CONFIDENCE

CONFIDENCE

“We Left Our Barn Door Open” postcards with playful artwork telling people to “Hold their Horses” were mailed to Frankenmuth Chamber of Commerce members.  The night before the big reveal, several friends helped with last minute cleaning of floors, setting up tables for displays, creating a welcoming place ready for guests.  Randy helped me position my perfectly cleaned and detailed new dually with a four-horse slant trailer in the arena next to the roundpen.  We placed plywood on the dirt floor deep into the arena near the conference room entrance, creating a stable foundation (pun intended).  We ran power cords, covering them with guards into the space where the band would set up tomorrow afternoon.   

Food was being prepared by a local caterer and artist, Val.  She made custom tabletop signs for each dish with colorful images and descriptions, tucked neatly into horsey-themed bases.  The plan was to have the horses at liberty in the roundpen, offering two short demonstrations of equine-assisted learning.  All the little details were being given careful attention with the goal of providing locals with an remarkable first impression.      

A few things would have to wait until the morning to be completed – the final picking of stalls, sweeping, and any last minute cleaning.  Once we felt we’d done all we could for the night, the seven of us sat around drinking cold beer, swapping stories.  Our laughter stopped when we saw headlights brightly through the front windows.  Car doors slammed as my childhood neighbors, Bob and Sally, along with my Mom and Dad entered the conference room.

I crossed the room to greet them, “What are you doing here tonight?  The Grand Opening is tomorrow evening?”  I curiously inquired.

“We wanted to see your place, so we took a drive.” My Mother replied.

“We were just curious”, my Dad added.  While Bob and Sally nodded their heads in agreement. 

“Well, since you’re here would you like a tour?”  “I’d love to show you the place.” I asked.

Noticing the people behind sitting around the custom-made kidney shaped island, they declined, explaining they just wanted to say congratulations.  They turned to leave, murmuring platitudes about wishing me a successful event.

Once the door shut, I turned to my stunned friends, declaring, “If anyone ever wonders why I am the way I am, you just saw part of the reason why.  Whose parents don’t want to attend one of the biggest events of their daughter's life?”  Then, again, I mused out loud, “not one family members was interested in attending the graduation ceremonies for my Master’s or my Ph.D., so I guess we’re just not commemorative people.”  I sarcastically added.

Deb stood up from the bar, crossed the room, wrapping me a tight, warm hug.  I hugged her back, thanking her for the gesture.  I then turned toward everyone, through tear-filled eyes, I thanked all of them for being “family”.  Little did I realize how significant that statement would be in the very near future. 

The morning of the Open Barn I hurriedly rushed to get chores done, mentally checking things off my list, matching them to the remaining amount of time I had left.  I hoped to attend noon Rotary; planning to make an announcement about the party. I was hoping to encourage business leaders to come out for it on this cold February Thursday. 

After I finished sweeping the aisle, I smoothly backed my shiny new tractor, with manure spreader attached, into the pole barn to get it out of sight of my future guests.  I removed the cotter key from the hitch between the tractor and the spreader.  Because I was rushed and not present, I absent mindlessly grabbed the 20,000 lb. tongue in an attempt to lower it.  It took my right hand with it when it slammed on the concrete floor.  Stunned, I quickly ripped my crushed fingers out from underneath the red metal monster.  Blood gushed, squirting everywhere.  I grabbed an old towel from a ledge in the pole barn, wrapping it around my torn fingers. 

My first thought, as the throbbing started, was wondering how much aspirin related medicine I could safety take.  I called my friend Sara who had once worked for a pharmaceutical company.  I told Sara what happened, inquiring about the pain medicine. 

“How many tylonal and how many advill can I take?”  Not rattled by my question, she told me the amount then asked if I needed help. 

“No”, I told her. “I planned to wrap a plastic bag around my hand, then take a shower.  There was just enough time for me to get dressed, and still get to Rotary on time,” I replied. 

Being right handed, I struggled to figure out how to tie the string around my right wrist so the bag would be waterproof. Unable to secure it, I called my future husband, Randy, asking him to come and help me.  He said he’d be right over. 

He took one look at my bloody and shredded middle and ring fingers, then declared we are going to med express.  I protested.  He was having none of it. 

At our local med express, they unwrapped my hand, then laid it on the x-ray machine.  The tech inappropriately said, “Wow, you really mangled it!”  A few short minutes later, the tech came back into the room, telling us we would need to go to the emergency room in Saginaw.  There was nothing they could do for us here.  The two fingers were broken, the flesh needed to be stitched back together.

Randy drove me to the emergency room 20 minutes away.  We checked me in, then found an uncomfortable bench in the waiting room, surrounded by others in various stages of distress. 

Settling in to the reality that I might not make the grand opening and recognizing that I definitely was not going to be able to complete my finishing touches, I moved into problem-solving mode.  I started calling in the troops – those people who I had confidence would step up and step in to make wonderful things happen.  Each of them told me in their own way that they would “hold down the farm” until I got there.  Trusting my friends would do their best, along with recognizing there was nothing I could do about it, I shuddered a deep, full body sigh then started sobbing on Randy’s shoulder. 

