The Pony Won. I Survived.
When I was 10 years old, my family went to the White Sun dude ranch in Twentynine Palms, California. My dad was an accountant, and we always took our family vacation the week after tax season ended. White Sun was my absolute favorite place. I've always been a horse girl and I loved hanging around the barn and going on trail rides in the desert. One day, my dad took me and my sister out on a ride — my little pinto pony was named Dynamite, and my sister rode a mule tied to my dad's horse. As we were ambling across the sands, a group trail ride passed us heading back to the barn. I could tell the moment my pony decided he was done with our ride. He took the bit in his mouth and strained to go with the group. Between me and Dynamite, the winner was not going to be me.
Dynamite started galloping to catch up with the trail group, and there was nothing I could do but hold on. What made this terrifying was the geography: the barn sat on a plateau, separated from the desert by a deep dry gully. As Dynamite raced back, I could see we were heading straight for it — down to the bottom and back up at full speed.
I've recently noticed that my anxiety is at an all-time high. It started on my trip to Greece last month and seemed out of proportion to what I was actually worrying about. I now have a very deep understanding of what living with anxiety actually feels like.
I've always been a catastrophic worrier — I always imagine the worst possible outcome. When anxiety takes hold of me, it feels like I'm on a runaway pony racing back to the barn, charging straight toward that gully.
When my anxiety has its bit in its mouth, there's nothing I can do but hang on. Logic can't convince it to calm down. And as much as I try to stay rational — knowing that what I'm tied in knots about isn't actually true — my emotions have control, and the fear colors everything.
I wish I had a fail-safe solution to offer you. I don't. But here are a few things that help me get through the day:
Take notes on my phone of everything my brain is thinking. Being curious about my thoughts helps me examine them like a researcher. Later, when I'm no longer in that state, it's useful to look back and see where my mind went.
Get out my art journal and scribble, make art, play with images. When I'm having an anxiety attack, being in my head is what's torturing me most — making art helps me get back into my body.
Meditation isn't always my go to, though I know many people who manage their anxiety with a regular meditation practice. I have found, however, that when I can REMEMBER that I have this tool, it is always something that helps me to ground and release the complex feelings surging in my body. Apps like Insight Timer and Calm can be really helpful for this.
Breathing exercises and walking in the local park also help. Breath keeps you in your body, and nature is a healing balm when anxiety is severe.
The truth is that surrendering to the situation may be what gets you through. Clinging to Dynamite's saddle that day, I realized I wasn't going to convince him to turn back. So I leaned in, held on, and let him run.
As Dynamite and I reached the gully I grabbed his mane and closed my eyes. A minute later we screeched to a halt at the barn. I slid off, knees wobbly, heart racing.
The pony had won. But I had survived.
While I was in it — just like when I'm deep in anxiety — it felt like I wasn't going to make it through. But I did. And I've had this story to tell ever since.
I'm sharing it so you know what it feels like when your anxiety races you headlong toward the gully — and back to the barn.
