Autism and Horses Article

Allowing Ourselves To Be Changed

An original article by Ginger Kennell M.A.

It was a crisp fall day, and Stella (name has been changed) was on her way out to the farm. Her mother had called moments before to let me know that she was having a difficult day. I had only seen Stella twice before and already I felt like I was in over my head. What could I have to offer an autistic child of 14 when she had made it clear that she did not like me? The dynamic that had developed between us was full of power struggle and miscommunication and all my attempts to diffuse her anger only made things worse. She saw me, with all my boundaries and safety concerns, as a barrier between her and the horses. It crossed my mind that this might be our last session. Stella got out of the car and immediately marched up to me with her finger pointed sharply at my face and said “get away from me!” She continued past me toward the pasture gate where six horses grazed peacefully across the field.  I followed after her, ignoring her demand, out of concern for her safety in a herd of horses, and attempted to stop her. She refused and her behavior escalated. She got louder “get away, GET AWAY!”

In that moment of panic, something told me to stop, to take a breath, and to trust her.  I stopped, took a breath, said a short prayer, and let her go into the pasture, alone. Nothing could have prepared me for what I witnessed next. Stella, in all of her rage at me, pounded across the pasture toward the horses, cursing at me under her breath. Everything I knew about horses then told me that they would fear her approach; that they would startle and run away from her. I watched in disbelief as she marched straight up to “Sunshine” the palomino mare whom she had connected with immediately on her first visit, and threw her arms wildly around the horse’s neck. Sunshine didn’t flinch, and in fact barely reacted at all to this assault. Instead, she calmly guided Stella, still holding tightly to her neck, out of the shade and into a warm sunny spot, gently allowed her legs to buckle and lowered herself to the ground creating a nest with her front legs for Stella to nestle into. My jaw dropped. They sat together and “talked” for over 45 minutes; Stella chattering away about everything that was on her mind, and Sunshine, gracefully letting it all sink in, listened silently with as much presence and tenderness as a skilled therapist or a trusted friend. When our hour was drawing to a close, I slowly made my way over to the pair, still whispering to one another in the quiet of the surrounding trees. I sat on a rock a few paces away and spoke to them softly, making my presence known. Stella turned to me, her face and body now soft and relaxed, her anger extinguished. To be honest, I was too astounded to remember what words were exchanged, but we understood one another and brought the session to a close. She said goodbye to Sunshine and we walked together across the field and back to the car.

Just the other day, a friend sent me this link to the trailer for a documentary called “The Horse Boy.” This trailer changed my life and my work.  Please take a look for yourself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYkT_GndKtE

When I first saw the trailer for the documentary “The Horse Boy” I was relieved. Here was an opportunity for the masses of people who are touched by autism to see what I have seen, and I was grateful to know that my experiences were not unique.  This seemingly magical transformation that occurred in the child shown in this movie trailer is not magic at all. In fact, it is evidence of a profound connection between two living beings that recognized something familiar in one another, and for the first time they felt unconditionally heard, seen, and validated. The message I would like you to take away from this article is that it was not just the autistic child that was transformed by that interaction; the horse was changed as well, and so were you.

I have some understanding of the autism spectrum for two reasons. First, I fell somewhere along the spectrum myself as a child. I was not autistic, and certainly quite high functioning, but severely ADHD. I remember the constant distraction of sensory confusion, the boundless energy, inconsolable anxiety, and the struggle to be understood. I also remember getting the message that I was different, and I remember the adults around me desperately scrambling to seek support. Most people would never guess that I struggled so much because I grew up in an environment that skillfully dealt with my challenges and consistently celebrated my strengths.  I also spent more hours than I can count in the company of a horse.

Secondly, and oddly enough, it is my horse experience that has given me an intimate look at the world of autism. I have engaged in an avid exploration of the minds and hearts of horses for over 26 years, and I wish I could say that, in that time, I have mastered their subtle forms of energetic and non-verbal communication, and that I know exactly what they need from me. Unfortunately, this is not the case. I find that each day offers new learning, and far more new questions than answers. This, I imagine, is not unlike what a parent feels as they attempt to guide their child through the uncharted waters of autism; searching for answers, and finding more questions. The limited time I have spent as a witness of interactions between those with autism and the horses in my herd has revealed one thing; there are striking similarities in the way they each see the world.

