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.