It was with great pride that I joined Sandra Henke and Will Tasho of Hays plc at St James's Palace on 23 November, where they received the Princess Royal Training Award, for the Hays International Leadership and Management Programme (ILMP). Sincere congratulations to Will and Sandra, and also to everyone supporting them on the delivery of this flagship programme - including Mission Performance , Inspirational Development Group and Mind Gym. This 8-day long blended component of the programme, led throughout by Will Tasho and our own Justin Featherstone, relies on the contribution of many to deliver the outstanding results worthy of this royal standard in training.

The Assessors of the PRTA were looking for very clear quantitative evidence that the programme has made a significant contribution to the success of the business. They found what they were looking for in the Hays submission. As a contributor, what is much more precious to me than the data and the numbers is what we witness as we work with the ILMP groups during the emotional journey that this programme offers them. Safety is created from Day 1, as well as a spacious yet rigorous reflective practise, so that when the groups arrive with Equest for Day 4 and Day 5, they are ready to embrace the vulnerability which working mindfully with horses invites. In this most subtle, profound and non-judgemental of learning environments, where we listen to and are guided by the interactions with the herd, minds and hearts can open to a new way of leading, a new way of being.

Permission is given throughout the programme to delegates to simply 'BE', to tend to themselves, to look inward as well as reach outward. The Hays International Leadership and Management Programme has at its foundation an invitation to its leaders to balance the commercial drive for results with leading their people with compassion and kindness. It is an honour to work on the ILMP and reassuring that a programme with such values can both evidence real transformation within the business and be recognised for it at such a high level.

Photos left to right:
Kaiway is 91 and the last man in Masekenari to undergo the traditional rituals from boy to manhood
Giant river otters
Three toed sloth
Top of page: Shushu, Kwang and Stephen sharing a peacock bass on the banks of the Essequibo.

Eighteen months ago, amid the self-isolation and brutal unreality of lockdown, I lost my younger brother to suicide. I was not the only one of course to be thus affected. The shock is subsiding for me but can easily be triggered, and the pain and anguish of my loss is still raw. And yet in spite of it my life goes on and often even happily: I work, I play and I do what I can to be joyful and to honour the legacy of my brother. In some ways the pandemic seems such a long time ago now, but to lots of us it is like only yesterday. The societal impact rumbles on in ways that we could not have envisaged.

I am blessed that the nature of my work is healing in itself, it gives me permission to not pretend, to be peaceful and to simply be with what is. I don’t need to fix me or indeed others. My work surrounds me with love and holds me firmly, just as I hold the space for others while on their own learning path.

If you are not familiar with my work with Equest, we specialise in Embodied Horse-Led Leadership Development, an experiential learning process in the company of a herd of horses. Put the words ‘leadership’ and ‘horses’ in the same sentence and this might conjure images of exciting feats where participants learn to control the horses, to be confident amongst them and establish a dominant leadership style. You couldn’t be more wrong.

We are seeing the need for something very different for today’s leaders. Picture a man or woman, sat quietly in the centre of a meadow - a horse approaches and reaches down to nibble their hair. Or two people sitting in the shade of an old oak tree writing in their journals while the herd graze a short distance away. Or a group of five, meeting the herd in the morning mist by meditating together at the edge of the field - this same group, later, leaving any sense of competition or achievement to one side, and inviting the herd to follow them, simply, around the field.
In inviting participants to step into authenticity, the kind which can sometimes be uncomfortable as well as liberating, our attention and intention as facilitators rests on ‘tending to self’. As participants seek to build trusting relationship with the herd of horses the change of emphasis from what we previously might have called ‘self-awareness’ is subtle and profound.

The agenda is purely about kindness to self and as a result, to other. Those who come to work with us from all over the world are no longer Sales Directors, Chief Executives, Ops Managers, HR Leads or Regional Heads. Barely even spouses, wives, husbands, partners, siblings, parents or carers. They are quite simply themselves, with what seems like an infinite number of minutes and seconds within which to both expand and rest, renew and heal, heartbeats slowing to the steady rhythm of the horse. 

The question ‘What do I need right now?’ shines a light not just on what is needed, but also what can be offered. Tenderness begins to unfold where competition once bore supremacy. And with this simple inquiry of the self, a huge step is taken into a place where vulnerability and courage flourish in equal measure.

The relationship building with the herd is at the centre of the group and each individual’s experience. Prior to asking what is needed, there needs to be an attention on how am I right now? And, beneath the tough coping exteriors required by high pressure business environments, the answer to that is not always clear. 

As delegates learn how to communicate and build relationship with the horses, their equine learning partners offer direct and true feedback. This helps to surface that which needs to be acknowledged: self-limiting beliefs, unhelpful thinking and relationship patterns, as well as sometimes the imprint of old trauma or emotional injury. As people relax into their relationship with the herd in the heart of nature, the sense of ‘how am I right now’ is felt rather than thought. And from there ‘tending to the Self’ is so much easier. This might mean sitting with the horses in the field, running and playing with them, or even running and playing without them. It might mean asking for help, or picking up the grooming brush. It might mean standing in the rain or staying dry in the stable. It could involve working in a team to lead the horses away, or requesting space to be alone with the herd in order to pay attention to grief, sadness, joy or anger. 

