You Can’t go too slow

B hangs out in the shed with the cat on a winter day, comfortable with me behind her.

You can’t go too slow.

But my to do list! But my tasks! But my job, and the chores, and the cooking, and the cleaning, and and and….

Yes, yes, I know that the to do list exists, and All. The. Things™ must be done. But in their own time.

B has been with me now for a year and a half, and we are still working on the ground, because her body has been that horrifically out of balance. She has spent her entire life unbalanced, and feeling insecure because of it.

Her solution when pressed about it was to rush into whatever it was that seemed like the right answer, and get through it is quickly as possible in order to get back to being left alone again.

She desperately wanted to please, but as much as desiring to please as just get away from whatever it was she was being asked to do. (If you know of the defensive strategies, this is classic Fawn behavior).

So the most important task has become to go slow. Every step along the way, the key to unlocking things for her has been to wait. Make a tiny adjustment and then wait. Pause for as long as it takes until the light comes on and she grasps that it’s safe, not just with her mind, but in her body.

It started with gaining her trust with me on the right side of her body. Allow her to be calm, slip over to the right side, and wait for her to recognize that nothing was happening. Allow that acceptance to register in her body and her mind.

Once that hurdle was accomplished that opened up a lot more opportunities to start working on the rest of her body to help her find more comfort in her own skin, in her own existence.

B working on the long reins being supervised by the cat

We started with long reins, calmly, quietly, even though it scared her to have the rope along the outside of her body and behind her rump. Calmly, quietly, set her up, and then wait. Wait for her nervous system to discover that what was being asked not only was no threat to her well being, but actually helped her find comfort in her own skin.

Now she willingly seeks the work, with only a tiny bit of trigger on rare occasion from the old memories, but once she is working the new good feelings over ride any bad feelings and she works. Quietly, slowly.

It is getting very close to the time when carrying a rider will benefit her more than the ground work on the long reins. But carrying a rider still triggers that fear of instability. That fear of feeling unstable and uncomfortable, and out of control.

So we slow it down. So slow.

First: get comfortable with a human standing on an object next to her, above her.

Just standing on a bucket next to B was a challenge in the beginning.

Step up, ask her to be next to me. Wait.

Wait for relaxation. Wait for softness. Wait for breathing.

Suggest putting a foot in the stirrup. Wait. Again. Where is the softness? The breathing? The soft eyes?

Stand in the stirrup. Wait. Swing a leg over and settle into the saddle.

Wait.

Her shifting weight underneath me, like the bobbing of a kayak on rippling water, reveals just how unsteady she is. Her head is up again, the tension is back.

Wait.

Keep balancing, shift the weight, find the place where the tension is gripping in her body to keep her upright. Add weight, settle into that spot. Wait. Feel her shift away, find some balance, find a little bit of levelness. A deep breath. A sigh, blinking eyes.

Wait. She steps, only because her body is so out of balance she can’t help but move now and then. Stop. Repeat. Wait.

What’s incredible about this process to me is power in these tiny steps, these tiny adjustments. In the length of time doing nothing.

It’s NOT nothing. It’s everything.

To her, it’s the world right now. Never in her life has there been a time when a rider didn’t put her more out of balance, make her more unstable. This time it’s different, and it’s taking her time to process that.

Doing it at the halt will allow her to build up the trust that she can move and the rider will be there to support her, not make it harder for her.

And so we wait.

Wait until it’s deep in her bones that she knows she’s going to be supported and held. Wait until her nervous system flips from the stressed sympathetic side to the restorative parasympathetic. I can feel the ripple of energy through her as the nerves begin to reconnect, and the feeling to safety begins to come back online. And then comes her breath, again.

You are no different. Your life is no different. Rush, rush, rush does nothing but perpetuate the imbalance, whatever or where ever it is. It keeps the whole house of cards up, only because we’re moving so fast that the wind is holding it together.

Stop. Wait. Wait for the breath, for the space. Wait for the room to feel safe. The room to feel supported. Support does not come from speed, it comes from stillness. Give yourself that gift.

I promise that what is on the other side of that is all the speed in the world, in a way that never could be achieved when rushing through. That is the gift that B is reminding me now. What’s coming next is leaps forward in her understanding, security and trust that couldn’t be achieved if we did not choose to go this slowly right now.

Where can you gift yourself the space to wait? The space to breathe? The space to allow your parasympathetic nervous system to come online again so that flow is supported by comfort and safety?

If you think you need more safety and space in your life, and with your pets, drop me a message and let’s chat. Finding the way to more space in our lives can be difficult when the blind rush is all we know, but together we can build a plan for more space and more safety for you and your pet.