I grieved the loss of what I imagined it would feel like to see all the cars driving in, greeting people, the pride of showing off the months of hard work, decision-making, and stress.  I grieved the potential loss of my fingers.  I cried tears of gratitude for friends who, without hesitation, made this event a priority, confident that they would exceed my expectations. I cried for the love and support I felt from Randy, appreciating his non-judgement and “being thereness” of the moment.

Shortly after I wiped my tears and the snot off my face, I heard my name called.  We were checked into a room by the nurse, told to wait for the doc.  Two white coated men came into the room and introduced themselves.  One was the lead emergency doc, the other a resident in training. 

The emergency doc unwrapped my right hand from the bondage the med express people had put on it.  He poked it with a couple of shots for pain relief, then explained he’d be sewing them up, setting them with a splint.  He also gave me a tetanus shot.  It was a manure spreader accident after all.

He was kind, present, and genuine.  He explained, while cutting a piece of plastic, that he was trying to create something to simulate a fingernail since mine was completely missing on my ring finger.  He told me it was unlikely that the fingernail would grow back normally because of the injury.  He suggested I see a plastic surgeon once the wound healed. 

In case you’re wondering, I have a daily reminder of the accident because of the missing nail.  A really fun hangnail grows every month or so and I haven’t painted my fingers nails in twenty-five years.  Randy jokes I would get a finger-discount on a manicure. 

I shared with the doctor that I was going to be throwing a party in about a half-hour for 200 of my closest friends.  I explained that we had a couple kegs of beer, and that some of that cold brew had my name on it.  I asked him if it be possible to be given pain killers that mixed okay with alcohol? 

He shared that he was a home beer brewer, so he understood.  He gave me two prescriptions.  One beer-friendly for this evening.  The second, stronger for the future.  Small gestures of kindness can mean so much in difficult times!

We drove to the farm, past cars parked all along the driveway and the overflowing the parking lot.  I walked into the conference room filled with smiling, joyful people happy to see I was okay. 

After many, many hugs, pats on the back, and well wishes it was time for our demo.  All the horses were moving comfortably around the roundpen enjoying the attention of the crowd in the arena surrounding them.  I took the microphone, raised my bandaged right hand high, then explained that this was not a horse-related injury.  I told them a rouge manure spreader had attacked me.   Through tears, I shared how incredibly grateful and blessed I was for all the friends and family who helped make this dream come true!       

Can you recall a time when you were confident you could count on others to represent you well?

What were the conditions that gave you that confidence?

What actions can you take in the future to create additional relationships that you can confidently count on?   

APPRECIATION

APPRECIATION

Mickey and Minnie came to Kaleidoscope Learning Circle (KLC) in part because the formula for large animals for Birch Run township meant I could only five large animals on my 12.27 acres.  Technically, Mick and Min did not qualify as a “large” animal when I first got them as young foals.  My philosophy was “it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission”.   Because asking meant the township could say “no, I could not have more than five equines”.  I later learned from the township supervisor, when I was preparing to sell my property, that their rule about the number of large animals was just a guideline.  Their attitude was as long as a resident is a “good neighbor” nobody was going to count noses. 

When the two dark furry butterballs arrived from northern Michigan, we released them in the front pasture. There was a small white variegated hut as a shelter for shade or inclement weather.  Then partially filled large black stock tank with fresh, cool water. 

Putting Mickey and Minnie in the front pasture, divided them from the bigger horses by a slated double gate.  This allowed them all to sniff each other safely, bigs on one side, littles on the other, without fear of anyone getting hurt.  Tigger neck was long enough that she could drop her huge white head over the top of the gate.  Mick and Min would lift their noses up to hers, each enjoying sniffs.  The rest of the herd would bend their heads to the side and peak through the slats in the gate to say their hellos.   

The “bigs” (Tigger, Charlie, Al, and Tinkerbell) were in the “shoot” or long pasture running alongside of the property.  They also had access to the back, where there was a run-in for shelter and an automatic waterer.  The shoot and the back were divided by double gates that I painted a bright blue, so we affectionately called it the smurf gate.

Ultimately, we planned to integrate all of the horses one herd.  The range of sizes, colors, and personalities would make for easy metaphors relating to diverse work and family groups.  Observation is a great first activity in a program sequence.  With this range of differences we could create all sorts of engaging questions for EAL participants to ponder.  Such as, who in the herd reminds you of an important person in your life? Or if you had to make up a story about this herd, what would be significant to share about their relationships to each other?

After several weeks of living separately, Sara and I decided it was time to merge them into one herd.  Integrating horses always scares me.  Having grown up as a groom, following orders, I’ve always looked to more experience horse people to guide horse-related decisions. Sara had worked for several different barns, she was very seasoned and experienced in all things horse. 

We started by letting the bigs out into their pastures, a normal day for them.  Then, instead of putting the littles out front, we let them go into the pasture with the bigs.  As expected, there was a lot of running around, bucking, kicking and general chaos.  This is normal, until the herd figures out the new pecking order.  Their behavior determining who is higher up on the hierarchical ladder. 

Tigger, being the lead mare, was moving the least.  Her place in the herd was secure.  Tink, the youngest on lower on the ladder was the most active.  Her bucking and high kicks inspired Al and Charlie to embrace the frenzy.  Their energy, transferred to Mickey and Minnie, who were also embracing the chaos by running willy nilly, feet airborne, their bodies twisted and contorted into arcs. 