Whatever form it takes, the opportunity to tend to self, to ask ‘how am I’ and ‘what do I need’ creates a reservoir at which each can drink. And that includes me. A well of kindness and hope and ultimately love brims, an elixir of leadership, of humanity. Simple gestures revive the exhausted soul and laughter can follow in abundance. 
I hope that this summer you too will be able to reflect on what you need right now and that this need, whatever it is, will be met. That you will be kind, then restored and enlivened, and ultimately reconnect with all that is good for you.

​I’m grateful to all those I have worked with in the past year, of course to the Equest team for their support, but also to all those who have participated in our programmes. You know who you are! For the love they have brought, for their courage in being vulnerable and for walking alongside me, perhaps unknowingly, on my own path to healing.

​Photo courtesy of Justin Featherstone 

‘I’d like to work with Ruby’, Cathleen said, as she approached the herd who were munching on hay around the small stone barn. But Ruby had other ideas and sidled away from the woman, disappearing into the barn and taking up position behind the herd leader, Winston, who was toasting himself in the autumn sunshine.

This perceived rejection brought up difficult feelings, tears came and overwhelm threatened.

I guided Cathleen out of the herd’s immediate space, asked her to close her eyes and began a short meditation, inviting the release of the self-judgements which the situation had triggered. Meanwhile Millie, the youngest of the herd, was observing events as they unfolded with what I might describe as mild curiosity. Suddenly her ears shot forwards like two arrow-points, and she bounded into a trot covering the ground between her and Cathleen in a couple of seconds. Enough time for the woman to open her eyes and exclaim a delighted ‘Oh!’

Millie is a pearl-white Connemara pony with a scintillating, vibrant energy. She is rarely still and if I was to liken her personality to a human trait I might say ‘guileless’. She will rush headlong into contact with others (both horse and human) without worrying about the consequences. This particular quality often results in reprimands from the more senior members of the herd and she sometimes carries the scars to show for it. But now with Cathleen she had found a willing playmate. They moved about the paddock together lost in their game. When it finished Millie stood with her chin pressing down lightly on Cathleen’s shoulder, nuzzling and nibbling her head and her long hair. The woman was radiant.

‘This is wonderful’ she beamed, ‘Millie has made me feel how I used to as a child - always curious and playful and lively, yet grounded as well. And trusting. How wonderful that used to be, to trust. I used to run at the world with arms open shouting ‘Hello World!’, unafraid of how I’d be received. Then it all stopped. I can’t remember when or how I ended up being this person who believes that I have to work so hard, that succeeding is so critical.  I tell myself I do it to get things done, but really it’s about pleasing others and trying to make people like me. It’s about me feeling worthy, this way of life I have constructed.’

I let Cathleen’s words settle into the autumn silence as she gently stroked Millie’s neck. Then she turned to look at me ‘I miss that person, you know, that person I used to be. I didn’t realise how much I miss her!’ And it was as if, as she uttered this phrase, she claimed that person back, that part of herself which had been lost.

In the days that followed Cathleen’s words echoed in my mind…. ‘I miss that person!’ Slowly it dawned on me that there were parts of ME I had greatly been missing.
 
A year before I had experienced a difficult bereavement. My younger brother took his life at 58 years old. Cathleen’s words helped me to see just how much of myself had died too in the painful complexity of this event. I realised that perhaps now I was missing myself as much as I was missing my brother. I’d been missing the ‘me’ who dances in the kitchen just because she feels good. Who feels buoyant for no reason, rain or shine, who laughs unguardedly and wears a smile for no-one but herself. Who wakes each morning saying ‘I am glad to be alive today’ and not ‘Why didn’t I see it coming?’ I’m missing the me who writes with joy, who cooks delicious things for pleasure, who has energy for life and soul. I’m missing the me who likes to play, with a lightness of energy, a sense of mischief.
Could this be the beginning of my healing? Of reintegrating the parts which were splintered and smashed in the emotional carnage of the suicide? 

We can’t shed grief, just like that, because we are tired of it. But we can create small opportunities for the overshadowed parts of ourselves to step into the sunlight and sing again.  Understanding this is enough to invite gentle transformation. I can choose to nurture my essential self in small ways, investing as much in honouring  this as much as I invest in honouring the lost life of my brother. Through the confusion and doubt and regret and the most profound sadness I can learn to be truly kind to myself, accepting that I am imperfect and the best that I can be. 

So should you pass my house early in the morning before the day dawns, you might now see a crazy figure bopping around the kitchen table, usually to 70s and 80s disco funk music. I don’t always feel like it, but somehow once my body starts to move my spirit finds a way of following. You might see me sat in my hay barn with a warm drink, smiling as I look up at the Little Owl which has nested wisely in the eaves and who likes to peer down on me while I work. Or you’ll notice me out in the meadow amongst the horses, allowing myself to dwell in the soothing embrace of nature. And if I am not there you’ll find me sat at my beautiful desk, designed and made for me by the gifted hands of my brother, bringing words together once more onto the page in a blanket of healing love. 

