it stated that the same regions of our brain fires when we are physically threatened. Those regions that fire on both occasions are the regions responsible for our survival. Although the author was studying the ramifications of political beliefs, I think this has some very important implications for many areas of our lives.
At our Natural Lifemanship trainings we operate out of the belief that a horse is capable of learning how to appropriately control himself or herself. This goes against a lot of peoples’ fundamental belief system, especially if they have extensive experience with horses. Many of the people that have attended our trainings have had to change that fundamental belief to use our model of therapy. It requires changing pathways in our brain and can be an excruciating process. I want to personally thank the people that have been vulnerable enough to struggle with that change. I am excited that 2018 brings us many more opportunities to help people make that shift. I know it will be life changing for the horses and clients we work with, as well as for ourselves.
This is a story about parenting….dogs. Now don’t get me wrong – I have no intention of saying parenting dogs is like parenting kids (entirely), people are not dogs and dogs are not people. But, relationships are relationships – and if we are open to learning, we can learn MUCH from our relationships with animals.
I am a family therapist and in the last few years have ventured into the field of attachment trauma – I have learned and learned, practiced and practiced. But, it turns out; the most humbling and challenging experience for me (thus far) has been parenting a dog with attachment trauma. It makes my heart go out to those who parent children with attachment trauma – again, not the exact same thing, but, similar. Y’all, this stuff is hard, even if it is ‘just a dog’. Let me explain.
I have two dogs – Boogie and Olive. Boogie came into my life as a puppy at 8 weeks old. He started out in a loving home with his momma and has been by my side for the last 9 years. He is utterly attuned to me, cares deeply about what I think, makes requests clearly and calmly, and is easily comforted by our companionship. He is securely attached – he has no trauma around his human relationships – he is attuned and connected, easily. Olive on the other hand, was a stray. My mother took her in at her farm when she was roughly 6 months old. This is where Olive learned to play with other dogs and get along with a handful of humans; she was safe, well fed, and loved. However, she is a very different dog from Boogie. She is skittish, self-focused, is an alarmist, and warms up very slowly to new people, and only if they approach her properly. She came to live with me at about a year old, and about a year ago. She is challenging, to say the least. She is also wonderful and has stolen my heart – but that does not mean things have been easy.
So what is going on here? Why such a huge difference between the two? Olive had a warm and loving home so soon in her life – shouldn’t she adjust easily?
A disclaimer here, my areas of focus are humans and horses; but here is what I know about mammalian brains in general. They begin growing in utero, they grow in response to their environment, and they grow rapidly in the very beginning of life. In humans, 80% of brain growth happens before a child is 3 years old. Dogs grow and age exponentially faster than we do – so it would make sense that a 6-month-old dog would have experienced a significant amount of development in their brain, with much of its neural pathways already sorted out. (Especially when you think about what a 6-month-old dog is capable of, as compared to a human).
When Olive came to live with us, I spent the first few weeks feeling totally overwhelmed. I had had dogs all my life, but she was a conundrum. How can a dog be so selfish, so uninterested in my requests, so hard to soothe? Then, after too long, it hit me…duh, I have a dog with her own difficulties of attachment trauma. I had been studying this and working with families who struggled with this for several years now – but it only then occurred to me that my dog might be experiencing the same thing (it’s so easy to compartmentalize humans as being totally different from animals…but really, that’s just not the case that often). Thankfully, a light bulb went on about so many of her behaviors. For example:
Olive isn’t selfish – that’s my interpretation of her behavior. What’s really happening is she has an overdeveloped sense of survival, or in other words, the mechanisms for survival in her brain are in overdrive– so every meal, every “treasure”, every opportunity to take care of herself – she capitalizes. Survival thinking is “me” thinking – it is “how do I take care of just myself, in just this moment?” Of course she tried to eat her dinner as well as everyone else’s, and of course, she tried to horde all the treats, and push Boogie out of the way when attention was being given. She was taking care of herself, the best way she knew how. Her early experiences, likely including her intrauterine experiences, told her that survival was of the utmost importance – not relationships with others, and certainly not with humans. That only comes when survival needs are met with safety, security, and predictability. The survival, “me” focused portions of her brain were muscled up, while her relational “we” portions of her brain were underdeveloped.
Olive isn’t uninterested in my requests – dismissing and rejecting me – she was focused on her needs and how she was going to take care of herself like she’d always done. And anyway, who was I? Some human that thought I should matter to her all of a sudden because I took her in? Humans, in general, have not been a predictable force in her life. Lately, a few had been great, but early on? As a stray I can only imagine her experience of humans – ignoring her, running her off, maybe even being the ones who dumped her in the first place. Yet, I expected her to simply trust me – based on no other reason than I thought she should. I’m pretty nice, why not? But, when people are unpredictable, the safest thing you can do is keep your distance and focus on taking care of yourself. That’s all she was doing. She doesn’t have pathways in her brain that exclaim “Yay, people!” like Boogie – her neural pathways are more likely to say, “People….hmmmmm”. So, it’s no wonder my requests were met with some dismissiveness – building a relationship in which trust goes both ways doesn’t happen overnight, especially when one party has no previous experience with trust. Imagine trying to ride a bike down a mountain path, when it’s your first time on a bike! You would totally fail – not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t have the previous experience as a foundation for this new one. Neural pathways don’t change simply because circumstances change, they change over time, with practice and consistency. Just like learning to ride a bike.