Sara and I held our breath, at the ready with halters in hand, waiting for them to settle down.  Then we heard the “kunk”.  Al had accidently kicked Minnie in the head.  She walked away a little dazed, though appeared to be mostly just shaken up.  Sara and I immediately ran towards the herd, deciding that this was not going to work today.  We each wrapped a lead rope around a littles’ neck, then with them in tow, moved the bigs through the smurf gate.  Whew!

We then assessed whether there was a need for a vet call, determining that we could keep an eye on Minn, as it appeared she hadn’t been kunked on her noggin too badly.  Grateful that no one got seriously injured, yet disappointed we’d have to keep them separated.  So much for our plan to have one big happy herd!  We  devised a plan to introduce a couple members of the herd at a time, letting two or three connect rather than one big mixing bowl.  We decided that we’d try that at a later date. 

It was autumn, so we had our annual gig with Saginaw Valley State University (SVSU) for their Youth Leadership Institute.  Roundpen loaded in the trailer the night before, hay bags hung for the horses, and toys for the activity packed, we went into the pasture to grab Charlie and Tigger.  That left Tink and Al in the back pasture, while Mickey and Minnie grazed peacefully in the front pasture.

After a full day of rotating groups of youth from Saginaw county and SVSU student volunteers through an EAL activity designed to help increase their self- awareness, appreciate differing leadership styles, and start building healthy relationships, we returned home.  Sara backed the trailer up behind the barn. 

We jumped out of the truck preparing to back the horses off and let Tigger and Charlie loose with the rest of the bigs.  We looked out into the shoot and saw that not only were Tink and Al grazing there, so were Mickey and Minnie!  We must not have closed the gate between them securely, so they integrated themselves while were gone.  We watched them carefully for several minutes, looking for broken bones, blood, or any sign of distress.  Seeing none, we decided to drop Tigg in first, see how that went, then let Charlie join the gang. 

Sara threw Charlie into his stall, while I walked Tigg into the pasture.  I turned her around, leaving her halter on in case we needed to catch her.  She trotted happily up to the rest of the herd who was near the smurf gate in the back.  When they saw her coming, they all trotted in her direction, meeting in the middle.  Sara and I watched patiently, as they sniffed, sorting themselves out.  No bucks or kicks this time.  The energy was “okay, I guess we all live together now.” 

Now time to let Charlie join the rest.  He was our eldest horse, around the age of 10, and had experienced many barns in his lifetime.  Sara was his previous owner, so she knew him well.  She sold him to me when she bought Tink, which was a great fit for both of us.  We mutually agreed that he was effectively on loan, that someday she would buy him back when she was able. 

Charlie entered the pasture, ears perked facing forward, trotting up the clump of horses in the middle of the pasture.  They greeted him, much the way they welcomed Tigger, with interested sniffs.  Shortly after he joined them, they all decided to go into the back pasture where there was more grass. 

Sara and I could not have anticipated that we had just witnessed the very beginning of many, many years of magical interactions between this perfect herd of horses and humans seeking increased self-awareness.  The diversity of size, personality, age, breed, and gender of these animals was truly unimaginably divine.  As was the divine intervention of them mixing themselves together!   

Have you ever had a “happy accident” happen that greatly impacted your life?

Is there a situation right now that you wish could change, and can’t see a way for it to be different?  What is one action you can take to make this situation better?

When you take that action, how will you know that it has made a positive difference?  What is your evidence?       

UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES

UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES

Living together in a Y-camp ranch home meant sharing space, forcing experiential learning in real-time.  Bunk beds, a limited number of bathrooms, and one large kitchen created an atmosphere that at times was familial – both loving and tense.

This was session one of a four-part, in-person five-day intensive.  This inaugural event combined the participants in the Equine-assisted learning Masters, the mental health professionals earning a Master’s degree with an emphasis on equine-assisted services, and the post-masters participants in both learning and mental health. 

A collection of people from across the US, including two people from Canada, and a person from Puerto Rico.  Each was drawn to participate in this unique learner-centered, experientially imbedded program because of their desire to incorporate equine partners into their practice or business.    

One of the pluses was having a caterer prepare our meals.  On that first morning together, Joann, the chef, and her helped Marie, provided us with a pile of waffles dripping with butter, bacon and sausage from local butchers, a bouquet of brightly colored fresh fruit, and a variety of toasts made from homemade breads.   

After our bellies were full, we gathered on random chairs and couches in the living area facing the huge stone fireplace.  Paul welcomed all the students to our session focusing on facilitation.  He used a flip chart and colored markers to review the pre-reads that included the theories behind sequencing activities, Kolb’s experiential learning cycle, and the effective use of metaphor.  

Following Paul’s session, Laura, a mental health professional and me, a educator, helped the participants unpack the distinctions between equine-assisted mental health and equine-assisted learning.  We emphasized the importance of staying within your scope of practice by offering a pencil and paper activity that supported the students in identifying their potential/actual clients, working through various scenarios.  

Once we completed the theoretical framework activities it was time to practice what we learned through partnering with horses.  The group of fourteen women and two men walked from the Chauncey Bunk house in the hot Arizona sun to the pasture.  Crossing the dry wash, our cowboys boots kicked up some dust.  We kept our eyes out for rattle snakes and other wildlife known to roam the area.  We reached the barbwire fenced in pasture where 30 or so horses peacefully grazed. 