Photo of Millie courtesy of Brendan Gosling Gage

Recently I was invited to do a talk for a psychotherapists’ group entitled ‘How horses help us to heal from loss, separation and endings’. In introducing the session I recalled how it was in the midst of grief (when losing my mother in 2004), that I caught the first glimpse of my horse, Winston, as my healer.
The healing from him and my wider herd hasn’t always come in the form I might have expected, sometimes the lessons have been hard to take. Yet they have always come when I am ready to receive them,  bringing me closer to knowing myself and loving who I am.
When we are separated from someone dear, often we lose a part of ourselves for a while. Perhaps a part of us which was brought to life by them, which they saw and others didn’t. Or the part of us which cared for them, invested in them, nurtured them. Or the part which shared the dreams which can no longer be. 
Amongst the herd a safe place exists to find these lost elements of our soul and reintegrate them gently into our wholeness. We can give full snot-dribbling, chest heaving, angry expression to the terror, the sadness, the utter awfulness of how we feel, when we are ready. We don’t have to be polite with horses or shield their feelings. Horses are most comfortable with the truth, that is what they seek, and they offer us a place to explore ours. They also don’t need words, we don’t have to explain – anything. And they don’t judge the more difficult emotions which might be wrapped into our grief – like guilt, relief, rage, resentfulness. We don’t need to pretend we are OK, in fact things go much better with horses when we don’t. They are not holding a timer over our bereavement either – ‘hey, it’s been years now, shouldn’t you have got over it?’ They are alongside us, in the moment, however we are.

​At the end of the talk one of the psychotherapists attending asked me how horses had helped me through my own times of bereavement. It was difficult to answer that in five minutes, having written two books about it. Suffice to say that I expressed my gratitude to my horses for the healing they have given me over the years.
Grief has been a guest at my table more often than I would like. Often I have turned to the herd for comfort and companionship on the road to recovery. The greatest lesson of all during these most challenging of times is that in experiencing great pain, I am capable also of experiencing great joy. That feeling sadness doesn’t have to mean being unhappy. That when the heart cracks open it makes more space for love and compassion and kindness. So, instead of reading sorrow here, see in my message love and hope, gratitude and grace, strength and courage as we await the new Spring, new life, new colour, new ways of being in this year 2022.
My work and the life I now live, were borne of the pain of losing my mother. Somehow as I fell apart my horse stepped in and lifted a veil, revealing little by little a path of which I never could have dreamed. Perhaps a better title for the talk I gave would have been ‘Loss, separation and beginnings’. So if you are hurting right now, feeling bruised, I wish you comfort and that somehow, sometime, what might feel like an ending right now, will transform into something new, and something beautiful.

The powerful impact of our relationships with horses appears to defy description, it is after all “beyond words” to use the author’s own phrase. This book is a testament to the senses of grace, strength and agency that this relationship can gift us when we allow ourselves to be open and to let go of our fear. The author’s search for the new home that would allow her to live as one with her herd is intertwined with intimate and compelling stories of how individual horses have touched the lives of others, helping them to heal and to embrace the new and the possible. Both these strands are alive with emotional and sometimes physical jeopardy and cause us to reexamine our concepts of courage and connection. The book allows us to explore the physicality of trust and communication and to reevaluate how we frame the relationships upon which we rely and sometimes take for granted. It is also a playful but vital clarion call to see learning differently and to be prepared to engage more with our hearts and less with our heads, through immersive experiential encounters in which we are given permission to be our true selves.

At its heart, this is a poignant story of the authentic abandonment to the idea of relationship and the courage to be vulnerable. It is a masterful, insightful and occasionally unsettling work, so deftly crafted that you can feel the notions of power, raw emotion and discovery surging through each page; these messages are so urgent in these uncertain and tumultuous times, in which our ability to connect with others in our own human herds has been so severely disrupted. The Spirit of the Horse has left an indelible stamp on my heart and serves as a joyous paean to restorative and sustaining power of the horse. It is nothing short of a marvel.

​

The year has been and very almost gone, with the bruise of Covid leaving a mark on our lives, its hue ever-changing but never quite disappearing completely. There have been black days, blue days and then days when just the faintest tinge showed. Many days too when the kindness of people and the magnificence of nature brought great happiness. Hopeful optimism, adaptability, perseverance and creativity have come to the fore, too. And perhaps now we appreciate much which, previously, we may have taken for granted.

A phrase which seems to have punctuated many of the conversations I’ve been involved in is ‘… something to look forward to…’ Whether at moments when someone is sharing the bleakness of losing social contact: ‘I feel as if I have nothing to look forward to …’ Or when mustering positivity for the future, a return to doing what we love doing: ‘…that will be something to look forward to … ’ This fluctuation between feeling emptiness and hopefulness, has been one of the emotional signatures for the year.

What does this ‘something to look forward to’ mean to each of us? A rest? A reward? A goal? A holiday? A buzz of adrenaline? A change? Human contact? A family get-together? An achievement? It can be many things, varying for different people at different times. But whatever it is which we gladly anticipate, the implication is that it is better than what we are experiencing right now. And expecting it makes the ‘right now’ more palatable. The future desire brings us hope, strength, excitement, resilience, perseverance. 

Awareness of this reliance on looking forward to events made me reflect, too, on those in the world for whom existence is about survival and there is no place for pleasure. A deepening sense of gratitude has developed over the year for what I have, even without being able to enjoy, right now, many of the things I cherish: seeing my family including a new great-nephew, carrying out my usual work, even sitting at a local cafe with friends watching the world go by. The suspension of planning the many ‘somethings’ which, ordinarily, I would have been looking forward to has made room for a more profound savouring of the moment, a rootedness in the right now, an acceptance of changing priorities and a need for self care and the care of others.
​ 
So, as we approach the holidays, whether you are able to enjoy what you usually might have done or not, I wish you peaceful, joyful moments in which you can immerse yourself, whatever the future might hold and however the year has affected you. May the New Year too bring a newness which refreshes and finds you restored.


