Ibérico and I
A story of contraction and expansion
Patrycja Linden, Portugal
With my internal world feeling crowded beyond my capacity to hold and contain it, combined with the relentless stimuli of a big city, I felt squelched and desperate for respite. I had been forced out of the productivity race years ago due to deep traumatic injuries and needed to find an entry back into society in a different, more balanced and healthy way. I needed to escape being in a constant state of reaction rather than truly living.
A few years ago, I started to experience an awakening of a felt sense of connection and safety through equine facilitated therapy with a herd of eight. These glimmers of felt sense would appear here and there in therapy and sometimes in my daily life. Unfortunately, therapy became inaccessible, and so I needed to find another way of being around horses, to keep cultivating a consistent felt sense of safety and connection and create a new life for myself.
I ached for stillness, simplicity, and wide-open landscapes to hold space while new seeds of safety and connection could germinate. I needed the safe autonomic nervous systems of horses to keep moving out of fear paralysis into a sense of agency. An opportunity to care for a herd of two in the Algarve region of Portugal presented itself, and I jumped at the chance.
I ached for stillness, simplicity, and wide-open landscapes to hold space while new seeds of safety and connection could germinate. I needed the safe autonomic nervous systems of horses to keep moving out of fear paralysis into a sense of agency. An opportunity to care for a herd of two in the Algarve region of Portugal presented itself, and I jumped at the chance.
Meeting the Horses
It was a small property nestled in a valley, not far from a Mediterranean city but far enough to allow one to disconnect and function at the pace of farm life. Italian stone pines, olive trees, and yuccas, as well as oleander shrubs, grew on the property, a consistent and constant sound of cicadas being the soundtrack of every day. I put down my backpack and headed out to be shown the daily routine.
The property consisted of a steep hill that had been converted to a 4-level Paddock Paradise[1] type of environment, with olive trees and shrubs providing the horses with shade from the blistering afternoon sun. At the base of the hill was a large outdoor arena where the horses ate, drank, and loafed in the mornings.
Later that afternoon I went up with hay to the first level of the paddock. Both horses were standing at the entrance: Ibérico, a dark bay Spanish stallion, and Indigo, a tall and lean gelding. While distributing the hay, Indigo showed his indignant character by crowding me. Meanwhile, Ibérico waited patiently for me to clip his hay bag into its spot.
It was a small property nestled in a valley, not far from a Mediterranean city but far enough to allow one to disconnect and function at the pace of farm life. Italian stone pines, olive trees, and yuccas, as well as oleander shrubs, grew on the property, a consistent and constant sound of cicadas being the soundtrack of every day. I put down my backpack and headed out to be shown the daily routine.
The property consisted of a steep hill that had been converted to a 4-level Paddock Paradise[1] type of environment, with olive trees and shrubs providing the horses with shade from the blistering afternoon sun. At the base of the hill was a large outdoor arena where the horses ate, drank, and loafed in the mornings.
Later that afternoon I went up with hay to the first level of the paddock. Both horses were standing at the entrance: Ibérico, a dark bay Spanish stallion, and Indigo, a tall and lean gelding. While distributing the hay, Indigo showed his indignant character by crowding me. Meanwhile, Ibérico waited patiently for me to clip his hay bag into its spot.
I caught a glimpse of his right eye, which was covered in a blue haze. I would soon learn that this was cloudy eye or corneal edema, which leads to the outer surface of the eye being blue. Normally, the cornea is transparent to allow light to enter and result in normal vision. When the cornea is damaged, it swells, and it is this swelling that creates a blue or cloudy eye. This injury can be caused by direct trauma, such as playing or fighting with other horses, running into a shrub or tree, or rubbing due to insect irritation and extreme dust, for example.
Ibérico’s blue right eye made me think of my left eye, damaged due to trauma to the brain. My eye had tried to help process what my childhood brain couldn’t. Eventually, I would learn that he and I had more in common, namely autonomic nervous system contractions, in the face of seemingly mundane objects and movements in the human world. Equine facilitated therapy as well as other body nervous system informed healing modalities taught me that “The contraction/withdrawal reflex and the related fear/paralysis reflex are part of nature’s wisdom, and a capacity shared by animals and humans alike.”[2]
All mammals have an autonomic nervous system that detects threats, aggression, and safety. In the face of a threat, an autonomic system contracts, and goes into the flight response or fear paralysis (immobilization). For humans, a threat can lead to leaving our bodies, disconnecting from our emotions, and detaching from others. By contrast, a nervous system that experiences safety leads to embodiment, connection with one’s emotions and connection to others, which feels like an expansion.[3]
I devoted the next few days to observing Ibérico and Indigo’s routine and interactions. Hay on the first level, grain on the ground level an hour later, followed by a drink and a roll for Ibérico, before returning to the first level and again back to the hay station ground level around 9:30 am. I found a spot by the fence, under an olive tree, where I could observe the horses as they ate from the hay crate. It would usually be Ibérico eating, with Indigo standing right behind him. It was only when Ibérico would go over to the water buckets that Indigo would eat from the hay crate. Once Ibérico returned to the hay crate, he would push Indigo out of position with a mere motion of his head, with assertive and uncompromising energy.