The horses were a virtual kaleidoscope of colors.  There were several paint horses with unique markings, patches of white on their rears and sides.  Horses with socks and no socks on their legs, others with snips, stars, and blazes on their faces.  Some were solid black and a few where white or flea-flicked.   All gathered in a line on the fence admiring the herd; Paul extended the invitation for our first equine activity.

“We’re going to silently observe the herd’s interactions for the next 10 minutes.  Use your journal to capture the subtleties of their behavior.  For example, who moved who?  Did that interaction affect other members of the herd?  If so, how?  I encourage you to notice what you notice – why does that matter and what is significant?” he concluded. 

After 10 minutes, Paul circled us up to explore our reflections.  Then, he invited us all to enter the pasture.  One by one we walked through the open gate, gently moving horses aside that were trying to sneak out.  The instructions this time were to meet and greet the horses, however we saw fit.  Again, paying attention to our own choices, behaviors, and thoughts.  Did the horse move away or come toward you, ears up, eyes bright with curiosity?  He encouraged us to capture in writing the actions we found curious and explore what might lie behind that curiosity. 

Following meet and greet’s debrief, Paul demonstrated his preferred way to tie the knot on the rope halter’s he had assembled.  Then, Laura invited each of us to grab a halter, find a horse that it fit, halter the horse and then bring them to just outside the labyrinth.  A labyrinth is a physical maze, a complex structure of paths or passages invites reflection, introspection, and self-discovery.  Paul built this one with stone found on the ranch, boarders wide enough for both a horse and a human to navigate. 

Once everyone had a horse haltered and were standing patiently by the labyrinth opening, Paul signaled that whoever wanted to go first should start.  He suggested we enter with a question, leveraging the quiet reflective time while traveling the winding path to seek an answer. 

I was just getting back into horses after many years away from them, so was not very confident in my abilities.  Fortunately, my halter experience had gone smoothly, as the horse I selected, rather the horse that selected me (because he moved toward me when I set out in his direction) was named Nodak.  Nodak, originally from North Dakoda, was willing and friendly. 

Emily, Shannon, Mundo, Jayna, Laura, and Terri were all weaving around the twisting path when I stepped up with Nodak to enter the sacred space.  I paused, took a deep breath, and thought to myself,

“Dear higher power.  Please show me a lesson that will help me serve this program, these students, and the horses as we begin our new, exciting adventure with Prescott College.”

I asked Nodak to move forward, shoulders back, facing forward, confidently holding the leadrope.  He took a few steps then stopped to grab a clump of grass growing between the rocks.  I gently pulled on the lead, his head came up and we continued our journey.  We made it a couple more steps when he found a barely visible tuft of grass, dropped his head to snag the little patch.  Once again, I tugged his head and up it came. 

It was clear everyone was trying to respectfully honor each others’ experience.  Occasional small smiles would be shared as we passed next to each other on the twisted turns.  You could hear the sound of crunching, as horses and humans walked the dry gravel-like path.  The slightly peppery scent of desert sage floated in the soft breeze tickling your nostrils.  Looking toward our desired goal, in the center hung a buddist’s multi-colored flag. The Buddhist flag's six colors symbolize key Buddhist concepts: blue for universal compassion, yellow for the Middle Way, red for the blessings of practice, white for the purity of Dhamma, and orange for wisdom. The sixth, combined band of all colors signifies the universality and unity of the Buddha's teachings.

A few more steps, a couple of turns, and down goes NoDak’s head.  This time when I tugged on the leadrope, he refused to respond.  I struggled, trying harder to get him to move with no success.  Lifelong and experienced horseperson, Laura, happened to be right next to me one path over.  I looked at her and whispered for help.  She suggested I ask him to back-up instead of move forward.  Moving him off the grass in a new way would earn his respect and engage him in what I was asking him to do.

I gently applied pressure putting my hand on his front shoulder with left hand, holding the leadrope in the other, I asked him to back.  Success!  I smiled, mouthed a “Thank You” to Laura and continued on our journey to the center. Now that I had established myself with him as a confident leader, NoDak didn’t try to eat anymore grass.  I became more present, recognizing when he was thinking about dropping his head, anticipating his behavior before it happened. 

Once everyone completed their trip to the center and back out, we thanked our horse partners, releasing them back into the wide open field across from the labyrinth.   Then, we sat on the ground, circled up to share our experience.  I shared how much I appreciated Laura’s help when I got stuck.

Terri said that was a very moving and powerful moment for her.  I asked “why?” looking confused. 

She explained that she was really nervous about being here.  She was older than most of the students here and hadn’t been in school in a long time.  She was a horse trainer who had a bachelor’s in sociology, so thought that maybe getting her masters and becoming a therapist would give her more job security.  She shared that she was also a recovering addict, so felt drawn to help others who may have a similar background. 

She went on to tell us that she thought everyone, especially the faculty, would be better at everything than she would be.  When she saw me ask for help, it reminded her of her own expertise.  She knew more about horses than a faculty member!  She could hardly believe it! 

My eyes welled up with tears of gratitude at her sincere and deeply moving admission.  Her response answered the question I asked entering the labyrinth about a lesson that would serve me.  It was that by being vulnerable, being myself, asking for help was just what someone else needed that day.  I was enough and so what she.    

