Getting back in the saddle

Not literally. Never again, says you.

Not pictured: ankle support, icing required after this frolic

Those of you who kindly follow me on Instagram may or may not know that a couple of months ago, I sustained an injury after being thrown from a horse. I’m aware that sounds very dramatic and quite old-fashioned - the most frequently asked question in the aftermath was ‘WTF were you doing on a f*cking horse?’ I am a city girl, after all, and being astride a magnificent beast isn’t normally a Wednesday afternoon activity for me - more of a weekend one wha’?! Sorry, the jokes write themselves.

Well, to answer that question, I was trying to enjoy nature and indulge my love of animals with my friend, a lovely little mental health afternoon for us. Unforch, we didn’t even get out of the paddock area before my big girlie started thrashing about as if she’d been badly spooked.

It wasn’t the actual throwing that did it - although that wasn’t pleasant, and happened after a lot of terrifying bucking - but the fact that after she had thrown me, the horsey decided to stomp on my shin, foot and ankle. Look, it wasn’t her fault. She must have been having a bad day, and was not at all in the humour of a big lummox clambering on her back for a forest trek. In all honesty, I’m very impressed I managed to stay on her for so long; I never thought I’d be any use on one of those mechanical bulls, but maybe I would!

All things considered, I was very lucky. She could have kicked me in the head, I could have fallen in such a way I broke my back, or my neck. Memories of the fatal accidents in Gone With The Wind went through my head as it was happening, as did images of Countess Luann De Lesseps atop an unhappy camel in Morocco. I kid you not, I actually thought of Lu mid-buck.

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At first, I did that very Irish thing of being absolutely mortified and pretending I was GRAND, no really, I’m FINE etc. Everyone was freaking out - this was apparently a very tame mare who had never taken agin anyone in her life, so of course I took her instant dislike of me very personally. There was talk of ambulances and X-rays but I just wanted to leave, and was most upset that my lovely mental health activity with my friend had been spoilt. I implored her to go on without me, but she wouldn’t hear of it and correctly assumed I was in shock.

Well lads, the shock lasted a good while. It was two days before I acquiesced and had an X-ray. Nothing broken, SEE, I’m GRAND etc. Crutches, painkillers, ice-packs and rest was the prescription, yep I can do that. It was five days in, bruised and battered physically and with a growing sense of my own mortality that the delayed reaction horrors kicked in. I realised this wasn’t going to be like sore muscles from lifting heavy weights, that I was likely to be off my feet for a number of weeks. That’s when the anxiety got me.

I’ve written here before about my experience with Generalised Anxiety Disorder. I tend to think of it as something in my past because largely, I’ve been very well for many years. I take my meds, go to therapy when I feel the need and mind myself very well. But this physical knock, the frustration of being laid up and the shock to my nervous system were enough combined to trigger a pretty grim episode.

The old terror returned, because that’s how my anxiety manifests. Everything feels dangerous, I’m scared of my own shadow and my natural sunny optimism completely disappears. I know it’s bad when that happens, because I am naturally a positive person, a go-getter, and pessimism is totally at odds with my personality. When I start retreating from my life, hiding away and not even wanting to do nice things, it’s a gigantic red flag. Soon, everything is terrible in my mind. I’m tearful, I don’t sleep (unheard of for me), I even get a bit agoraphobic and my overthinking goes in to overdrive. Then come the panic attacks - debilitating, terrifying, completely draining.

I had (have) some ligament damage in my lower leg, bad bone bruising, a messed up but not broken ankle, and I was in pain but it really could have been much, much worse. The mental symptoms were the real kicker (pun intended). I was on high alert 24/7. I felt very vulnerable and extremely agitated. Everything was bleak.

And it all just reminded me of how fragile our mental state can really make us. It only takes one frightening incident spiking our adrenaline or telling us we’re unsafe to have a domino effect on our entire psyche. I felt so silly admitting that this horse incident had affected me so badly; others fall off and break something, and get right back on again. But once I did admit it, everything started to get better. I asked for help and got it. Now, two months later, I feel about 95% fixed.

I’ve started going for nice long walks again, and I can’t tell you just how key these are to my mental health. I would have always described myself as ‘indoorsy’ (lol), but getting out in the fresh air with my little family is like free therapy. Last week, I wore a nice boot with a little heel. This week I went back to Reformer, ankle strapped up and instructor aware of my injury. Gradually I came back to myself, and now I feel galvanised again after nine weeks of not having the capacity to do a damn thing.

That’s what’s so scary about a mental blip - your brain tells you that you’re broken. Not just down, but out. You feel like a fool for believing life could be wonderful, like an idiot for thinking everything would turn out okay. The most minor knocks feel like major blows. Fear is automatic. But it’s so important to always remember that it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. In reality, people come back from the most unimaginable experiences. In reality, the human mind is powerful in both directions, good and bad. In reality, every experience teaches you something and you’ll eventually find out what it is.

This one taught me to fear horses. I kid, I kid! I still love a neddy, but I won’t be very eager to mount one any time soon. No, it taught me that I’m not invincible. That my mental health is not a foregone conclusion, that my physical health is a privilege and that old chestnut - it’s really okay not to be okay.

Now I’ll go so far as to say I’m really back, bitches. It’ll be Christmas in about five minutes, but I’m not giving up on the rest of 2025. I’m gonna write and brainstorm, meet and socialise, plan and plot. Three weeks in to 2026, I turn 40. I hope to be in great shape for that roundy birthday, in every way. Really, I’m excited about it. New year, new decade, new opportunities.

I’m mentally getting back in the saddle. I’ll do my best to avoid danger, or perhaps just not court it. I can promise that I won’t do anything that involves signing a personal injury waiver, anyway. Seems smart, right?

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