After their morning feed and drink, the horses would retreat to a spot by the property fence, which was lined with olive trees, the only strip of shade on the ground level, where the horses would unwind and relax. Every morning, I would sit about fifteen meters away from them, accompanied by a book, a notebook, and a pen. Indigo would sometimes come over, and inspect my bag for treats, while Ibérico showed no interest and remained in his spot. My attempts at physical proximity to him resulted in him not acknowledging my presence, turning his back end toward my face or walking away.
Ibérico’s blue right eye made me think of my left eye, damaged due to trauma to the brain. My eye had tried to help process what my childhood brain couldn’t. Eventually, I would learn that he and I had more in common, namely autonomic nervous system contractions, in the face of seemingly mundane objects and movements in the human world. Equine facilitated therapy as well as other body nervous system informed healing modalities taught me that “The contraction/withdrawal reflex and the related fear/paralysis reflex are part of nature’s wisdom, and a capacity shared by animals and humans alike.”[2]
All mammals have an autonomic nervous system that detects threats, aggression, and safety. In the face of a threat, an autonomic system contracts, and goes into the flight response or fear paralysis (immobilization). For humans, a threat can lead to leaving our bodies, disconnecting from our emotions, and detaching from others. By contrast, a nervous system that experiences safety leads to embodiment, connection with one’s emotions and connection to others, which feels like an expansion.[3]
I devoted the next few days to observing Ibérico and Indigo’s routine and interactions. Hay on the first level, grain on the ground level an hour later, followed by a drink and a roll for Ibérico, before returning to the first level and again back to the hay station ground level around 9:30 am. I found a spot by the fence, under an olive tree, where I could observe the horses as they ate from the hay crate. It would usually be Ibérico eating, with Indigo standing right behind him. It was only when Ibérico would go over to the water buckets that Indigo would eat from the hay crate. Once Ibérico returned to the hay crate, he would push Indigo out of position with a mere motion of his head, with assertive and uncompromising energy.
After their morning feed and drink, the horses would retreat to a spot by the property fence, which was lined with olive trees, the only strip of shade on the ground level, where the horses would unwind and relax. Every morning, I would sit about fifteen meters away from them, accompanied by a book, a notebook, and a pen. Indigo would sometimes come over, and inspect my bag for treats, while Ibérico showed no interest and remained in his spot. My attempts at physical proximity to him resulted in him not acknowledging my presence, turning his back end toward my face or walking away.
Witnessing Ibérico’s Contractions
One particular day, I had just given the horses their morning grain and proceeded to fill up the water buckets when Ibérico started walking over to drink. I was holding the water hose and filling up his preferred bucket. Suddenly he stopped, froze for a moment, and backed away. I found this behaviour unusual, especially as I made so much effort not to move like a predator but to have soft eyes and use my feet to ground myself into a calm state. By this time Indigo had also walked over to another bucket, not paying me any mind. I finished filling the buckets, put the hose away, and went to my spot by the fence to observe, write, and read.
With Ibérico beginning to tolerate my physical presence, I attempted to connect with him through touch by brushing him. I approached him as he was loafing by the fence, with Indigo next to him. I raised the arm holding the brush. Ibérico’s neck shot up, and he moved away. I tried to brush his other side with the same result. I remembered him backing away when I held the hose, and now he was backing away at the sight of my raised arm. I was reminded of the head pains on the left side of my head and in my left eye, a response I had to arm or hand movements and loud voices.
I felt discouraged that my attempt at physical connection failed. However, I noticed patterns that showed me his reactions weren’t somehow personal to me but were a result of previous experiences.
I decided to abandon touch for the time being and attempted to mirror Ibérico, in the hope of gaining trust. One day, after his daily post-breakfast drink, he began walking to his usual loafing spot. I walked parallel to him, mirroring the pace of his walk. I hung my head like a horse. He stopped and I stopped. I focused on my breath and felt the earth underneath me. Suddenly he walked in the opposite direction, toward the hay crate. I followed him at the same pace. He bolted, running up to the first level of the paddock.
