Shifts in Perspective: A close read of Carole Fletcher's "Healed by Horses"

More than seven years ago, when I first started volunteering in the field of Equine Assisted Activities & Therapies (EAAT), I picked up a copy of Carole Fletcher's Healed by Horses, A Memoir. At the time, I enjoyed Fletcher's story. I made note of Fletcher's words, "The horse did not heal me. It's working with horses that heals, by developing discipline, courage, patience, and perseverance."

Recently, I came across my notes of this passage and decided to give Fletcher's memoir a second read. This time, I read it as an experienced EAAT professional. I have known the healing effects of working with horses on my own soul and I have also facilitated a connection with horses and therapeutic riding for hundreds of individuals with diverse physical, cognitive and emotional challenges.

This expanded perspective allowed me to read Fletcher's memoir with a whole new appreciation for its exceptional value as a book-length, personal testimony to the transformative power of working with horses. While the EAAT field is filled with anecdotal evidence (and thankfully more and more established research!) to underscore the value of what we do, Fletcher's testimony takes the reader close - we understand her as a vibrant young woman who owns horses prior to a terrible accident; we read of her excruciating, life-threatening burns and her fight to live; and finally, we are transported along with her as she beats all odds and makes it back onto a horse. In fact, she goes on to build a life with horses.

Horses are part of Fletcher's healing before she even leaves the hospital bed where she spends seven months after her accident. Inspired by a doctor's advice to "Give her a reason to live," Fletcher's mother posts a poster of Bailey, Fletcher's horse, in the hospital room and writes in big letters, "HE WILL CARRY YOU." Fletcher writes, "When the poster of Bailey went up on my wall, it gave me a focus - something to long for and dream about. My vantage point shifted... from inside to outside - from my airless [hospital] room to hills and fields."

After seven months in the hospital, Fletcher finally makes it to the barn to see Bailey. She writes, "I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressed my face into his satin coat, and took long breaths. I wanted to inhale him." Fletcher writes about getting on him for the first time. Notably, she again uses the word "shift" in her description. She writes, "It's a test of courage to get on the back of a thousand-pound animal while you're feeling frail. Riding horses, you come to know that there are many such times, when desire overcomes fear... [On Bailey] I had shifted just a little: a cautious and downtrodden woman was at least moving in the direction of bold and assured rider."

Fletcher's story illustrates with very personal testimony a shift in meaning and motivation that I have also witnessed to varying degrees in my work in the EAAT field. This shift is the boy with autism who settles on a horse and produces language for which his parents had given up hope; it is the older adult with a degenerative disease who rides and realizes she still has adventure in her life; it is the young adult with a life-altering spinal cord injury who finds the courage and tenacity to get back in the saddle, take the reins and ride! Over and over again, those of us who work in the field witness how horses and riding can facilitate a shift in perspective, motivation and intention that changes lives for the better. (I often think about how important the word "transition" has been to centuries of horsemen and women. I ponder these shifts, these transitions - physical, emotional and spiritual - that horses help us to make.)

Testimony like this - the way that horses essentially transformed Fletcher's life, post-accident, move the reader from cover to cover. Fletcher clearly labels the book a memoir and intends it as such. While she has worked with riders with disabilities, the text is not necessarily intended solely, or even mostly, for professionals in the EAAT field. Having said that, I would suggest this book as an essential read to any EAAT professional who might want to better understand their students' perspectives as well as in fact one's own connections to horses: How do horses heal? How can being around horses help to "right" or reframe a life that has been suddenly and significantly altered by injury or disability? And, in Fletcher's case, how does a life-long commitment to horses and riders eventually allow her, if not to overcome completely, than to find personal meaning and deep joy in her existence?

These are questions that drive our field. Carole Fletcher's very personal answers to these questions drive her narrative and make it an engaging and perspective-shifting read for anyone working with horses, serving people.

*Fletcher, Carole with Lawrence Scanlan. Healed by Horses: A Memoir. NY: Atria Press, 2005.

Notes from Becker's "a good and perfect gift"

This rainy week, I read (and loved!) Amy Julia Becker's memoir a good and perfect gift: Faith, Expectations and a Little Girl Named Penny (Bethany House, 2011). Becker writes honestly and poignantly about the life-altering experience of first time motherhood, made more complex when just after delivery, she learns her newborn, Penny, has Down syndrome.

Becker's reflections on the diagnosis and on parenting a child with special needs were eye-opening to me, even though I spend lots of time interacting with people with special needs and their families! For parents, the experience of having a child with special needs is surely as unique as their individual children; however, I'm so grateful for the general insight I gained from reading Becker's sensitive, honest portrayal of parenting her daughter. I think it brought me a shade closer to understanding, a deeper empathy and heightened awareness of parenting in general and specifically of children with special needs.

Two of my favorite points from Becker's text:

• "Can she [Penny] live a full life without ever solving a quadratic equation? Without ever reading Dostoyevsky? I'm pretty sure she can. Can I live a full life without learning to cherish and welcome those in this world who are different from me? I'm pretty sure I can't." (123)
• I attended a conference where we heard a child development specialist speak about "responsive parenting." He said most parents of kids with disabilities focused on their child's weaknesses. Instead we should try to identify Penny's strengths and help her grow into those strengths... [this way] we would recognize how capable she really was." (158)

In an identifiable voice, Becker also discusses the very nature of special needs diagnoses and how damaging 'scientific' understanding of limitations imposed by diagnoses can be. A talented narrator, Becker lets the reader get to know her wonderful, charming, intelligent daughter so personally that it breaks preconceptions about Down syndrome, doing for the reader on the page what working with individuals with special needs has done for me in person.

It's such a strange, humbling feeling to realize that one has imposed limits on someone because of preconceived notions related to a disability: one feels so foolish but also so very pleasantly surprised. I have experienced this as a teacher for people with special needs (and am glad to say it has broadened my heart, mind and awareness!). Becker presents this experience (of being pleasantly surprised and learning from it!) from the perspective of a parent, and it's a viewpoint so personal and intimate that one feels honored to be included as a reader.

Fair warning, Amy Julia Becker writes from a decidedly Christian perspective (and Bethany House is a Christian publisher). However, while Becker's faith is on every page, I never found it stifling or overbearing, despite being of a more "generic" spiritual persuasion myself at this time. Becker is down-to-earth and comfortable in her spirituality: it is central to her life and she shares it as open-heartedly as she does her experience of being Penny's mom. I have a feeling she would say the two are inseparable. 

A wonderful read, especially for anyone who loves, teaches or cares for a person with special needs and abilities!

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.