Pam Billinge 

​You can learn a lot from a horse. I experienced this firsthand through an exercise we have built into A.T. Kearney’s Expanding Horizons leadership development program.

In the wild, horses were prey rather than predator, and so for eons before humans domesticated them 5000 years ago, hyper alertness and exceptional non-verbal communication were essential to this herd animal’s survival. By virtue of evolution, horses are remarkably good at reading the energy of any creature that might approach them.
To tap into this powerful innate ability, our program in London includes a train ride a few hours east into the Berkshire countryside, to a horse farm run by Pam Billinge and Equest. There our Partners have the chance to interact with horses under the skilled guidance of facilitators trained in Equine Assisted Learning.

Say Hello
I recall viscerally my own experience of this as if it were yesterday. The most basic equine exercise is to connect with an untethered horse in a paddock. An Equest facilitator explained that the proper way to say hello to a horse is by gently extending your closed hand. The horse returns the greeting by touching your hand with its muzzle. Simple enough.

One of my colleagues went first. I watched as he approached the horse, moving slowly while speaking to the carefully observant animal in a soft, reassuring tone. He then unhurriedly extended a closed hand, just as he was instructed. The horse turned away, refusing his greeting. I was puzzled. My colleague had done nothing wrong that I could see. Why had the horse not returned his hello?
​
My turn. As I slowly crossed the paddock toward the same horse, I was still wondering why she had turned away before…. Then it hit me! This horse was a bit on the small side, while my colleague and I are both tall men. Our height intimidates her. I consciously tried to lower my center of gravity, thinking this would help her welcome my approach. As I got closer, it seemed to work and the connection seemed imminent. I was thrilled. And I was wrong. The horse quietly turned and walked away from my extended hand.

Presence Is Key
Having since observed a range of equine encounters, I now understand that my height had nothing to do with the horse declining my hello. Rather, it was because my focus was on myself. My brain was busy adjusting my posture and congratulating myself for my cleverness at figuring out why my colleague had failed and how I would succeed. Rubbish. The key to saying hello to a horse is presence. You must be there for the animal, with all your energy focused on making the connection you seek, freeing your mind from other considerations and motives. This is the kind of connection horses offer each other. So as you approach a horse, if your mind is even a bit clouded, they may instinctively sense you as foreign and refuse your hello.

Why does that matter? Non-verbal communication matters far more than most of us realize. The Equest people like to point out that humans — a highly social animal — are actually very good at non-verbal communication. But not as good as horses. That is why horses can teach us how to develop and pay more attention to this vitally important, yet often neglected, aspect of everyday communication.

“We achieve a great many things by thinking, but thinking actually gets in the way of connecting with a horse,” observes Herve Collignon, a Paris-based A.T. Kearney partner who has visited the Equest farm. “You can only establish trust through deeply honest conviction — by truly being yourself. Of course, in the world of management consulting, establishing trust is essential. So interacting with horses proved a surprisingly relevant learning experience.”
​
Connection, Communication, Relationships
Here’s what horses have taught me: First, our state of mind impacts the quality of our connections and communications far more than we typically acknowledge. Second, the quality of our connections and communications shape all the human relationships we form as professionals, leaders, family members and friends. Third, it all starts with hello.
​
Ask yourself:

• Are your hellos perfunctory, or a serious attempt to connect?
• Do you connect in ways that cause people to lean closer?
• How much of your attention is focused on yourself as you greet people each day?
• As a leader, do you set a clear example by being present in all your interactions?

We welcomed a new member into the herd in November 2017 : Millie, a 5 year old Connemara pony who looks a little like a unicorn without the horn. Her creamy-white forelock crinkles and shines about her eyes. The beginning with the herd was difficult for her. Clear ways of relating amongst the other horses were already in place. The dominant pair-bond Winston, 21,and Ruby, 16, had been together for 9 years and the third member of the herd Dawn, an elderly Shetland pony, preferred my company, or her own, having lost her own pair-bond some months earlier.

Millie had always lived with her half-sister. They were born two days apart at the same stud and had grown up together. I was told that they had only ever spent three weeks apart. I knew it would be hard for her to be separated from her mate, I also knew that if I didn’t buy Millie… someone else would. In the human world in which she lived an imposed separation was inevitable. Such is the power which we have over these creatures who, if left to their own devices, will form relationships for life.

So Millie arrived one cold November morning and from the first moment was terrified. She jumped out of the field in those early days more than once. In particular she was very worried by the other two horses. She was bewildered and unsure of the new ‘rules’ in this strange environment without the life-long friend that she had trusted. She quickly paired up with Dawn, my Shetland, who gave her reassurance and company in spite of her advanced years. This provided only temporary respite as sadly her new friend passed away from natural causes just three weeks later.

Millie, I knew, was now doubly bereaved and trusted nothing in her new environment. This included me and for months I struggled to connect with her. She was defensive, protective, sometimes even a little wild. I might be accused of anthropomorphism to say that she was also lonely, with the older horses keeping her at bay.

