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A New Approach
Kelly has an interesting post on fear and riding (thanks to LearningHorses for the link). As we all know, the thought of jumping makes me want to pull the covers over my head and cry myself to sleep. Between Kelly’s post and my own thoughts on the fear issue, I’ve reached some tentative conclusions:
- I’m afraid of getting hurt again. [This is where you look sympathetic and say, “So, you must have had a really bad fall and broken a lot of bones or something, right?” And I look sheepish and say, “No, not exactly.” And then, figuratively speaking, I start doodling on a napkin and refusing to meet your eyes while I try to figure out what I’m supposed to say now. And then my eyes brighten and I say, “But I did crack my knuckles once!” because while I hate to justify the constant small but naggingly painful muscle injury periods I went through, everyone understands a broken bone. And how many people can say they cracked all their knuckles, anyway?]
- The fear is not the problem. Anyone who thought twice about jumping would be afraid because… really, now. While my degree of fear is probably a bit irrational, there’s nothing particularly shameful in admitting that jumping is dangerous.
- The problem is that I don’t address that fear. During the three years I took off riding after college, I spent a lot of time thinking of all the could-have-beens and what-ifs. And there was nothing to counteract that—I wasn’t on a horse and riding and having good experiences to reassure me. I wasn’t even on a horse and having bad experiences, which would at least have alerted me to my onrushing fear. Instead, I focused on the negative aspects of my injuries and didn’t even admit that I was letting fear grow.
- And now that I’m back riding, I’m still not convinced I want to address my fear of jumping—although I do (obviously) realize it’s there. You see? The fear itself is not my problem. My reluctance to address it is.
So I should just address it right? Ah. But there’s a catch. A Catch 22, in fact:
I am afraid to jump because I never address that fear and make myself take that first step towards jumping again, no matter how small that step is.
I am afraid to jump because my back cannot handle it, physically, and I inevitably end up injured. This is not a possibility; this is a certainty.
So… if I force myself to address my fear and jump, I’m going to end up hurt because of my back. Thus confirming that I was right to be afraid and setting me back where I started. Or, I do not jump and keep trying to make my back stronger, hoping that eventually I’ll be able to handle jumping physically… but in the meantime, I continue my passive non-addressing of my fear issues, which leaves me exactly where I am now.
The third possibility, of course, is that I overthink these things and I’m a psychologist’s dream come true. Just think of all the tropical vacations my phobia could finance!
I"d love to say that I don’t really care if I can’t jump and it’s not important to me and la-de-da Dressage. That’s true, at one level: I do prefer Dressage to jumping, and I always have, and a large part of me doesn’t mind the thought of never jumping. But I can’t say all of me is ok with that, because if I were, I wouldn’t keep bringing it up here, would I? (Hmm… I’m going to have to start paying my blog for the therapy sessions. I wonder where computers go on vacation?)
Several years ago, I was in a jumping clinic with a more advanced group than I’d normally be in. I was used to jumping 3’. Everyone else was used to jumping much higher. We were supposed to jump around at 3’3”, but you know how things go in the heat of the moment. Three times I turned a corner to an oxer on the diagnol—it was probably 3’9” and reasonably wide. Three times I fluffed the distance. Isn’t fluffed a great word? It sounds so… soft. Massacred would probably be a better choice—the only reason we got over the fence was that the horse I was riding was very scopy, far more honest than he should have been in that situation, and willing to bail me out every time.
But after the third jump, the clinician called me over and reamed me. Did the path I took to the jump work the first time, he asked. No, I said. Did it work the second time? he asked. No, I said. So what on God’s green earth was I doing riding the same friggin’ path a third time? he asked. Well, in all honesty there wasn’t so much asking going on as there was screaming—but I will never forget what he said next:
When the approach you’re taking isn’t working, find a new approach.
We took a new approach on our next go. We hit the proper distance. Amazing.
Since I started riding last year, I’ve been taking one (failed) approach to my fear of jumping: I can’t address the issue in the saddle for physical reasons, and so I’ve assumed there was nothing I could do except sort-of ignore it and hope it would go away.
That approach, clearly, isn’t working. That fact that I’m afraid irritates and bothers me. So if my approach isn’t working… I need a new approach.
Perhaps reading the book Kelly mentions on her blog would be a start. Or there’s another book title that I see floating around frequently—I want to say it’s The Winning Way by Jane Savoie or something like that. At least by reading I’ll be doing something about my fear, instead of letting myself settle into a rut of inaction.
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Comments
If you have a physical limitation, then take care of yourself. You have plenty of time, you know, to do things at your own pace. If it takes 20 years, then it takes 20 years. Nothing has to be Right Now or even Pretty Soon.
You’re both right—and my trainer says the same thing.
I don’t know why the jumping thing is bothering me so much lately—it’s not like anyone is suggesting I should be jumping.
Hmm. I really don’t want to start agonizing about why I’m agonizing, so clearly I need to find something productive to do.
More grooming, less naval gazing perhaps.
I am NOT a brave rider. Actually, when I started taking lessons at age 9, I didn’t have the greatest instructor (two summers later I still wasn’t cantering :? ) and I think I never built up the confidence I needed to transition into the next step. I was terrified of jumping and I’m still not thrilled with it. What’s worse for me is the fear of being run away with, which has happened a few times, both in the arena and out on the trail, and I think it really inhibits me sometimes. It’s the “oh sh*t” moment I fear, when neither of us is in control. I’m definitely going to look into that book; another useful one is “Understanding Nervousness in Horse and Rider”, by Moyra Williams, ISBN 0-85131-501-1.
On Jan 24, 2007, IronBessFlint said:
I spent a long time TERRIFIED of jumping. The thought of intentionally pointing a horse towards a fence, and intetionally having that horse leave the ground with me on board was enough to make me want to puke. And like you, I’ve got a bad back. Ruptured disc means no jumping!
That is a big part of why I got into dressage - nobody there would ASK me to jump. Ever. Unlike at a regular english barn where after you’ve been taking lessons for so long jumping is just what you DO.
While I knew my fear was there, I avoided it completely and became a dressage-r http://halt-near-x.com/images/smileys/wink.gif
And the one day I sort of got this idea in my head that jumping might kind of be a little fun. But only on this one particular horse that I felt safe on, of course. And nobody else. I wanted to jump him. So I convinced my dressage trainer to give me a jumping lesson. It was over something like a 6” crossrail (as in, the rail is set at 6” and the middle of the X is about 3” off the ground :p). The first several times I still wanted to puke. We approach the “fence” and I’d sink into my heels, get into two point, hope that he carted me over, close my eyes halfway over and hope to come out alive on the other side. And then I wanted to do it again http://halt-near-x.com/images/smileys/smile.gif
Anyhow…I guess my point is that it’s perfectly fine to build up confidence on the flat until you’re ready. Even if you ARE confident on the flat, if jumping makes you nervous, then why bother? Riding is supposed to be fun, no? I’m all for working through certain fear issues, but unless the fear of jumping becomes a fear of all riding, then I think it’s okay http://halt-near-x.com/images/smileys/wink.gif