SELF-ASSURANCE
I was regularly approached by people in the equine industry interested in learning about what I do. I’ve always been very generous with my knowledge and time, living into the assumption that the people I meet cannot replicate what I do because they aren’t me. They don’t have the same education, experience, or wisdom. A perspective validated by the parable of the blind scholars; that each person brings their own unique and individual perspectives.
The story of the blind scholars and the elephant is an ancient parable from Dharmic traditions (Hindu, Buddhist, Jain) about several blind men touching different parts of an elephant and describing it based on their limited experience—one says it's like a wall (side), another a snake (trunk), a third a spear (tusk), etc.—illustrating how subjective partial experiences can lead to conflicting but partially true perspectives, emphasizing the need for humility, collaboration, and broader understanding to grasp a complete truth.
I can’t count the number of times where I’m introducing myself to someone and they will nonchalantly mention that they’ve met me and have visited Kaleidoscope. Huh? My thought is that in the early days of equine-assisted services emerging as an industry there were very few of us providers who offered professional operations. My half-million dollar heated indoor barn and facility were clearly an exception to the backyard educators and mental health professionals passionate about partnering with horses to help humans. Additionally, my level of education was also unusual. The developing field of equine-assisted learning and mental health was building the car as it was driving and I was one of the early engineers.
There’s only one time that I’m aware of where my generous spirit bit me in the hinder. After a tour of the farm, I can still picture a short-haired blond woman, Susan, with a cast on her right leg sitting at my tan-colored tiled kitchen table, a pair of crutches leaning on the green floral wallpaper. She had asked me if she could learn about my work as she was going to be partnering with a residential boy’s ranch in Texas. She was helping the Wrangler there develop an equine program focusing on life skills. While the populations we served were different, mine being primarily professional development and personal growth; some of my insights could save them time and money, learning from my mistakes and successes.
Our meeting was nothing special, I’d shared my insights and experiences with countless practitioners. What happened following the meeting definitely set this experience apart from the others. A couple weeks after Susan visited the farm, I received a call from Ellen, my tech support. She informed me that someone, a boy’s residential ranch in Texas, had copied every single word of my website. Even the corny puns! They had swapped out my pictures with ones of their own. The way that the tech company caught them was because the website stealers missed one of the links at the bottom of the page. This link provided a direct email to my tech company.
I was mortified. I felt as if I had been physically robbed. While the old saying that imitation is the highest form of flattery, this felt like a personal invasion. A slap in the face to all things collaborative. That by helping a fellow Equine-Assisted Learning (EAL) provider, I had been personally violated. My creative work had been taken without my consent, approval, or blessing.
The next question was what to do. I contacted my local attorney, Tom, who referred me to the larger legal firm I used to trademark my company name. Because all things intellectual property on the internet was still in its’ infancy, it was more likely the larger firm would have the resources to help me.
I met with George, a lanky, pin-striped suited grey-haired attorney who kindly explained that unless I had trade-marked each page each time I made changes, I had no legal ownership to my own work. A website like mine was dynamic, in constant flux, continually being updated with new program information and offerings.
I was crushed. I wanted these people to be held accountable. They didn’t just take my writing, their deception threatened to undermine my belief in people. As an entrepreneur, I often found myself in a place of self-doubt. Especially, because the services I provided could be considered a “unicorn”. It was challenging to validate the effectiveness and efficacy of our work because of the lack of research. This was especially challenging because it was at a time when “evidence-based practices” were all the rage. Many vendors and funding sources required evidence to be even considered for their company’s training and development programming.
George and I decided that he would send a “cease and desist” order to scare them in hopes they would take the site down. In truth, if they ignored the letter, we had no recourse. George would carefully craft an approach that was truthful, sounding all lawyerly, though was still just an empty threat. We crossed our fingers that they would assume I legally owned my work, meaning they had no right to it without my permission.
In the meantime, I called the Ranch in Texas to let them know what transpired. I spoke to the Executive Director, Dave, who explained that the cowboy Wrangler, that Susan told me about, who ran the equine program was no longer working for the Ranch. He basically said that it wasn’t his problem because he had no knowledge of the situation. I was shocked that this man who was in charge of “helping at-risk young men provide professional programs and services in a Christ-centered atmosphere to strengthen families and support the overall development of children” would be so callus and complicit. And yet, here he was. Again, my faith in people working in a similar industry was threatened.
A few days after my phone conversation with Dave, I received a phone call from my attorney, George, letting me know that the Ranch had contacted him and would comply with our request. Our creative approach of a threat which we couldn’t follow through on worked. Out of pocket, it cost me a few hundred dollars for the attorney’s time and to send the letter by registered mail.
A hidden potential cost was my faith in other EAL providers, the loss of a willingness to be collaborative. I decided that the best way to reframe that hurt was to continue to be generous in spite of the actions of some people who did not share my values.
That the greatest act of revenge against those unscrupulous people in Texas was not to publicly hold them accountable (tempting as that was). I was also afraid that because of their lack of morals, attacking them could further damage me and my reputation. My self-assurance that one bad experience need not limit my future generosity was gained through reflecting on what my equine partners taught and continue to teach me. I bucked and kicked out - moved the other “horse” into action (taking down the website) - then it was time to go back to grazing.
Recall a time when you were self-assured, having confidence in your character and abilities. What were the conditions that supported this positive self-talk?
Did you ever have this confidence threatened by an experience? If so, what happened?
Name the practices you apply in order to balance self-assurance with humility.