When I was young, I used to sing in our backyard, imagining and hoping the birds would come. I wanted to be like Snow White because the birds, squirrels, rabbits, and other woodland creatures cheerfully joined her when she sang. The connection she had with all the animals felt like love and magic.
Horses, of course, were my special love. I spent all day every Saturday at the barn. I’d ride in the morning and muck stalls in the afternoon so I could earn another ride. I didn’t have anyone at my school to share this passion with until, finally, in the 8th grade, Sarah started riding where I did. I didn’t realize how much I wanted that kind of connection until it showed up.
It was liberating to swap stories about horses we *both* knew. With Sarah’s presence, my world of horses, and my world of myself, started to expand.
One Monday, I walked outside with my lunch to sit with my friends, eager to share with Sarah what my ride was like the day before. As a sat down, someone whispered, but loud and snarkily enough for me to hear, “Great. Here’s Kathy. Now we all have to listen to more stupid horse stories.”
My heart dropped into my stomach and I got really small that day. I clearly remember vowing that I would Never. Talk. About. Horses. Again.
I kept that vow for many years even though I never stopped loving horses. I hid the joy they brought me because it was too much for everyone else and I felt like too little.
When I started my equine-assisted coaching business, HerdWise, I thought it proved I was over the hurt. Instead, I still felt awkward and afraid of being misunderstood when I talked about the power of horses. The 8th-grade hurt still haunted me. At the requisite networking events that one attends, I often felt dismissed. There were some that were curious, but for the most part, my lack of confidence in myself meant that no one else was confident in me either.
Looking back, I see how easily and how often I traded connection with myself for connection with others. I gave up my authenticity to belong. By ceding my space to others, I believed that if I wasn’t a “bother” other people would like me more. Maybe then I would belong.
I’m grateful now for knowing the truth which is the more of “me” I show and express to others, the more love can be shown back. This doesn’t mean I’m everyone’s cup of tea. It *does* mean that I am a lot better at not abandoning myself. My 8th-grade self appreciates that.
I imagine your 8th-grade self would, too. How can you help her take up her space?