With mirroring being unsuccessful, I retreated to observing. On yet another scorcher of a day, Ibérico left his loafing spot and started walking towards the water buckets. He suddenly stopped and stood as if frozen. I didn’t think much of it until I watched him take one tentative step forward, followed by an immediate step back. He repeated this motion twice. Suddenly the yellow hose caught my eye. I had forgotten to put it back behind the buckets. I was incredulous that it was the hose that was causing the contraction in Ibérico’s nervous system, making him freeze up, a response to the threat.
One particular day, I had just given the horses their morning grain and proceeded to fill up the water buckets when Ibérico started walking over to drink. I was holding the water hose and filling up his preferred bucket. Suddenly he stopped, froze for a moment, and backed away. I found this behaviour unusual, especially as I made so much effort not to move like a predator but to have soft eyes and use my feet to ground myself into a calm state. By this time Indigo had also walked over to another bucket, not paying me any mind. I finished filling the buckets, put the hose away, and went to my spot by the fence to observe, write, and read.
With Ibérico beginning to tolerate my physical presence, I attempted to connect with him through touch by brushing him. I approached him as he was loafing by the fence, with Indigo next to him. I raised the arm holding the brush. Ibérico’s neck shot up, and he moved away. I tried to brush his other side with the same result. I remembered him backing away when I held the hose, and now he was backing away at the sight of my raised arm. I was reminded of the head pains on the left side of my head and in my left eye, a response I had to arm or hand movements and loud voices.
I felt discouraged that my attempt at physical connection failed. However, I noticed patterns that showed me his reactions weren’t somehow personal to me but were a result of previous experiences.
I decided to abandon touch for the time being and attempted to mirror Ibérico, in the hope of gaining trust. One day, after his daily post-breakfast drink, he began walking to his usual loafing spot. I walked parallel to him, mirroring the pace of his walk. I hung my head like a horse. He stopped and I stopped. I focused on my breath and felt the earth underneath me. Suddenly he walked in the opposite direction, toward the hay crate. I followed him at the same pace. He bolted, running up to the first level of the paddock.
With mirroring being unsuccessful, I retreated to observing. On yet another scorcher of a day, Ibérico left his loafing spot and started walking towards the water buckets. He suddenly stopped and stood as if frozen. I didn’t think much of it until I watched him take one tentative step forward, followed by an immediate step back. He repeated this motion twice. Suddenly the yellow hose caught my eye. I had forgotten to put it back behind the buckets. I was incredulous that it was the hose that was causing the contraction in Ibérico’s nervous system, making him freeze up, a response to the threat.
Our First Expansion – Connecting with Ibérico through Touch
Since Ibérico had not accepted a brush, I engaged with Indigo, who was not shy about positioning himself to have his rump scratched. I hoped Ibérico’s nervous system would pick up the calm in Indigo’s nervous system when around me. For my part, while scratching and brushing Indigo, I began feeling a familiar sensation in my knees, one that had been awakened a few years ago, during an equine-facilitated therapy session. It was the felt sense of connection. I kept my attention on my knees, feeling the need to charge my nervous system with this sense of connection that didn’t come from the mind but from the body, making it something that couldn’t be faked or corrupted.
Ibérico was tolerating my presence. I was reminded of something I had read about giving back to a horse rather than just receiving, and I felt an impulse to give to Ibérico. I stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, our heads facing opposite directions. He stood still, his eyelids, drooped, his back left leg cocked, and his tail swishing away the midday flies. I gently placed my left hand at the base of his neck with the intention of providing him with support. Suddenly, he lowered his neck. I put my right hand on his shoulder and hugged him with my left. He leaned into me. Indigo had moved closer to us and began licking and chewing, a sign of relaxation. It was his autonomic nervous system moving into the parasympathetic branch, rest and digest.
Since Ibérico had not accepted a brush, I engaged with Indigo, who was not shy about positioning himself to have his rump scratched. I hoped Ibérico’s nervous system would pick up the calm in Indigo’s nervous system when around me. For my part, while scratching and brushing Indigo, I began feeling a familiar sensation in my knees, one that had been awakened a few years ago, during an equine-facilitated therapy session. It was the felt sense of connection. I kept my attention on my knees, feeling the need to charge my nervous system with this sense of connection that didn’t come from the mind but from the body, making it something that couldn’t be faked or corrupted.