Seven months later I sat in the field soaking up the morning sunshine and observed the three contented horses walking together, nose-to-tail, down to the water trough. How distant those turbulent winter months seemed! Their tails swished and made shining ’S’s as they moved and the light reflected off the silky strands. Their gait rhythmical, harmonious. The older horses even allowed Millie to drink simultaneously to them, albeit from a very small corner of the trough. They stood with barely a finger separating them, heads low in relaxation, water dripping off their muzzles.

How easy they are now with each other, I thought. Now, between the three of them, things are still very clear. When Millie transgresses herd etiquette she is reprimanded – usually just with flattened ears or the sight of a round rump reversing towards her. However if she fails to respond to that a harsh nip usually follows. She bears marks on her flank to show for it. However she does not take it personally and simply moves away to find a different pile of hay to eat.

While learning to respect boundaries within the herd, Millie is also learning to ask for what she wants. Winston had ambled over to me to beg some scratches in the places he likes to be scratched. He politely presented the exact spots on his back, neck and belly which itched and then turned to offer the same on the other side. It is an old summer ritual of ours and I am always honoured to oblige. As we interacted, I saw Millie approach and watch us curiously from several feet away.

When I moved away from Winston he went back to his hay but Millie followed me. I could almost see her thinking ‘I wonder if she will do the same for me if I ask?’ Tentatively she offered me her withers. ‘There?’ I asked, scratching vigorously. ‘Or there?’ She let out a great sigh and yawned in relaxation.

Thus a new ritual was created and another level of bonding between she and I. A small, yet huge step, in the formation of this new relationship.

Reflecting on this delicate process of ‘belonging’ within the herd, I was reminded how long it takes to build up real trust between two creatures or for that matter two people. That it grows organically with the seasons. In our world we are expected to form successful relationships quickly without the prolonged settling in process which Millie had. When we are forming new ‘herds’, whether at work or at play, contrary to adopting the uncompromising directness of horses about what is and is not OK, we tend to be accommodating, polite and keen to please. And while the norms of our species require fair, tolerant and compassionate behaviour, there is much for us to learn from horses about the importance of clearly setting and respecting boundaries. We fear that doing so will alienate us, yet on the contrary clear boundaries enable us to build trust because we all know where we stand. So long as nothing is taken personally.

But perhaps an even more important lesson for me from Millie is how important it is, when we are seeking to belong, to ask for what we need, as she had done with me that first time. When we ask for what we need, we make ourselves vulnerable, we risk a refusal, and this is something we fear almost as much as alienation. So we tend to struggle on coping as best we can. But until we can find the courage to reach out to those around us and ask for what we need, we never can fully connect with them. This is important for both parties for in the exchange of help we forge a connection which goes beyond the polite. By asking, we create an opportunity for someone else to give, and it is in this exchange where trust is truly born.

Pam is author of The Spell of the Horse, Stories of Healing and Personal Transformation, which is published by Blackbird Books. Her book is available from all good bookstores on order or from Amazon and other on-line retailers.

If you are doing a job which you used to love with a passion, but now leaves you uninspired and performing less well than you are used to, you might be feeling as if you have ‘lost your mojo.’ Rest assured you are not alone. I’ve worked with senior leaders, self-employed entrepreneurs and creatives, and committed third-sector employees who all relate a similar struggle to engage with their job, role, profession or product. The conversation often starts something like this:

‘I don’t know what is wrong with me, I’ve just lost my mojo. I don’t get it ‘cause I used to love what I do…I’ve always been a high performer, now people are beginning to ask questions about whether I have it in me or not…some days I just don’t feel like even going to work.’

There are many reasons why you might have arrived at this point: you could be burnt-out after too long working too hard. Or frustrated because you’ve reached a learning plateau and feel bored with your job. Alternatively your values may have changed and your work doesn’t provide enough meaning anymore. Sometimes your focus at work suffers when a significant life event takes an emotional toll or you simply don’t get enough of what really matters to you – time with family, in nature or pursuing personal interests.

Whatever the cause it is likely that the dynamics of your situation are complex, and it may not be obvious where to start unravelling them. My advice is to begin with yourself, rather than the dilemma facing you.

Take care of your energy and it will take care of you

It is difficult to find clarity, let alone take important decisions when your energy is depleted or if you are in a negative frame of mind. So this the place to start if you want to get back to embracing work with wholehearted enthusiasm. When energy is abundant and positive the right options present themselves effortlessly and we can recognise the right path to take.

So taking steps to support your well-being and refresh your state of mind is critical before you start problem solving. Taking time out, practicing mindfulness and presence, playing more of your favourite sport or changing your diet and life-style habits can all be helpful. If you are tied into a demanding job or family circumstances this will not be straightforward. Regardless, empower yourself to choose wellness, for unless you do progress will be elusive.

Self compassion and curiosity will move you on

The realisation that our performance at work is dropping off along with our level of engagement brings difficult emotions: panic, shame, guilt. That little voice inside which pushes us to seek perfection and chides what it sees as failure chatters more and more loudly. This does not serve us well, our confidence deteriorates and the pressure we heap on ourselves to up our game adds to our burden.
Finding a way out of the tunnel we are in requires us to find self-compassion. It really is OK to not be on the ascendant. We need to remember that whenever we feel discomfort we are always on the brink of a breakthrough in our lives when there is learning to be had. If we are kind to ourselves our minds stay open and curiosity helps us access new wisdom. Self-compassion and curiosity moves us on. Self criticism and self-blame keep us where we are.

