Madonna's Eye



This picture sits above my desk in my home office; when I glance up from working or writing, I see Madonna's eye.  Madonna was a horse I knew for many years, from when I was twelve and she was six, until she died when I was 30 and she was 24.  My sister, Kristen White, took this photo one summer and on the back, signed it: "Love, Kris."  Somewhere along the way, I saved some pieces of Madonna's tail hair, and they are curled between the picture and the back of its frame. 

I have lots of pictures of this mare - some of her grazing, some of me (and others) riding her, some of her and her only filly, who the breeder called Pebbles.  But I like having Madonna's eye on me - just her eye. It's a reminder to be my best self, the person I want to be when she is watching.

As young teens, my sister and I spent many long afternoons at the barn together, and we fought (a lot!).  I remember once I slapped my sister when Madonna was nearby.  The horse flinched with her whole body.  I felt so badly afterwards, in part for slapping my sister, but more because Madonna had seen me do it.  I didn't want her to be afraid of me or realize that I was capable of violence.  I loved this horse so much, and I believed I needed to be my best self in order to deserve her.  In this way, Madonna taught me the consciousness needed to manage volatile emotions. 

Madonna taught me so much. She was very spirited and over the years, it was a challenge to find people to ride, own or care for her when I wasn't able to do so.  She connected me with so many wonderful people - most notably JH & JH-Z who owned her before me, and MT, MB and AB who took care of Madonna in her twenties and found her a retirement home.  I am forever grateful to MT, MB and AB: my own life was very complicated during Madonna's later years, but they showed both Madonna and me compassion and made sure she had a safe place to retire.  They also recognized and loved her beautiful, sensitive spirit. 

In working out homes and training for Madonna over the years, I also met people who were dishonest and/or truly ignorant about horses. Having to deal with these situations and at times stand up for my horse taught me a lot, too.

Kathleen Lindley, horse trainer and writer says, "I would try to be, everywhere, the way I wanted to be when I was with the horses."  This photo reminds me of Lindley's words: I realize if I can take a deep breath, have honest intentions, and stay present, focused and kind around horses, I should be able to accomplish this around the humans in my life as well. 

In part, the photo connects me with this purpose.  On the other hand, the photo sits on my desk because just a glance at Madonna's eye reminds me what it felt like to be 12, grooming a gentle but curious mare, free in her stall.  How she would turn her head to look at me, maybe to nuzzle my arm.  It reminds me of the soft look in her eye when I would sometimes pull a bucket over and sit down outside, but within reach, of her stall door.  She would stretch her head over the door and rustle my hair with her muzzle, making me feel safe and important. 

I liked how she watched me, then. 
 

Notes from Riding on the Autism Spectrum, C.Pelletier-Milet

I was excited to read Riding on the Autism Spectrum: How Horses Open New Doors for Children with ASD by Claudine Pelletier-Milet (Trafalgar Square Books, 2012). Originally published in France, the translation of this text supports evidence of strong interest in the U.S. about the connection between individuals with autism spectrum disorders (ASD) and horseback riding. 

Ms. Pelletier's narrative details her inspiring work with horses/ riding and the autistic population near Paris, mostly very young children.  Her text is a useful historical record: Pelletier has been exploring how horses can facilitate positive changes for those with autism for over thirty years. Unfortunately, much of the theoretical basis for Pelletier's work is antiquated; she writes: "the crisis in an autistic child's life is triggered by the separation from the mother at birth: it was too sudden and too violent" (90).  This is a psychoanalytic theory largely dismissed in contemporary autism research (which tends to be neurologically based).  In fact, even the publisher, Trafalgar Square Books, acknowledges in an introductory note:  "...the French school of thought and related research pertaining to ASD differs in depth, perception and terminology from that in the United States and other parts of the world. We are thankful that the United States is a world leader in advancement of ASD theory and treatment" (8).

I suppose that part of my frustration with Pelletier's narrative is that it reads as if the author has stumbled onto the innovation of working with horses to serve those with autism: in reality, this practice is widely in place at therapeutic riding centers all over the U.S., many accredited through the Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship International (PATH Intl.).  As a PATH Intl. certified instructor, I have access to a collective body of knowledge that colleagues in the field have developed, explored and relayed through mentoring and accredited trainings. Teaching those with ASD, I can practice these methods (which emphasize safety, sensory integration, social/ learning goals and basic riding skills); then innovate from there to develop the right approach for each individual. 