Have you ever been simply being “you” and later learned that you’ve impacted others in either a positive or negative way? What were the circumstances around the incident that you remember?

Have you taken what you learned from that experience and applied it elsewhere in your life?  If so how?

If there a situation in the future where you can also apply what you learned, what action(s) will you take to facilitate that being more likely?

RESONANCE

RESONANCE

Resonance is critical to the equine-assisted services industry in many ways.  One is when people co-facilitate, working together as single unit to reach the same goals for the client(s).  A simple, and often-used example, is a mental health professional or educator teaming up with an equine specialist. 

I’ve been blessed throughout the years to work along side some incredible co-facilitators where our “dance” together is magically in sync.  We naturally weave in and out throughout our program delivery with ease.  The comfort and confidence we display helps clients witness healthy team relationships.  This is especially true if something doesn’t go as planned.  Then, we are gifted the opportunity to show participants healthy conflict behaviors, staying curious and open, seeking to understand.    

I’ve always cared deeply for the equine-assisted providers, helping them to be the best version of themselves.  I believe all learning begins with self-awareness, so in order to serve their clients best, the facilitators must do their own personal growth work. In addition to joining and actively participating on committees or presenting at conferences or industry organizations; one of the ways I’ve purposefully worked to support equine-assisted services is by collaborating with other providers.

Our field, similar to many others, offers a variety of client-specific trainings.  Each is meant to support individuals enhancing their abilities to help their clients.  The programs range in focus from trauma-informed and other therapeutic offerings to leadership, communication, and healing programs for educators, coaches, and organizational development specialists. 

Two therapist friends of mine, Trudy and Sharon, offered a training they created for kids and horses.  This program used animal handling methods to monitor and report success to funders with outcome-based evaluations.  Income streams are often a challenge for non-profits, which is one reason they designed and developed a way to measure outcomes. 

I invited Trudy and Sharon to bring their program to Michigan.  We worked out all the logistics from who was responsible for what financially and organizationally to where they would eat, sleep, and bathe after they flew in from Wisconsin.  We confirmed what horses they would partner with and other details such as what equipment they needed and whose release forms we would use.  A two-day agenda was agreed upon, post card invitations printed and mailed.  Our efforts resulted in eleven women participants from around the country. 

One of the participants was Amber, a good friend and someone I have co-facilitated with regularly.  Stacie, another friend and co-facilitator acted as our horse specialist when necessary.  The three of us were really looking forward to hosting this event and learning from Trudy and Sharon.  It would be fun for us to not be responsible for all of the facilitation and to be participants together. 

Everything was running smoothly, with Trudy and Sharon running through their agenda.  Their approach was more didactic than ours, which was appropriate for the training.  A didactic approach to teaching is where the information is presented from the facilitators to the participants.  The classroom style material was blended with experiential equine activities.    

Stacie, Amber, and I noticed a little bit of tension between the two facilitators as the first day went on.  A sideway glance.  Rolled eye.  A shrug followed by a muffled “whatever” when one of them didn’t agree with the other.  None of the other ten participants seemed to notice or pick up on the subtle conflict.  The participants’ passion for new learning clouded their ability to catch the understated disagreements.  I was especially tuned in, because being the only non-therapist, the actual protocol was of little interest to me.

Unbeknownst to our guests these two business partners were struggling with their relationship.  I’d known both of these amazing ladies for a handful of years.  First witnessing their tension when I visited their place as part of a committee to create a third-party certification.  It was clear to me that they were no longer fully committed to continuing their business relationship or that they were having fun working together. 

By the middle of day two, Stacie, Amber, and I were jonesing to share our thoughts with each other.  We sat together for lunch with the pretext that we wanted to review the final details relating to transportation, wrapping up, and closing the event. 

The three of us started talking about how grateful we were for the opportunity to work together. We recognized that over the years, each of us had experienced and/or witnessed other facilitator training teams that clearly did not get along.  We reflected on the importance of working through conflict in a healthy way, modelling what we suggested for our clients.  “Walking the talk” was a core value, something we held in high regard.  Always speaking our truth and sharing our fears was a practice we embraced. 

Amber recalled a time when we were working with a group and at a break I asked her to meet me in the mechanical room.  Of course, she said yes.  We excused ourselves from the group, explaining that we needed a few moments in private.  We tried to make that request for privacy seem normal, nothing out of the ordinary, though it was rare for us. 

We entered the room a large closet next to the restroom.  Surrounded by a water heater, several file cabinets, and a corner where brooms, buckets, and mops hung I began.  I shared with her that I had been triggered by what a participant said in the last activity.  I explained that something about the passive aggressive way she responded to my question reminded me of what my mother, Ada, would sometimes do when she interpreted my question as an attack.  I had felt a physical response, a rush of adrenaline through my body and was pretty sure my face was flushed because it felt hot.

At the time of the exchange, Amber noticed my silence, jumping in to keep things moving after my somewhat awkward pause.  Now she helped me reframe the participants’ comment, so that it no longer held the emotional power it did when she first said it.  Because of Amber’s skilled coaching and my self-awareness, we were able to quickly return to the group, picking up where we left off. 

