Big Girl, Bigger Horse, Small Thoughts.

I’ve written this story ten, twelve, a hundred times over, and no version ever seems right. No version of this story seems to encompass all that happened during those years.

In fairness, how do you explain the moments that made your heart swell, that made you joyful beyond recognition, the guilt, the questioning, the ridiculousness of it all, without admitting that some of it may not have happened the way you remember?

How shameful it is, to recognize that you’re telling a tall tale, that others who witnessed it may disagree with you, and yet, your whole heart is telling you it is what you thought it was? When a child tells you that he is a knight with a sword, you don’t disagree with him. You find a sword of your own and carry on. Who am I to deny myself that right? Why read a story about sticks when those sticks could be swords?

So, while I tell this story, keep in mind that the story starts when I was a kid, and continues through my adulthood, and like my bones, my memories age with me.

Less like pictures in frames collecting dust, but always the same underneath, and more like a living thing. Born one way, and later distinguished in another, but the spirit stays the same.

So in places where I may imagine a stick as a sword, I implore you to recognize the spirit of the words.

I will write this story as I remember it, without judgement. If you remember things differently, so be it. My words are not untrue, they are just aged within the thoughts of a lonely fourteen year old, and then an overwhelmed fifteen year old, and then a defiant sixteen year old, and so on and so forth.

Furthermore, this story is hard to write because the story has changed time and time again, and between writing this and living a little more, the story might morph into something else completely, and I will go against my nature and refuse to apologize for that, because it is not fair to expect a living, breathing, experience to follow the rules of an inanimate object, and this story is not over yet.

So it begins.

It’s April of 2014, and I am fourteen years old. My parents are right smack dab in the middle of their divorce, and although they are civil, it breaks my heart.

My solace is a little mare named Snow. My trainer’s horse. A lesson horse. My parents are generous with their time and drive me to the barn whenever they can, and I ride her with my whole heart. Although I am not an advanced rider at this point, I have convinced myself that I trained this horse myself, and I beam with absolute pride when I see her.

As my parents’ divorce heats up, on April 12th, 2014, my dad decides to lease Snow for me, and further I fall in love with her. Even now, dizzy with pride, I know my time with Snow is nearing an end. I’m already big for fourteen, and I will only get bigger, and soon it will be unfair to ride a horse of Snow’s size. Her muscles and joints don’t care how much I love her. My impending size will weigh her down. I’m not blind to that, and yet, leasing her feels so final. As if I couldn’t outgrow her now, because there’s a paper somewhere that proves I love her.

On April 14th, 2014, just two days later, I head to the barn and I am greeted by the biggest horse I have ever seen. I didn’t have context. I didn’t know my trainer was buying a new horse. I remember seeing her stretch her head over the fence post and looking out at the drive way, and I remember having no concept of how large she was. She had such a small spirit at that time, it made the rest of her seem small to me, too.

I believe that Katie, herself, thought she was dying, and there were times when I wondered the same thing. She was so skinny and so sore all over, like she was waiting to die. She was so fearful of all these tiny, meaningless things around her. She spooked at flowers and leaping frogs and baseball caps and folding chairs. I often thought about the elephant that was scared of the mouse. I often thought of myself, who was afraid of everything, too.

On April 16th, my lease switched from Snow to Katie. I remember being both so heartbroken and so grateful at the same time. Although it was never said outloud, I knew I had already ridden Snow for the last time, and it broke my heart, but in front of me stood this sweet, heartbroken and grateful horse that I knew I could help, and sometimes, you just need to nurture something.

It’s strange to grieve something you haven’t totally lost, and in hindsight, this was the first of many half-grievances in my life. This animal, who I loved, I no longer possessed any control over, but she wasn’t gone from my life. We had just entered a different dynamic, and there were no guidelines to explain to me how to handle such a concept.

So my journey with Katie began, and truthfully, most of the time, I was angry,

I was angry for her. Getting a horse to a healthy weight is not as quick and painless as it sounds. Complications exist. It seemed like her next meal never came soon enough, and she ate like she was certain it was her last.