Ibérico was tolerating my presence. I was reminded of something I had read about giving back to a horse rather than just receiving, and I felt an impulse to give to Ibérico. I stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, our heads facing opposite directions. He stood still, his eyelids, drooped, his back left leg cocked, and his tail swishing away the midday flies. I gently placed my left hand at the base of his neck with the intention of providing him with support. Suddenly, he lowered his neck. I put my right hand on his shoulder and hugged him with my left. He leaned into me. Indigo had moved closer to us and began licking and chewing, a sign of relaxation. It was his autonomic nervous system moving into the parasympathetic branch, rest and digest.
Human Contraction in a Human World
Feeling calm, soothed, rejuvenated, and filled with a sense of optimism, I left the horses and drove into town. On my way, I felt a familiar fear, a flashback of times when going away from home meant going towards danger. My felt sense of connection and safety that I had just experienced with the horses was fading. I entered a grocery store, and my fear level increased, with so many human bodies all piercing my energy field and causing distress in my nervous system. I felt as if everyone was looking at me. A familiar sensation of frozen-ness overcame me, my movements becoming rigid and unnatural. I needed to get out and return to the farm, to nature, to open space, and to safe mammalian nervous systems.
As if I wasn’t feeling uncomfortable enough, the fear was once again triggered as the cashier checked me out and subsequent customers moved up in the queue towards me. I felt a pang of fear at the lower back of my neck, where the most primal part of the brain is located, screaming that extreme danger is approaching. I headed back to the farm feeling despondent and defeated. I no longer had a felt sense of the nervous system expansion and soothing that I had experienced with the horses only a couple of hours ago. The shocking nature of this contraction cast significant doubts in my mind as to ever being able to tolerate being around humans without my nervous system setting off an extreme danger false alarm.
What I was experiencing that day was the “boomerang effect”[4]; the earlier nervous system expansion I had experienced with Ibérico caused my nervous system to contract and bring up more symptoms. The knowledge that the trauma healing process consists of expansion and contraction, and “that the contraction phase is natural and inevitable”[5] did not ease my feelings of disappointment and discouragement. I wasn’t comforted by the fact that healing isn’t linear and that a step forward often results in two steps back. I just wanted to be normal, to live a full life with a felt sense of safety, connection, and more ease, my birthright.
Feeling calm, soothed, rejuvenated, and filled with a sense of optimism, I left the horses and drove into town. On my way, I felt a familiar fear, a flashback of times when going away from home meant going towards danger. My felt sense of connection and safety that I had just experienced with the horses was fading. I entered a grocery store, and my fear level increased, with so many human bodies all piercing my energy field and causing distress in my nervous system. I felt as if everyone was looking at me. A familiar sensation of frozen-ness overcame me, my movements becoming rigid and unnatural. I needed to get out and return to the farm, to nature, to open space, and to safe mammalian nervous systems.
As if I wasn’t feeling uncomfortable enough, the fear was once again triggered as the cashier checked me out and subsequent customers moved up in the queue towards me. I felt a pang of fear at the lower back of my neck, where the most primal part of the brain is located, screaming that extreme danger is approaching. I headed back to the farm feeling despondent and defeated. I no longer had a felt sense of the nervous system expansion and soothing that I had experienced with the horses only a couple of hours ago. The shocking nature of this contraction cast significant doubts in my mind as to ever being able to tolerate being around humans without my nervous system setting off an extreme danger false alarm.
What I was experiencing that day was the “boomerang effect”[4]; the earlier nervous system expansion I had experienced with Ibérico caused my nervous system to contract and bring up more symptoms. The knowledge that the trauma healing process consists of expansion and contraction, and “that the contraction phase is natural and inevitable”[5] did not ease my feelings of disappointment and discouragement. I wasn’t comforted by the fact that healing isn’t linear and that a step forward often results in two steps back. I just wanted to be normal, to live a full life with a felt sense of safety, connection, and more ease, my birthright.
Ibérico Initiates Connection
Since my presence and touch were now accepted, I joined the horses in their morning loafing, sitting right next to them. I landed in my body, looking up towards the paddock. Just above the fourth level, a tree at the neighbour’s house caught my attention. It reminded me of my dear grandfather’s orchard, a physical and mental refuge. I sat down and closed my eyes, keeping a mental image of the tree and the blue sky. I experienced it wipe my psyche of darkness and despair, just like it had done in childhood.