After reliving that story, the three of us wondered aloud whether Trudy and Sharon were conscious of their conflict or if their “way of being” had become so natural that they didn’t even notice it.  We acquainted it to a troubled marriage, where each fight might be different, though the root cause was the same.   It didn’t appear that our visiting facilitators were trying to drive away destructive communication and conflict patterns, replacing them with healthy, productive ones.  It seemed as if they, and thankfully the participants, were completely unaware.

Stacie, Amber, and I surmised that the other participants didn’t sense any tension because they didn’t recognize the difference between good and excellent facilitation.  The difficulty in the relationship between the facilitators didn’t resonate with the participants, in part, because they didn’t look for it, so it was basically invisible.  Trudy and Sharon created a business, worked together for several years, and shared similar values in regards to their work.  The current “falling out” was masked by their long-standing and deeply- rooted commitment to helping people partner with horses for the greater good.     

Sharon gave us all a ten-minute warning, so the three of us got out the plastic wrap and containers, putting away the remaining pulled pork, baked beans, and corn bread.  Amber moved the remaining cookies and brownies to the table by the coffee, making a fresh pot for our caffeine addicted friends.  Meanwhile, Stacie took the overflowing trash container out to the big receptacle in the barn aisle.

We wrapped up the rest of the program, said our good-byes, hugs all around. Once all the guests left, the five of us sat comfortably around my custom built, blue-colored, kidney-shaped island munching on leftovers to review the evaluations together.  Everyone was pleased with the experience.  The training was called “incredibly helpful”, with comments about the expertise of the facilitators.  In the reviews, the participants shared their appreciation for the facilitators’ real-life stories of partnering with other animals, such as Trudy’s dog Dinger, or Sharon’s chickens.  It warmed my heart to hear the facility, food, and overall appearance of the horses exceeded the participants expectations.

Stacie, Amber, and I did not share our observations about the tensions we witnessed with Trudy and Sharon.  In part, because it did not affect our mutual desired program outcomes.  Also, they also didn’t ask.  The three of us knew the personal drain of facilitating for two days; the emtional tole of being present for each participant, balancing that with all of the other moving parts of delivering a program. All five of us left feeling grateful to share our love of partnering with horses, helping others who will reach even more people in collaboration with these amazing four-legged facilitators.   

Have you ever been triggered by someone’s behavior?  How did you respond?

What did you learn from that experience and how has it served you?

In the future are there decisions you can make to reduce the potential for being triggered?  What are they?  

COMPASSION

COMPASSION

Wanda was listening to a Christian radio show called Focus on the Family, when someone was being interviewed from Crystal Peaks Ranch in Oregon.  They described the work they did with rescued horses and troubled kids.  How the work with horses changed lives.  This sparked in her a curiosity, so she googled about horses, changed lives, etc. This search opened the door to learning about the wonderful world of EAL.  She told her husband, Mundo, about it, then set out to find out more.

On the search to find a place where Mundo could go to get trained or certified in the EAL field, they came across numerous options which ranged from being very new age to scholarly.  Their focus first went to Spain.  Mundo decided to call since the training would be in Spanish.  The woman in Spain spoke to Mundo, suggesting he visit a center closer to home before committing to engage in her training. 

Nana’s search also revealed that Kaleidoscope was an option.  She suggested it to him because of the scholarly approach.  The information on the KLC website matched Mundo’s graduate studies which focused on business consulting.  Also, the fact that Kaleidoscope was in Michigan gave them a chance to visit Mundo’s cousin who lived near Detroit.

I received a phone call from a man with a very thick Spanish accent inquiring about my training.  While I didn’t offer a certification program, I was always willing to support people interested in learning more about EAL.  I shared anything – the good, the bad, and the ugly with the premise that they couldn’t replicate my work because we came from different life experiences, backgrounds, learning styles, etc. 

He told me he was Dr. Edmundo Jimenez from Puerto Rico and he and his wife wanted to come to Michigan to learn about EAL.  He explained that he showed Paso Fino horses and had recently learned about how horses could help people.  He was an organizational business consultant, with his own consulting business, InBusiness for Team Development, Inc.   He reasoned it might be a good match to bring his love of horses into his business and was eager to learn more about EAL. 

I emailed him a proposed training with the following outcomes:

-Explore industry definitions, standards, and guidelines

-Identify core elements of a skilled EAL Facilitator

-Self exploration and assessment -gap analysis of skills and talents

-Practice EAL facilitation, peer review, and feedback

-Networking with other industry professionals

-Increase awareness of the components of a learner-centered EAL program

He and his wife, Nana, agreed so I reached out to six other people who had also expressed interest in learning more about running an EAL business.  I offered to only charge Mundo and Nana for any out-of-pocket expenses. The opportunity to develop a collaborative partnership with a fellow EAL provider in Puerto Rico was exciting! 

It turned out Nana was afraid of horses, so she was just joining to support Mundo and learn the business side of the process.  She actively participated in all the non-horse dialogues and exercises, though when it came to working with the horses, she mostly observed.  Gradually, we all witnessed her getting more comfortable with our four-legged facilitators.  She moved from the edge of the arena, to nearer the horse work, getting closer and closer to our equine partners. By the third day when she was invited to lead Minnie, she responded with a tentative “yes”.