Be prepared to take an emotional and spiritual journey

When people come to work with my herd of horses, with any developmental agenda, it is incredible how the horses get to the truth, very quickly. Clients arrive with ideas about why they are demotivated and what they need to do about it: ‘I need some new responsibilities’, ‘I must learn to influence the Board more effectively to get the job I’ve always craved’, or ‘I need to be better at delegating so my team can take some of the pressure off me.” And while these aims will all be relevant to a degree, the horses generally guide us to look deeper. Perhaps there are other more fundamental questions to be asked:

To what extent am I able to express my opinions, needs and emotions openly and clearly both in personal and professional relationships? Have I been maintaining a facade, at the expense of authenticity? Is this why I am exhausted? Am I spending too much energy on being someone I am not?

To what extent do I numb myself to the stresses I encounter in my life? In order to not feel the difficult emotions have I got used to suppressing them? In dumbing down the uncomfortable feelings, have I also stopped myself experiencing the uplifting ones which motivate?

Am I in the right kind of work at all? Have I been drawn down my career path by other people’s expectations and projections, rather than my own desires? Or driven by false friends: the need to please others, to acquire status or material goods, to have control or to stay safe?

Such are the profoundly life-changing questions which you might find yourself asking when you let a horse guide you back on track. By courageously delving into the depths of your disillusionment, rather than scolding yourself for it, you take the first step to discovering, or re-discovering, a meaningful connection with your purpose. This is where true fulfilment lies. This is where you will always be at your best. And then, what a great gift it will turn out to be, the day you lost your mojo.

Pam Billinge, together with her herd of horses, offers transformational coaching for individuals and organisations.
She is author of The Spell of the Horse, Stories of Healing and Transformation with Nature’s Finest Teacher, published by Blackbird Books, and available on Amazon, Goodreads and on order from all good bookstores.

Today my first book is published, The Spell of the Horse. Thank you to Linda’s Book Bag for the opportunity to write a guest blog to mark this special occasion. You can read Linda’s review of the book, along with the other publication week reviews, also on the Equest news page or on the Spell of the Horse Facebook page.

Writing a book, never mind publishing one, was beyond my wildest dreams a few years ago. When someone suggested that I should do so, to tell the story of how I came to do what I do for a living, I laughed with a self deprecating tone. ‘Yeah, sure!’ Owning a horse, too, was once a longing I thought would never be met. I still remember vividly the moment that my first horse Delilah was mine, after parting with way more money than I should have done. I was 28 years old and gazed at her over the top of her stable door with the adoration and wonder of a 6 year old.

My passion and respect for horses has only grown stronger over the intervening years and those I have known have helped me to be who I am. Now I work as a horse-led therapist and coach – a vocation which I wasn’t even aware could exist until many years into my career. The Spell of the Horse reveals how this path emerged for me and what horses have taught me, and others, about living a life with purpose and joy.

Writing The Spell, as I call her, took me on an emotional rollercoaster which I had not bargained for at the outset. Fear of failure and of being judged paralysed me at times, and almost stopped me signing my publishing deal. Yet continue I did and today The Spell is set free in the world to do her work. I hope that if you read her you will enjoy the stories and be captivated by the wonderful horses and people you encounter.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of all for me, in this writing journey, is that receiving praise for my book, and owning it, is a lot harder than hearing criticism (although I should like to add that if you do like my book please do tell me via the review pages!) This has led me to reflect on how it isn’t fear of failing which holds many of us back, it is the fear of being as great as we can possibly be. Because if you embrace your greatness fully, who knows what might happen?!
​
So today, do something to reach for your dream. That thing that you long for but feels out of reach. Why should you not have it? Be open to the path which is unfolding before you and trust where it is taking you, you are probably not even aware of your likely destination yet. Open your heart to receive and offer praise. Step into your own potential, and help those around you to do the same. And if a horse is still an unfulfilled childhood dream, remember… it is never too late!

Standing in the field, with his hands resting softly against the horse’s neck, I saw the shoulders of the man relax down from where they had been hunched. At last, the horse had allowed him to approach. It had taken around an hour for this to happen.

Initially the mare had kept away because horses need to feel safe around people. They seek calm, consistent energy and tend to avoid anyone who is tense or stressed. Working with these magnificent creatures you are on the fast lane to mindfulness without even knowing it, with the fresh air, peaceful countryside and the impressive, grounding presence of your equine coach.

From the primary school classroom to the upper echelons of senior management the popularity of mindfulness continues to grow as an intervention to improve mental health, well-being and effectiveness. Many organisations are incorporating mindfulness or meditation into their corporate training offerings in order to reduce sick absence, improve engagement and productivity and help people to cope with the increasing demands of their job. 

Mindful leadership starts with the individual discovering how to find stillness for herself or himself, when it is required. Being present in the moment like this is so powerful because it begins to connect us primarily with ourselves. Resilience, productivity and improved focus are useful bi-products of mindfulness, without a doubt. However the most transformational aspect is this clarity of SELF from which flows a renewed sense of core values and heartfelt purpose. And these are the things which bring real inspiration to leadership and which will flow effortlessly through a team or organisation. 

The mindful leader also cultivates the ability to simply notice: their own needs and emotions and those of others. When this awareness is fully harnessed robust emotional management follows, enabling responsive instead of reactive behaviour. Thus a constructive, compassionate culture can emerge, building trust and respect in equal measure. 