It frustrates me that Pelletier's book does not acknowledge that PATH Intl. has certified over 4500 instructors worldwide, and Centers serve over 54,000 people a year (not all with autism, but among those served are many on the spectrum).  I had a similar reaction when I read Rupert Isaacson's Horse Boy: I thoroughly enjoyed the narrative, which is a poignant account of Isaacson's personal experiences with his son, who has ASD, but I am frustrated Isaacson doesn't even acknowledge the opportunity for those with autism to ride horses at Centers that are accessible, affordable and safe. 

I know this sounds highly critical!  I have to add that both Pelletier's and Isaacson's texts draw positive attention to the potential that Equine Assisted Activities & Therapies (EAAT) have for those with ASD.  Overall, I'm glad they are in print for this reason and because they are wonderful narratives in their own right.  I learned from reading both of them... I just believe that what we do at PATH Intl. Centers is also worthy of a book-length narrative that is published and distributed on a wide scale. 

Of note from Riding on the Autism Spectrum:

• "Autistic children have a natural riding ability with poise and balance, and a riding seat that is often better than that of my other riding students" (64).
• "[When working with those with ASD]... I am very careful about my bearing, about how I show emotion and affection, about the tone of my voice and my choice of words... I do not rely on the artifices of normal modes of communication; I feel I get back to a more primitive, but purer mode... I am always calm and I use simple words that describe objects and a situation in the most direct way possible" (74).
• "There is an Argentinian doctor... who has proposed the theory that the very act of riding has an indirect effect on a person's jaw, specifically the bones near the base of the tongue, and possibly parts of the brain, because of the rhythmical motion of the horse that affects the whole human frame..." (107).  Interesting! I'd like to read more about this man's theory!

Overall, a complete book about horses/riding and autism is always an exciting read! 

 

Interesting Book about Dyslexia

In My Dyslexia (W.W. Norton, 2011), Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Philip Schultz writes about living with dyslexia, the language processing disorder with which he was diagnosed only late in life.  Schultz writes:  "This much is clear: the mind of a dyslexic is different from the minds of other people. Learning that my problem with processing language wasn't stupidity seemed to take most of my life..." (24).

Schultz describes intense difficulties learning to read, his anxiety in both learning and social situations, and even explains how language processing problems affected his ability to take part in his religion. (Schultz is Jewish and experienced frustration and anxiety over not being able to learn Hebrew.)  On the other hand, Schultz emphasizes how the unique thought patterns of dyslexia, and the coping strategies he was forced to develop, facilitated his development as a poet, teacher and creative thinker.  He writes: "There's no little irony in the fact that the very things I couldn't do have helped provide me with a profession and means of knowing myself..." (112).

I consider the universal truth of Schultz's concept: our lives are defined by both what we can and can't do, whether we have specific learning disabilities or special needs or not. 

Due to my background teaching and tutoring college writing and adults with reading difficulties, I've had a lot of opportunity to meet adults with dyslexia in learning situations.  Almost always these individuals are brilliant (business owners, tattoo artists, beauticians, chefs...) in one creative, intuitive subject, but struggle with learning in traditional classrooms and suffer subsequent social and learning anxiety. In My Dyslexia, Schultz is careful to make the point that when one is taught from an early age to accept, cope and even celebrate one's unique thought patterns, this anxiety about learning differences can be greatly reduced.

In Equine Assisted Activities & Therapies (EAAT), I have also had the chance to work with riders with dyslexia.  Horseback riding is an opportunity for those with dyslexia to engage in a "right/brain - left/ brain" activity, and there is evidence to suggest this type of activity is beneficial to those with dyslexia or other language processing disorders.  Riding is also a kinestetic activity and those with dyslexia often show proclivity for hands-on learning.  Throughout My Dyslexia, Schultz writes about the imposed difference of growing up with a learning disability (especially since he was undiagnosed) and the subsequent anxiety and low sense of self-worth.  He writes: "One's self-image is a very fragile and private thing.  On the most intimate level of all, the level of self-worth, every dyslexic owns a history of self-rejection and regret" (76). As a challenging but accessible kinestetic activity, horseback riding can become a successful learning experience that increases an individual's self-confidence in more universal learning situations.

My Dyslexia provides insight into a brilliant poet's struggles with the disorder.  I was interested in how Schultz's experience with dyslexia was defined not only be phonetic difficulties with the written word, but also with oral language and daily tasks (He writes: "If I had trouble learning to read a clock, know my left from my right, hearing instructions... how could I trust my own thoughts or anything about myself?" (37))  As a teacher, I was also struck by how many of Schultz's insights could apply not only to those with dyslexia, but also perhaps to those with ADHD, other learning disabilities or autism spectrum disorders.

Schultz's book contains important insight for those of us interested in supporting the holistic success of learners whose brains may work differently from our own!