Mundo was beyond excited when she finally felt comfortable enough to actively work with the horses.  This was a significant breakthrough for two reasons.  One, she would no longer be just behind-the-scenes with their farm.  This new awakening potentially opened a door to her more active participating in the equine work.  As equally important, was the revelation of how transformational partnering with horses can be for individuals to overcome limiting beliefs.  Her conquering her fear of horses was an “Aha moment” that she told me became a game changer for their business, The Equus of Puerto Rico.   

After his experience in Michigan, Mundo, Nana and I kept in touch with them wanting me to come to PR to introduce EAL to their community.  Their farm was under construction, so they planned a “Deminar” at a neighboring barn. 

I’d never been to PR, so I made my usual arrangements for people to take care of kids, dogs, and horses then jumped on a plane headed to the island.  They invited me to stay in their home, which made the experience even more special.

The first stop on my PR tour was to observe Mundo in action as an organizational consultant.  Nana and I entered a large auditorium filled with people, mostly men, in business attire.  Mundo was at the front of the room on a stage in front of a very large video screen.  He was wearing a microphone and gesturing actively to the audience. Nana and I made our way to the back of the room where she could whisper English to me, interpreting Mundo’s presentation. 

It was wonderful watching him, his dynamic personality shown brightly as he strutted across the stage, changing the pitch in his voice from a whisper to shouting, captivating his audience.

Following the presentation we spent the day touring the island.  They took me to their favorite out-of-the-way restaurant for mofongo (mashed plantains) and an actual coconut with a straw to drink coconut water.  We toured old San Juan, the Castillo San Filipe de Morro (16th century citadel built by the Spanish) and the San Cristobal Castle (largest Spanish fort in the new world). 

The next day was the Deminar.  They invited twelve people, a mixture of men and women, to participate.  Because I only speak English and they also spoke English, we began in my primary language.  Questions in Spanish would fill the air, with Nana stepping in to explain to me what was being asked. 

We discovered during the first debriefing that it was best for them to share their thoughts in Spanish, their natural tongue, rather than try to translate it for me into English.  Important feelings, emotions, and subtle nuances got lost in translation.  So, we reversed our approach with most of the conversation now in Spanish, Nana again interpreting for me.  The speed, enthusiasm, and energy with which they could share ideas in their native language was significantly different than when they were asked to speak English.

The language of Equus though isn’t Spanish or English – it’s Universal.  The equine experiences offered insights for all the participants. 

The friendship between Nana, Mundo, and I grew.  Mundo attended the EAL Post-Masters program in Prescott Arizona four times the next year to further enhance his learning.  He developed a deep friendship with Paul Smith and Pam McPhee, which led to them also visiting PR.  Additionally, the Experiential Training and Development Alliance, a group the three (Pam, Paul, and I) of us belong to, participated in a service project on their farm to help them recover following the horrific damage from hurricane Maria. 

To this day, 2025, we continue to seek ways to come together to share our passion of horses helping humans.  It all started with a compassionate person from Oregon rescuing horses to help troubled kids and a person listening to that story on the radio.  Our collaborative efforts have positively impacted hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. 

Have you noticed or tracked the ripple effect of an action of compassion in your life?  What was it?

Can you identify another possible compassionate action that you could take today that may or may not have far reaching effects?

Is there a way in the future to determine the impacts of the choice you made?  Can you take additional actions to increase its reach and positive power?     

BLINDSPOT

BLINDSPOTS

Sitting in white plastic stackable chairs in a garage area attached to the horses’ stalls, we exchange small talk about the weather, children, and our plans for the coming weekend.  Above the concrete floor, shelves are filled with horse stuff, bags of Purina miniature horse and pony feed, tubs of supplements, buckets, a hose, plus a variety of toys and tools. 

We’ve been hired by Stephanie, an insurance company manager.  She and her therapist husband also offer equine-assisted services.  She asked us to deliver this program for her “real job” because she recognized her department was struggling with communication issues, creating conflict among her team members.

She’d invited us to her farm where they raise miniature horses.  Amber and I, along with five other women, were waiting for the final team member, George, to join us.  The ladies, ranging in age from 20’s to early 50’s were fashionably dressed.  Most are wearing colored cowboy boots and puffy coats.  From the deep sighs, to fidgeting and noticeable frustration, one could feel the tension as the start time slowly ticked further away. 

George hurriedly made his entrance and apologized profusely to the group.  He awkwardly plops down in the remaining open chair, then ran his fingers through his unruly hair.  The people seated who have been waiting for him sort of politely murmured back, then all turned to look at Amber and me.  We take their cue, welcoming everyone to the team development program, thanking Stephanie for inviting us to share her lovely farm.  We emphasized how much we appreciated her trusting us to be able to help them reach their communication goals.

Following our opening sequence of meet & greet and horse safety, we move into the next bit which is an introduction to Peter Senge’s Ladder of Inference.  His work informs us that we live in a world of self-generating beliefs which remain largely untested. We adopt those beliefs because they are based on conclusions, which are inferred from what we observe, plus our past experience. Our ability to achieve the results we truly desire is eroded by our feelings that:

• Our beliefs are the truth.

• The truth is obvious.

• Our beliefs are based on real data.