Far from simply being an antidote for surviving stress and improving performance, when absorbed into the leadership ethos of an organisation, becoming mindful can identify and tackle the root causes of systemic anxt and burnout which might exist, promoting relationship and becoming a catalyst for change in itself.
​
 Join us at Equest for our Open Day on Friday September 29th 2017 to find out about our approach to developing Mindful Leadership. Venue: Suddene Park, Burbage, Wiltshire.

...many of which now have fluffy youngsters venturing out for the first time. As ever, it was a special day when the first swallows arrived back. They are surprisingly assertive for such small creatures and are very clear about where they want to be and whether or not you are welcome in their space! The horses are all appreciating the wonderful green shoots of new grass and this is truly one of the best times of year to be with the horses.

Over the past 8 months, we have been investing to develop the facility here at Suddene Park for our equestrian, coaching and corporate clients. New additions include a permanent loo, new yard surface, enlarging the useable space for events in the Pavillion, additional stables (made of recycled plastic!), in addition to some some new fencing in and some significant tree maintenance and care. We are also investing in a programme for regular working students (rather like internships) who are selected for both their feel and ability with the horses as well as their potential to be future leaders in safeguarding the natural approach to working with horses.

For those of you who have already spent time here at Suddene Park, you will be pleased to hear some news of how some of the horses here are getting about their daily lives when they aren’t working with Equest clients – Dino qualified for team showjumping at Windsor, coming 7th in a large field of national competitors; Dooley qualified for the British Riding Clubs National Championships in Combined Training (showjumping and dressage); Lulu has been retired after her long career as a polo pony and is enjoying life as a companion; Brujo is forging ahead with his dressage training and competitions at the age of 21 and Truffles, after a significant back injury is now fully back in work and out competing again. Our latest new addition to the ‘horse team’ is Hector, aka ‘Embracing Change’, an ex National Hunt horse with over 70 races under his belt, he comes to us for a change of career to a leisure and light competition horse – we are enjoying getting to know him and helping him develop his physique and mental approach to enable him to be successful in his new role.
​
Whether you have shared Suddene Park with us at a previous event, or if you are new to Suddene Park and Equest and are thinking of holding or joining an event here, we are always pleased to see you, so let Pam know and we can arrange a visit :)

...when the remaining three members of the herd, Winston, Ruby and Dawn, awakened to what had happened and processed this information individually and collectively. I was able to witness their incredible reactions, and they mine, and spend time with them after the event. 

Each one of them reacted slightly differently but all with clear emotion, displaying vocal and physical behaviour I had not witnessed before. Ruby, the lead mare of the herd, responded most dramatically. She touched Ellie gently with her nose, walked away, then returned to explore again. After doing this several times she dropped her head to the pony’s body and threw her head up with a spine-chilling, high pitched squeal, lashing out violently with one of her hind legs at the same time. She repeated this again and again. The other two also came one after the other and sniffed the small muzzle – Dawn shook from head to tail and whinnied loudly, Winnie silently turned to face away. Soon all three of them stood like sentries with their backs to where I sat with Ellie’s lifeless form. 

While I will never know what went on in their minds and hearts, and have tried to give a factual rather than anthropomorphic account of what happened, it reminded me that horses (and other animals) possess profound consciousness and powerful emotions which are uniquely their own. In our human way it is easy to lapse into seeing the world through our eyes and to shape what we find to fit our world. But what of their’s? And how can we be richer by learning to understand it? 

It is sometimes said that horses teach us by mirroring our own emotions back to us. Somehow this denies them their validity. When we learn with horses, they are not our tool. We are entering into a unique, vibrant, spiritual dynamic, which is the manifestation of all that is wondrous about the natural world itself. 

And if we can lapse into seeing horses as reflections of ourselves, do we also fall into the same trap with other humans? Is this why we fail to understand ‘the other’, because we are expecting them to be like us? And when they don’t meet our expectations, we judge, dismiss, become frustrated, try to bend them to our will, or question our own self-worth?
   
Might it be that learning to honour and communicate with an equally valid emotional being of another species helps us to reframe the way that we perceive each other as well as how we might see ourselves? For whether we are projecting our inadequacies onto others, or protecting ourselves with façade and self-defining stories, horses will always see us for who we are, and call us to be who we are able to be. 

On Ellie’s passing and in the days of shared transition which followed I felt that I became connected with my herd in a new way. Bereavement, previously, had always been my domain – my mother, father, brother and stepfather – and I had been able to witness the impact of my emotions and how I managed them, on the horses. They had helped me to heal in many ways: guiding me to own my feelings, release my fears and shed the tears I needed to. Now our loss was shared. For me there was shock, sadness, guilt (could I have done more to care for my pony?) and worry (would the others be OK without her?). The horses, they looked for their friend and I could see too that their relationships with each other were reconfiguring. But there was no drama, no recrimination, no “if-only’s” or “I should have done’s”. They were simply and peacefully with what was.
 
And that perhaps, is the essence of the horse’s gift to us as we come to terms with what is lost. How to simply be, together, with what is.
​
Pam’s book “The Spell of the Horse” will be published by Blackbird Books on 17 September 2017.

