As you’ve probably gathered, I tend to reflect a lot. My phone is littered with pieces of writing dating back to 2012. I often open up my notes and lose myself in the old Christine — her thoughts, her feelings, her pain and today her belief that her life as an equestrian was over as she knew it.
To add some context — I suffered a TBI (traumatic brain injury) in 2015. It was my first year riding on the team and I was dealing with a fussy gelding one winter evening. After riding out several bucks I tipped off and landed on my back. I got back on and finished my ride, only noticing pain in the bridge of my nose after I’d untacked. A few hours later I was in the emergency room not able to tell the nurse what I studied. I (begrudgingly) spent my two weeks in a dark room with limited stimuli, but I had qualified for finals so I was back riding before I’d even bought a new helmet to replace the one I damaged in the fall.
Several concussions later it was clear I needed to stop doing what I was doing and give myself time to heal. I was suffering constant migraines, headaches, brain fog and an inability to concentrate. I was stressing myself out to a point of panic attacks, heart palpitations (yay for wearing a heart monitor for 3 days (not advisable)) and vomiting.
My specialist (an equestrian herself) told me it was time to stop. I was high risk for second-impact syndrome — a condition where a second impact too soon to a previous impact can lead your brain to swell instantly, typically causing death. I left her office and emailed my coach. I felt relief. For some reason I was ready to pause this part of my life I’d been committed to since I was 7.
Fast forward 2 years — here is what I wrote;
“I suffered a career ending head injury. Close to two years ago I was told to hang up my spurs for good. I gave up competing, practicing. Doing what had helped me breathe for so long. Now, two years later I am slowly realizing the impact of this.
I think my quitting came at a good time, I wasn’t happy with my situation, wasn’t happy where I was competing and overall the dynamic of my riding and the purpose for which I rode was changing. I was learning to ride for me, which I loved. But I missed the challenge of helping a horse along. I missed growing with a horse and I missed being worry free in the saddle overall.
I always told myself I would never be fearful, now my body shakes on the rare occasion I get into the saddle. I still ride for my horse, and do my best to help them through their fears but the issue remains that I myself am fearful now — I can no longer help the way I used to.
It’s taken me a while to swallow this — I didn’t really think about my injury being career ending until today, two years from the day I was told to stop. I never thought it was over and that I was done. Slowly I’m realizing this might be the end, I may never be brave enough to tackle a meter twenty fence, let alone a course. I may never be brave enough to take a fussy mare for a gallop in the fields knowing there’s a good chance she may toss me off.
I fear being a fearful rider, and I think that’s what I’ve become. I may ride again, but I will never ride how I used to — and that, to me, is the end of my career.”
This was written October 17, 2017. Almost a year ago. A few months ago I went home for Easter break and got on my horse.
Anyone who knows the horse in the above image knows that the fact I got on her 3 days in a row and didn’t end up in the dirt is a feat. Everything I said in my piece about being scared was true, but somehow I swallowed that fear and got on a fussy mare and had 3 incredible rides — we even went for several gallops with no issue.
The thing about fear is horses can sense it. I’ve owned this horse for many years and I like to think I’m lucky in the relationship we’ve created. With my fear came a kind determination. She made moves to test me, but rather than getting defensive I was practical. I made her work for me, not against me and I gave her outlets for her energy rather than reining her in when I felt scared.
I managed to make it work. I managed to take a horse who’d been sitting in a field for years and create productive rides. I was able to help her.
Looking back I understand why I thought it was over — why I thought my career as I knew it was done. Maybe it is. I can’t say right now where I will be in one years time.
What I do know is that nothing is ever truly over, it is simply new or different or changed. I am a changed person, but my passion for horses and style in the saddle will remain unchanged.
