On not getting back up

About a week ago, I fell off my horse.  Or, my horse got out from under me.  Or, I really don’t know what it was, it all happened so fast.  She’s a young horse and really quick and she was as scared as I was, after it happened.

I have a sprained wrist and a bruised tailbone and a little bit of a black eye.

The old saying tells you that once you fall off a horse, you have to get back up.  Right back up.  In the moments after I fell, I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t move.  All I could do was check in with each of the parts of my body, arms, are you okay?  Legs?  Fingers?  Toes?  And then I had to get the horse settled.  And then Tom said, “Are you going to get back on?”

I thought about it, and then I said, “No.”

I didn’t get right back in the saddle.  I made a choice, I said no.  I didn’t think it was wise to get back in the saddle, right away.  She was scared, I was hurt, and it just wasn’t worth it to me to risk me, or her, having another bad experience.

I think the lesson learned that day was not for the horse, but for me:  sometimes, the old sayings are wrong.  I get to do what I decide is best, and sometimes you need to take a while to heal.

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