I was angry for me. I knew I was in over my head, and I was angry I had fallen in love with a difficult horse, a horse that didn’t have an ounce of certainty guaranteed. A horse with abscesses and sore legs and so much fear. A horse which forced me to ‘take things slow,’ a skill I have never mastered. I was angry that suddenly, someone needed me, not someone safe, who would love me and be there for me forever, but someone who was a liability, that could possibly disappear as fast as she emerged into my life.

Then again, if it weren’t her, it would just be someone or something else.

So I rolled with the punches. If she’s temporary, I’d make her time with me the best time of her life. If Katie wanted a treat, she’d get five. If Katie got nervous, I’d pull up a chair and sing her lullabies. If Katie’s neck and shoulders got sore, I’d give her a massage. I couldn’t fix what was wrong, but I could love her. That was my gift. I could offer her a love twice her size.

The truth of it is, Katie was big in stature, but during this time, her spirit was small. She wasn’t used to being safe and loved, and she certainly didn’t test it. So when people marveled at how I, this notoriously anxious girl, could be so fearless and so blind to her size, I didn’t explain that her spirit didn’t match.

Growing up plus-sized, I always felt too big for whatever space I was in, and I had learned how to shrink down my thoughts and my feelings to fit, and Katie did the same thing. If she didn’t fit in body, she would fit in spirit. She learned that she wouldn’t be punished if she didn’t beg or pout, and stood terribly still, the same way I learned to keep my opinions to myself, that I would be more palatable in bite-sized pieces.

Katie didn’t like my bite-sized pieces, and soon enough, as her spirit grew, she made it very clear that mine would have to grow to match. Katie didn’t fear me, but she also didn’t respect me. The softness and meekness that was compatible with so many others did not benefit, or even suffice with her. As her spirit grew, so did her indignance. She made it clear, that if she didn’t want to do something, I couldn’t do a thing about it. I would go as far as to say she even taunted me sometimes. I would ask for a trot, and she’d turn her head and bite my foot. I’d tap her with a whip and she’d take a step backwards. She never tried to hurt me, though. She just annoyed the hell out of me. Yet, on some days, I’d be frustrated, on the verge of tears (if not already crying) and Katie would suddenly respond, as if to say “I went too far, I’m sorry,” and do as I asked. These were the moments in particular that struck me the deepest. Katie proved to me, time and time again, that where I had empathy for her, she had understanding for me. A pure, unadulterated connection.

So as our bodies changed in continued compatibility, our spirits grew at the same pace. Both a wonderful and terrible thing. We were frustratingly, inseparably connected. Oftentimes we felt like a match made in hell. As my riding skills advanced, Katie became more pugnacious. As I got stronger, so did Katie. A constant bickering between order and defiance. Our biggest barrier was my fear. My trainer would say “jump,” and I would say, “Okay, I trust Katie. I am scared, but she can do it,” and Katie would respond, “If Trish is scared, then I should be scared, too.” Katie was my perfect projection. Really, that’s why I didn’t hold my frustration against her. How could I? She only ever did as I asked. It was never her fault that I expected her to be more than she was.

I can write it a thousand beautiful and different ways, but the truth is, Katie is exactly as smart as I am. It almost sounds like a jab at myself, but really, it’s a high complement to her. Loving Katie is like trying to outsmart your own head. Time consuming and unproductive.

On June 5th, 2016, Katie officially became mine. This frustrating, hilarious, intuitive, argumentative horse of mine. Yet, in spirit, I believe she was always mine, and I was always hers. That there was no conceivable other outcome than me owning her. That, if not with her, who’s spirit would align and grow with mine?

So we continue forward, and accept things as they come. Me, constantly trying to defy Katie, outsmart her and beat her to the punchline, and Katie, methodically aligned with my thought processes, somehow always one step ahead of me, proving to me over and over that you can’t force a horse to do anything, you can only ask and hope they’ll agree.