34/ MAY 2023 THE RIDER I Stepped Away From My Comfort Zone


and flashbacks are eye- openers. Finally, I am grate- ful for Mr. Finn’s final paragraph about our duty to report physical and mental abuse. This is a topic I am in total agreement with. Being a highly sensi-


By Janice Wright ~ CanteringOnThru


WHEN the latest copy


of The Rider arrives I allow, at the least, an hour or two without interruptions. My first go-to? That


would be: FROM OUR FOUNDER, by Aiden Finn — because “Remember- ing” opens a time capsule; it’s fresh news for me, and much better than my time capsule. The candid snippets


tive person, childhood trau- mas undermined my trust; but this was nothing com- pared to what lay ahead for me. As much as I tried to come to terms with bullies and abuse, by the time I was 28, having escaped the physical and mental abuse from my latest tormenter, rationalization mixed with naivety and fear collided. I was living in a state of fight and flight. So I hadn’t es- caped at all. Sessions with a sympathetic psychiatrist went on for two years. Anx- iety medication was some- what of a help but as many of you know this isn’t al-


ways the best route. It was then I had


been diagnosed with es- sential tremor. It got to the point


where I couldn’t sign my name. My pen would not settle down! It got to the point


where I froze as I headed to the 401. What’s going on here? I absolutely loved driving! Too many times I had to turn my car around to seek refuge back at home. It got to the point


where by my mid-30s, I regrettably and angrily (at myself) needed to give up all riding for a while. Along with that, depres- sion was ruthless. To be able to spend


time around horses was my saving grace. My si- lence while working along- side horses was spiritual for me. But they were aware of my nervousness and I didn’t want my grief to be all they knew about me. I remember whispering: “I just need to take a break.” It still makes me ache. Why am I telling you


this? It has a lot to do with being honest and realizing that, yes, many suffer as I do. We cope the best we can because as “they” say, life goes on. Reading became my coping mechanism. Withdrawing, yes? But I love to read. One of my all-time


favourite Irish fiction au- thors was (and still is) Maeve Binchy. My intro- duction to “Maeve” began by reading Circle of Friends and since then, I have pur-


chased all her books and continue to re-read them. Undoubtedly, there will be a recognizable chapter…the ‘ah-hah!’ moment. But well, …too late! I’m hooked, aren’t I?! Becoming im- mersed in a book comforts my mind. When I need to lock myself away for a while the interior of Binchy’s books can take on many emotions. There are always ordinary people, happy moments


and


tragedies. She expresses wisdom, warmth and empa- thy. However, it was her un- expected brilliant wit and love of her homeland that resonated with me.


“There was a step away from my comfort zone.” JW MY DREAM of going


to Ireland took years in the making. Binchy’s novels took a part in that. I could only envision the lush rolling hills of Ireland’s countryside and I wanted to experience the small towns, friendly people, pubs and laughter, and the historical sites of Ireland. And by now, my life was back to equine pursuits, so it only made sense that this dream was specifically about riding in a mystical land. Sadly, over time, PTSD does not get better (for me, anyway) and I continued to step lightly. I wasn’t embarrassed to be upfront with safety during this trip — I did have seri- ous struggles, and I valued my life! Booked a year in ad-


vance, I was [now] on a flight to Dublin, Ireland, locked and loaded to cover 225 kilometres on horse- back! Was I nervous? Heck yeah! But I had been man- aging my anxiety and had the companionship of two other riding buddies. My in- structor/coach at the time was so proud of me. A re- port on my riding ability (to prepare horse designation) was a request from the facil- ity. Mine read: intermediate novice; in between beginner and advanced. I respect an honest opinion, especially from someone who knew me to be enthusiastic, there- fore willing… but also timid to the point of abruptly dis- mounting during a lesson. Knowing I would have


a horse that suited my ability lessened my stress. I’d ridden a lot of horses but now I was in Ireland — far away from my com- fort zone. I was facing a demanding adventure. I was forewarned that my bay gelding horse, Victor, did not like to be crowded and would kick out with a swift hind leg if other horses got too close. And yes it happened a few times! I would announce to my group: “ “Victor the Kicker” has arrived!” and we would all break into laughter while respecting that grumpiness! So overall, how was I


