The stories we tell ourselves are powerful.
They have the power to keep us in one spot, hitting the same wall in a perpetual Groundhog’s Day or the power to liberate us to achieve, succeed, conquer.
They can be as innocent as “I don’t know how to do that” or as overt as “If I do that, then great harm will come to me or my horse.”
The stories we tell ourselves are sneaky: they feel true and there may be a component of truth to them, but they are not necessarily true. That’s why they have so much power over us.
Driving out to the barn this morning, I realized I had a mental block around riding without stirrups in the outdoor arena. I take regular lunge lessons in the enclosed indoor arena so I’m fine riding without stirrups there. But there was something about the openness about the outdoor arena that made me afraid. The story I caught telling myself was, “If I ride without stirrups in the outdoor arena, my horse will buck and I will fall off and get injured.”
This is the voice of fear keeping me small.
It’s a story. And it’s irrational.
My horse has never ever, ever bucked. Not riderless on the lunge line. Not under saddle. And as far as anyone at the barn can remember, not even free in the pasture. There is some question if he actually knows how to buck because he keeps his legs on the ground so much. The likelihood of him suddenly figuring out how to buck and displaying uncharacteristic behavior simply because I dropped my stirrups is low. Very low.
Moreover, my horse is the exact same in the outdoor arena as he is the indoor. No spooking, no bolting, no bucking, no gawking, no nada. Since he doesn’t display different behavior from one arena to the next with stirrups, it is highly unlikely and irrational that he would start displaying wildly different behavior between the two arenas instantaneously simply because I dropped my stirrups.
Moving into my fear, I dropped my stirrups during my ride. Guess what? Nothing happened.
My horse didn’t start displaying wildly different behavior in the outdoor arena than in the indoor one.
He didn’t suddenly learn how to buck.
Instead, he shortened his stride a bit so I could more easily follow him with my seat– something he does on the lunge in the indoor arena.
What I gained from this ride was deeper trust in him and in my own seat. I found another level of depth to my seat and ease in my position.
Moreover, when I stopped being afraid and saw my fear for what it was– a story– I had more fun riding.
What stories are you telling yourself that keep you playing small?