Sometimes I fall into the trap of labelling things as if they were clearly black and white, when they are more like my horse in April: grey and muddy.
One moral judgement I slip into - and I think I'm not alone in this - is labeling days as "good" or "bad". Avalon is spooky - bad day. Avalon is calm - good day. Groundwork - meh day. Riding - good day.
Today, when I caught Avalon, I was expecting her to be holding a lot of energy in her body. It is spring after all and windy. To my surprise, she walked most of the way to the barn calmly. Right as we were nearing the entrance of the barn, she became anxious. A friend starting calling back and forth with her. Suddenly, I found myself flying my mare like a kite. Rearing, encroaching in my space, you name it.
Out loud I said: "Neither of us are emotionally regulated right now." It was true. Avalon was spooky and distracted. My adrenal glands were pumping fight-or-flight juice. Both of us were operating on the sympathetic nervous system. At this point, there was a part of my brain that started whispering, this is going to be a bad day.
The physical situation we were in was dangerous. The ground was a few inches deep in mud and the alley was narrow. I opted for damage control until we were in the barn and then flew my kite right over to the arena. In the arena, the doors were slamming in the wind and my kite was now cantering around me in tiny circles. I don't know if I thought or said to myself, "I don't know what to do right now." I find that very interesting looking back because I did know what to do, and I did it, and it worked. I think that idea demonstrates how incapable humans (and horses) are when we are working from the sympathetic nervous response. Our bodies become overwhelmed and controlled by our feelings.
I started by allowing moving us over to some ground poles set up so that you could circle a horse over them and there would be one pole on either side of the circle. This gave Avalon something to think about besides RUN. While she cantered around me dramatically jumping the ground poles, I took responsibility for my own emotions. Breathing, blowing out like a horse does, consciously relaxing my muscles, I returned to the parasympathetic nervous system. Once my heart had stopped pounding, I took the next step to encourage Avalon to join me. I asked her for transitions, changes in direction, and eventually to stand still for a few moments. I don't know how long it took us, but we were both able to calm down completely. I had Avalon in the barn for a couple of hours as I groomed her for her spring vet visit and she didn't slip back into fight or flight the entire time. She was able to walk calmly and stand quietly for all the needles.
This got me thinking about "good" and "bad" days. What is better: a day where my horse is completely calm and not challenged in any way or a day when both of us are challenged by our emotions and both are able to self-regulate and return to a calm mindful way of thinking?
I dare to say it was a good day.