doing? At the onset of the tour, there were moments when I thought: “Really?” Some places seemed im- possible on a horse. Direc-


tional change is a necessity. Together, our group encour- aged the horses as they slogged uphill through foot- deep peat mud bogs. There were instructions called out by our guide asking for tran- sitions of walk, trot or canter depending on the areas we entered. I remember the feeling


of my heart pounding and my breath shortening as we cantered narrow and twisty forested roads. I had mo- ments of panic that I might fall off! But as the days moved along nothing like this happened. I reminded myself to enjoy this scenery I dreamed about! I was here!!… Now stop those thoughts, silly! I began to concentrate


more and more on the posi- tive as we moved from place to place. The fields of purple heather blooms; (so beauti- ful) the unusually warm weather and feeling that warmth on my face and back. I am so grateful that I understood and appreciated “sturdy Irish hunter types”! That was a blessing for someone like me. Even though we rode


with no stirrup rubbers, lack of that familiar grip wasn’t particularly bothering me. But when a herd of willing horses approaches the excit- ing crossing of a 100-metre small lake at a quickened trot, our guide reminding us to keep our horses steadily moving (so they wouldn’t stop to drink or roll in the water to cool off) and be prepared for the brisk canter once on the sandbanks lead- ing uphill to the other side (!) led me to think: how was I going to keep my stir- rups!? I needn’t have worried.


The cold water almost spilled over the rim of my field boots, so no soaking my breeches (yikes!) but my very confident horse, Victor, said “I’ve got this!” (hee- hee) and carried me across as I urged him on. My stir- rups cradled my feet per- fectly.


“Ireland was lush and spectacular as I dreamed it would be!” ~ Janice So many moments


warmed my heart. I often reached for my comfort


zone and with that, the words of Maeve Binchy hadn’t led me too far astray. My fondest memories were of giddy children who lived in those farmhouses on back country roads, and they would come running to wave a ‘welcome’ toward us. I giggled and returned the wave as a young lad perched on the lower rung of the home’s wrought iron fence, and gave the thumbs up at the click of my cam- era! Another was an older gentleman who quietly stood on his dirt driveway, and raised his cap to me as I cantered along. Victor was annoyed with me here, be- cause — well, you know that: must.be.close.to. herd. mentality? He had lost sight of the group ahead, and with no one be- hind us his canter quickly turned into a gallop whilst eyeing a large puddle in the middle of the road! My


drink in peace. He is ‘Victor the Kicker’ after all.) There were nights


when sleep was evasive. I would feel a swell of uncer- tainty. Panic rising. Why? Why was this happening? There was nothing I could recognize but obviously, there was a trigger. The morning of the final day I put on my riding gear, my cases packed, and took a brisk walk before breakfast. This was to be a big day ahead, and even though four to six hours — every day — in the saddle became easy for me, there was this expec- tation of “something has to go badly”.


“In central County Clare on the west coast of Ireland is… The Burren.” JW What lay ahead made


sense now! We were stand- ing with our horses — set back of course — along the top of the Cliffs of Moher;


smile and a nod of the head to the gentleman was man- aged, but my attention quickened back to Victor as I rounded the curve on a rocky road! I felt like a jockey, the reins thrusting back and forth, my heart bursting, and thinking: I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to…


“Hey!! There they all are Victor!” We finally spotted the


group up ahead surrounding a small pond of murky water. The horses were quiet now; quenching their thirst. I casually started looking for a spot for Victor’s turn to drink, but had to move him far away from several horses; several times so he could drink in peace. (I mean, so all horses could


the wildness of the Atlantic Ocean waters crashing below. Those thousands of walls we’d left behind — The Burren — had been placed in meticulous order to deflect the gales of Win- ter coming off the Atlantic. The Burren was windswept, desolate and quite eerie, in- terspersed with DOL- MANs…or, ancient burial sites. A few of us dis- mounted to check them out. And now we had just led our horses by hand, carefully weaving them around poten- tially dangerous slippery slate and huge rocks, up- wards, approximately 120 metres (390 ft) to this exact spot! The wind was now cold and blustery but as we mounted our horses once


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