So what happened between that little boy and that horse? Though I can still only speculate, this is what I conclude from what I have witnessed; imagine being born into a hostile environment that doesn’t make sense to you.  Everything around you, sights, sounds, smells and tactile sensations are overwhelming, and often even painful. The people around you don’t speak your language, they can’t understand your constant cries for help, and try as they might, they can’t meet your needs. Now imagine that amidst the din and the chaos, you look up and through the crowd you see one of your own, someone who understands you through and through; someone who knows you and knows what you need. You recognize them as someone who speaks your language and has lived through what you have lived through, someone with the same experience of the world.  All of a sudden you relax, you run to them, you tell them everything, they listen and say, “I understand, and you’re safe now.”

Horses have an intimate knowledge of the autistic world because it is the world they themselves experience, and it is the world they long for. Let me say that again: it is the world they long for. Horses, like these children have been asked to integrate into a world they don’t understand. They are asked each day to ignore their instincts and conform to a set of time lines, rules, and expectations that are unnatural and foreign to them. Horses long for the humans that they are forced to interact with to be more emotionally congruent, more authentic, to insist on more clarity, to be more present in the moment, more sensitive; more…autistic.  Horses crave connections with other creatures that are in touch with the primal nature of relationship. Both rely more on non-verbal behavioral forms of communication that are absolutely authentic. When a child is mad, they look mad, they sound mad. When a horse is scared, they look scared, they sound scared. The neurotypical world is endlessly confusing for both horses and those with autism.  Our way of being with one another is so entangled with cultural conditioning that it’s hard to find an authentic interaction that is not jumbled by insecurities about how we “should” be seen by others. We are masters at hiding our emotional and physical experience. We feel one way and, in an attempt at self preservation, try to convince the world of something else.

I’d like you to take a moment to imagine the possibility that autism is not a disorder to be fixed or cured, but a unique and ever growing perspective, and that these children are here for a reason: to wake the rest of the world up and give our cultural norms and social rules a well deserved shake. They are here in fact to “sensitize” us to the aspects of life and relationships that we have lost touch with. They are here to remind us of our senses, challenge us to be more congruent; letting our authentic thoughts and feelings be outwardly expressed.  They call us to become sensitive to all forms of communication, and to demand more clarity in each interaction. They invite us to experience life in its most primal form, to be unapologetically ourselves, and to live in a state of voracious curiosity about others and compassion for their experience. They give us permission to experience boundless energy, limitless creativity, and complete self acceptance.

Now, it would be wonderful if we lived in a world where we could all just get the message and move on. These children have their work cut out for them; bringing an entire population to a new level of awareness takes time, and we are slow learners. It takes time to sort through several generations of conditioning and, in the mean time, these children have to learn how to function and even thrive in the world we have created for them, so that they can effectively communicate, share their gifts, and craft their precious message in a way that we can receive it.

So as you can see, we are all on this journey together, and each of us stands to benefit in a myriad of unseen ways. But, this is also where our work comes in. We as practitioners, teachers, parents, and friends are charged with the task of taking a foreign language and translating its contents into a formula that an autistic mind can comprehend, and then carry out in the way that will allow us all to be changed. This is a huge challenge, and not every child has the same needs or the same path to travel. For some it will be horses, for others it will be something else that can create the connection to sustain them while they find their way, and help us find ours. No matter how we get there, we are privileged to play a part in facilitating a process of integration between the world we are accustomed to and the world we might one day more closely emulate; the world that horses and those with autism long for. These two worlds have much to learn from one another, and the horses are with us and with those children who need them, to create a bridge between these worlds; to say “if we can survive and thrive in this world, so can you,” and to remind a struggling child, in the terrifying moments, that “we understand, and you’re safe now.

“If you have come here to help me you are wasting your time,

But if you have come because your liberation is bound with mine,

then let us work together.”

~Anonymous Aboriginal Woman