Somewhere between me being in a meditative state and drifting away into a nap, I heard him approach, the crunch of the red earth under his hooves. As I opened my eyes, his head was lowered down to mine. He touched my forearm with his muzzle and rested it there. I reveled in his soft muzzle and warm breath on my arm. After weeks of trying to gain his trust, it took such passivity for Ibérico to feel safe enough to seek out connecting with me.
Our resting and connecting phase was coming to a natural end; the horses were slowly awakening and moving away, toward the water buckets. Once Ibérico finished drinking, I approached him and extended my arm with the intent of touching him. He startled and walked away. A sudden and big contraction. I felt jolted back into reality. It was as if the connection that had just taken place never happened.
Since my presence and touch were now accepted, I joined the horses in their morning loafing, sitting right next to them. I landed in my body, looking up towards the paddock. Just above the fourth level, a tree at the neighbour’s house caught my attention. It reminded me of my dear grandfather’s orchard, a physical and mental refuge. I sat down and closed my eyes, keeping a mental image of the tree and the blue sky. I experienced it wipe my psyche of darkness and despair, just like it had done in childhood.
Somewhere between me being in a meditative state and drifting away into a nap, I heard him approach, the crunch of the red earth under his hooves. As I opened my eyes, his head was lowered down to mine. He touched my forearm with his muzzle and rested it there. I reveled in his soft muzzle and warm breath on my arm. After weeks of trying to gain his trust, it took such passivity for Ibérico to feel safe enough to seek out connecting with me.
Our resting and connecting phase was coming to a natural end; the horses were slowly awakening and moving away, toward the water buckets. Once Ibérico finished drinking, I approached him and extended my arm with the intent of touching him. He startled and walked away. A sudden and big contraction. I felt jolted back into reality. It was as if the connection that had just taken place never happened.
Over the next couple of weeks, Ibérico and I were experiencing more small moments of connection. His nicker as I approached, with food or without, almost made my heart sing. My time in the Algarve was coming to an end. I knew that both Ibérico and I needed more repetitions of moments of nervous system safety and a resulting felt sense of connection, to move on from the past experiences that shaped our reactions to the world around us.
Being with Ibérico reiterated that both human and horse autonomic nervous systems are similarly affected by their lived experience. They can carry big traumatic imprints that lead to withdrawal, isolation, and loss of trust in others and the world. Ibérico’s near future would likely entail continuing to live with the burden of threatening interactions with humans, while his herd mate, Indigo, would keep showing up as his brash self, living in the here and now. I hope that all is not lost and that Ibérico and I can still experience repair and get the chance to excavate our innate capacity for expansion. ~*~
Being with Ibérico reiterated that both human and horse autonomic nervous systems are similarly affected by their lived experience. They can carry big traumatic imprints that lead to withdrawal, isolation, and loss of trust in others and the world. Ibérico’s near future would likely entail continuing to live with the burden of threatening interactions with humans, while his herd mate, Indigo, would keep showing up as his brash self, living in the here and now. I hope that all is not lost and that Ibérico and I can still experience repair and get the chance to excavate our innate capacity for expansion. ~*~
[1] Paddock Paradise is an alternative to traditional paddocks. Designed in the 1980s by natural hoof care and wild horse expert Jaime Jackson, its objective is to maintain sound and healthy horses. It’s a track system designed to mimic the natural environment of free-roaming horses, who walk along long familiar routes or tracks to find food, water, and shelter. Before developing Paddock Paradise, Jackson had developed the wild hoof trim, a trim to give domesticated horses a hoof more like a natural hoof. Paddock Paradise is conducive to horses living with this wild hoof trim, without shoes.
[2] Heller, Laurence. LaPierre, Aline. “Healing Developmental Trauma: How Early Trauma Affects Self-Regulation, Self-Image, and the Capacity for Relationship”. (North Atlantic Books, 2012), 134.
[3] Ibid, 211.
[4] Heller, Laurence. LaPierre, Aline. “Healing Developmental Trauma: How Early Trauma Affects Self-Regulation, Self-Image, and the Capacity for Relationship”. (North Atlantic Books, 2012), 232.
[5] Ibid, 232.
[2] Heller, Laurence. LaPierre, Aline. “Healing Developmental Trauma: How Early Trauma Affects Self-Regulation, Self-Image, and the Capacity for Relationship”. (North Atlantic Books, 2012), 134.
[3] Ibid, 211.
[4] Heller, Laurence. LaPierre, Aline. “Healing Developmental Trauma: How Early Trauma Affects Self-Regulation, Self-Image, and the Capacity for Relationship”. (North Atlantic Books, 2012), 232.
[5] Ibid, 232.