• The data we select are the real data

It’s one of my favorite tools to help visually represent that people find evidence to support what they’ve already decided. Below is part of the handout we shared. Climb the ladder with me, like we did with our six group members:

1)      The meeting was called at 9:00 a.m.  John didn’t arrive until 9:30 a.m. and he didn’t say why.

2)      John knew exactly when the meeting was to start.  He deliberately came in late.

3)      John always comes in late.

4)      We can’t count on John. He’s unreliable. 

After reading this first example one could hear a pin drop!  Why?  Because we had just experienced this exact scenario with George arriving late.  Each of the team members swiveled their heads, looking left and right at each other.  Did they just climb the ladder?  Let’s unpack this…

·        Did they start with observable data?   Yes, George arrived late.

·        Did they select some details about George’s behavior?  Maybe he’d seemed to be uncomfortable and somewhat flustered.

·        Did they add their own meaning?  Could they have reminded themselves of other times George was late?

·        Did they move to assumptions that George didn’t care that he was late?  He didn’t explain WHY he was late.  To be fair, nobody bothered to ask him either.

·        Did they then reach the “logical” conclusion that George isn’t a team player and he’s the reason they have communication problems.  Heck, maybe the whole reason Stephanie is requiring them to take a day off from work to spend time on better communication is all because of George’s behavior.

Amber and I look at each other, smiling, silently agreeing “let’s move into this”.  We modelled the healthy behavior of getting curious by asking,

“We just shared a similar experience, with George’s late arrival.  Did any of you climb the ladder?”

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Stephanie spoke up, admitting that she did. The remaining group members nod their heads affirmatively, sheepishly admitting that they did too.  George is their tech guy, so he explained that there was an emergency that needed his attention.  One of the participants lowered her head, commenting that she’s sorry she judged him, assuming he was late because he didn’t care about the rest of the team.   

Kim then asks, “George why were you late this time?”  Notice the “this time” added to the question.  The addition of calling out that there were past experiences with George attending late tells Amber and I that there is more to this story.  George doesn’t verbally respond to the “this time” part of the question, though he shrinks down a little in his chair making himself smaller.  He then explains,

“I know how important this day is to you, Stephanie.  You’ve been excited and talking about it since you first scheduled it for us.  It’s just that if I didn’t solve this server problem this morning we’d have bigger problems when we returned from the training.  I had to make a decision in the moment.  I’m sorry to have let you all down.” 

The ladder of influence affects all our decisions.  It all seems so reasonable, happening so quickly, that we aren’t even aware we’ve climbed the ladder.  Because it takes place in our head, the process is not visible to anyone else, unless we make it so.  Neuroscience tells us that the more we follow a decision-making pathway in our head, the deeper the groove or neuropathway becomes in our brains, so the more we believe what we’ve already decided.  The only way to reroute this “truth” is through inquiry, staying present, and considering other options. 

“Okay, then,” I say, standing up, shifting the focus away from this awkward conversation.  “It’s time to see what our horse partners can teach us.”  For this next activity we invite each of you to catch and halter a horse, without talking, then lead your horse for a while. Think of this as a whole group activity.  I encourage you to expand your definition of success beyond your individual goal of getting a horse haltered.” 

The energy in the group feels more inclusive, with all six of the participants, including George, moving toward the pasture where a herd of seven miniature horses wait.  As we walk outside, Amber and I excitedly whisper to each other in anticipation that the horses are going to help us explore their relationships further.

Before walking through the gate, each individual grabs a halter from us, then enters the pen.  The horses all rush toward the people to see if they have any treats for them. We imposed a “not talking without a consequence rule” so the people shuffle around, sorting out who will take what horse, by pointing and motioning to each other.  Once each person identifies which horse they are going to halter the participants are in various stages of trying to put the halter over the ears, buckle the chinstrap, and figuring out which part of the halter goes where. 

George is having the most trouble.  He can’t seem to find the top of the halter and every time he tries to put it on his horses’ head the black and white pinto pony walks away.  Everyone else is so busy with their own horses that they aren’t paying attention to George.  Amber and I whisper to each other that this scenario is just like this morning.  George is on his own, with nobody noticing that he’s struggling.

I raise my hand, inviting everyone to stop what they are doing.  Then, facing the group, I ask,

“Hey everyone, this is a good point to notice what’s happening.  Are you successful?” 

The five people standing with horses haltered all nod an affirmative “yes”.  George is standing absently holding his halter, while the pinto is on the other side of the pen. 

Amber asks, “So your definition of success was each of you reaching your individual goal, not all the group members accomplishing the task?”

The ladies look around, discovering what they hadn’t noticed earlier, that George and his horse weren’t even near each other.  One can almost hear the “Awe Sh*t” when they realize the group left George on his own, that they had not offered him support. 

Amber’s question opened the door for rich discovery of ways they can transfer this learning experience back to their office.  Stephanie, seizing the opportunity, moved to the front of the group. She suggested we walk back to the garage space to start capturing the lessons learned on a flip chart, creating a list of new best practices to take back to the office.   

Share a time when you climbed the ladder.  What were your blindspots?  Why did you think you held those beliefs?

Do you currently practice staying curious and present?  What are some of the conditions that support this behavior?  How do you feel when you realize you have assumed or jumped to conclusions which may not be accurate (note: I did not write “true”, truth can be relative to the individual)

What can you do in the future to be more fully engaged in the moment?