Unpredictability in early life also impacts Olive’s ability to be soothed. Her life for the first 6 months, and possibly in utero as well – involved hunger, fear, and fight/flight/freeze. So her brain wired itself to be highly sensitive, highly responsive, and quick to detect threat. None of this supports a zen approach to life – it does support survival, though, and beautifully so. So
es, when a strange man walks in the house, or a big truck sits in our driveway, or we get in the car for an unknown destination – Olive is upset, and difficult to soothe. Why doesn’t my relationship with her soothe her easily? See point #2.
I cannot tell you how many mistakes I have made with Olive because I assumed she was being selfish, or rejecting, or unreasonably difficult. And knowing what I know about the brain and attachment trauma doesn’t mean I am automatically doing a better job with her. I do at times, and other times I let my feelings get the best of me. To be honest, when I really think back over all the times she and I have gotten cross-wise, most instances were my doing. Yes, she did something I didn’t like – but my impatience, my assumptions, and my big feelings are what turned a small “misbehavior” into a relational rupture. Has she been challenging? Heck yes. Has she been willfully, intentionally “bad”? Pretty much never.
We learn about each other more every day – and a year after she came into our lives she is a loving, sweet, playful friend – who also makes questionable choices and is difficult to soothe. Parenting Olive is a journey in which we both make mistakes. I am deeply grateful for the unending forgiveness she has inside of her – that fortunately, most dogs do.
The greatest lesson she is teaching me is that building a relationship with someone who has experienced attachment trauma doesn’t just take time, it takes intentionality over time. Lots of time. For she and I to be successful we need predictability, calm, intentionality, and forgiveness. Not just love – love is good, it is necessary, but it isn’t a cure all. The brain doesn’t work that way. New pathways are formed through repetition, not just good intentions.
So for those of you who are loving someone (be they four-legged or two) with attachment trauma – it is hard. It is beyond words hard. Progress is slow and certainly not a straight line. And it asks a lot of us – we have to be patient, and in control of our thoughts, emotions, and impulses. But if we expect that of them, then shouldn’t we be able to do it ourselves first? And you know what, life with Olive may never be as easy as it is with Boogie.
But I noticed something the other day. When I laugh…Olive wags her tail, and when she comes bounding into a room (she is always bounding), it makes me smile. It’s a small thing, but it’s something.
Kate Naylor is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in the Austin, Texas area and a Natural Lifemanship trainer. More information can be found at www.kategosenaylor.com
Just yesterday while tacking up my horse, I was reminded how easy it is to mistake dissociation for cooperation. It is horse fly season around here, and we are currently inundated with a particularly vicious breed of huge, black, bloodsuckers. These savages pack a painful sting that I have experienced myself way too many times.
There I was, brushing down my horse Partner, when suddenly he was attacked by one of these nasty predators. I couldn’t see the fly, but Partner frantically whipped his tail around as he kicked and danced with his hind feet trying to get away from his tormentor. He was attached to a lead rope I was holding, and I went with his movement as I tried to locate and kill the offending vampire. He continued kicking at his sheath, so I finally reached up to make sure the fly had not landed inside, as they sometimes tend to do. Discovering an unpleasant “goo” that had accumulated on an extra hot and humid day, I only did a brief check before withdrawing my hand.
As I cleaned off my hand with a wipe, Partner became very still, so I hoped that the fly had gone away. I put on his saddle pad and saddle, and when I attached the girth, I noticed how very still he remained. We have been working on comfortable acceptance of the girth, so as I progressively tightened it, I thought, “Wow, maybe he’s finally getting it! Maybe he realizes this is just no big deal! Maybe his ulcer medication helped! Maybe he appreciated my efforts to help him remove that fly!” I was feeling optimistic that we had crossed a training milestone, but what I did not realize was that he was not cooperating…he was simply not there. He was, in fact, frozen.
This became obvious when, once he was bridled and ready to ride, he swatted his tail at his sheath again. I decided I really needed to check that out one last time just in case there was a fly in there, but this time I grabbed a rag and covered my hand before going in. Sure enough, with more extensive exploration, I located one of those gigantic critters inside. I pinched the fly hard and yanked him out. The rag had a big blood spot around the now squashed fly, and I felt awful that Partner had just been standing there suffering for so long while that evil bug feasted on my sweet friend’s tender flesh.
Luckily he was not seriously impaired by his small but painful injury, and we went on to have a pleasant ride. But the experience did influence the ride, because I continued contemplating how often this horse may have appeared to be cooperative when really he was just offering the sort of compliance that comes with dissociation. As a rider, it is so easy to respond in ways that shut down expression rather than looking deeper for what is really happening with the horse. Partner had just shown me how much immediate pain he is able to ignore, and I feel as if I have been put on notice that I must always encourage him to express himself so that I respond as a good partner should. I also had to acknowledge that I have not established the sort of relationship with him where he would continue asking for help rather shutting down when he decided I couldn’t or wouldn’t help.
As a therapist, I was reminded of how often in relationships, especially between parents and children, we mistake submission for cooperation. When we assume that everything is good just because the child is compliant, we often miss important information and fail to notice subtle messages that would reveal the root of problems the child may be experiencing. Becoming attuned to the difference between compliance, which comes from the survival part of the brain, and cooperation, which comes from the “thinking” part of the brain, begins with noticing the contrast between an individual who is frozen vs. one who is consciously choosing to cooperate with a request.
Rather than being attuned when Partner got very still, I became task-oriented thinking it was great that things were going so smoothly. And yet he was hurting inside the entire time…if I had just noticed that his eyes were a bit vacant, or his breathing a bit shallow, I might have continued exploring whether that fly had really gone away. Sometimes we have to stop and consider whether we are really attuned to the other and accurately interpreting their signals in order to build and deepen our relationship.
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