The incredible power of horses as healers and teachers
 
When Pam became disillusioned with her stressful career in industry she set up as an independent coach and leadership consultant and trained as a body psychotherapist. It was during this time that her mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer and Pam began to notice the way her horse responded to her emotional turmoil. Thus began an exploration into the true nature of the horse and their infinite capacity to help humans heal and deepen their sense of themselves, through equine assisted learning, equine assisted leadership development and equine assisted psychotherapy.  
 
Horses reveal our emotions
 
The Spell of the Horse tells that tale. By sharing her own story and those of some of her clients* Pam hopes to inspire readers to transcend the challenges they face and find a place of self-belief, purpose and peacefulness.
Describing her work Pam said: “The book has been inspired by the many people I have worked with over the years, who have shared their stories with me and been so courageous in embracing personal and professional change, and of course by the wonderfully wise horses who have made my learning, and that of my clients, possible. My wish is that the book will help anyone, whether they love horses or not, to navigate life’s difficulties and at the same time reveal how amazing these animals really are.”

*stories are fictionalised to protect anonymity.

Ellie came as one of a pair. Two almost identical miniature Shetland ponies – sisters or mother and daughter without a doubt. Distinguishable only by the slightly different hue of their palomino coats and the different lengths of their extravagant manes and tails. The darker fur on Ellie’s nose also formed the shape of a heart around her fuzzy nostrils. When the two of them friend came into my care, some six years ago, they were already old and with chronic health issues typical of their advanced maturity. Yet soon with a good diet they were full of life and, it seemed, would go on for a long while to come.

Although similar in appearance, and inseparable in relationship, their personalities were starkly different and, unlike their size, there was nothing diminutive about either of them. Dawn the calm, independent and confident one, with incredible problem solving skills and a tenacity for breaking out through fencing. Ellie was nervous however, and wary of strangers or even people she knew at times.

Ellie was particularly drawn to young children, the smaller the better, towards whom she would magnetise from a distance. She’d walk beside them, as they held her rope in tiny hands, taking care to slow down so they could keep up, and not to push into them when squeezing through the gate. Young arms wrapped around her neck, chubby faces buried in the mattress of her mane, hands tugging at her tail with a brush: she received all with love, tolerance and gentleness of spirit.

Perhaps the most vocal pony I have ever known, Ellie’s way of communicating was like a fanfare. As our relationship developed, she would respond to my own calls with her high pitched whinnying as well as making her views known very clearly to the rest of the herd. She aspired to be the lead mare and vied daily with Ruby, who was four times her size, for this coveted position. Her weaponry: piercing squeals, a whipping with her immense tail and, revoltingly, a willingness to cover herself in warm dung! Although she rarely stood up to the flattened ears and threatened discipline of her rival, she nonetheless succeeded in becoming the almost constant companion of the lead gelding of the herd, Winston, to whom she became devoted. His bulk would tower over her, she like a little baby elephant, trailing in the wake of her mother, as they grazed in tandem around the field. In heavy wind and rain, he would tenderly shelter her under his broad neck and shoulders where she’d hide from the elements. Her life-long bond with Dawn still remained intact and it was for resting and sleeping that they would come together mostly, side by fluffy side, their heads lolling in unison as they dozed.

The impact of this small pony on the children who worked and played with her was something really special. She would touch them with both her hearts: the one on her nose and the one which seemed to radiate understanding and healing from within. She helped a number of traumatised children of all ages to find their voice and their confidence.

For adults her presence could be equally life-changing. Ellie had this way of singling out particular individuals whose attention was invariably directed towards the bigger horses. They would suddenly feel a polite little nudge in the back of their leg and there she would be, inviting contact. From parenting issues to bereavement to career dilemmas she intervened, helping people to soften into self compassion and pave the way for change.
​
Ellie, who brought me so much joy, and touched the lives of all those she encountered, passed away peacefully of natural causes on a sunny afternoon in February. She chose a moment when I was close by enjoying the sight of her basking in the winter warmth. In the copse beyond, an abundance of snowdrops peeped through the russet carpet of fallen autumn leaves.

The first member of the team stepped out into the paddock to meet the horses he and his colleagues would be working with for the next two days. He had bravely volunteered to be the first, in spite of feeling nervous and knowing nothing about horses. I walked with him as he approached the first of the horses who was quietly grazing nearby. When he was about three feet away from the horse, she turned her head and walked politely but firmly away. I noticed the man take a quick intake of breath. He tried again and the same thing happened. I heard at a distance the restrained chuckling of his fellow Board members who were observing from the fence.

“Shall I try another horse? This one seems too hungry.” The man asked me.

“Yes, sure.” I agreed.

So he approached a second horse and the same pattern repeated itself. Again, I could hear laughter from the rest of the team but this time they made no effort to disguise it. The man didn’t try a second time with the horse and turned to look at me, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.

“They don’t seem to want to say hello to me. Guess I’m not very good at this.”

I asked him to describe to me his experience with the horses and what had been happening for him during the interactions he had had with them. He talked about feeling nervous, as he knew so little about this new situation he was facing.

“And is there anything else you were nervous of?” I asked and paused as he reflected.

“I was nervous about looking stupid I suppose, in front of my peers and in particular the CEO. I knew they’d laugh if I messed it up – which I did…and they did. We don’t take any prisoners in our team.”

I invited the man to return to the fence with me to check in with his colleagues. One of them slapped him on the arm good-naturedly and said “Never mind – good try. But you’d better take a few carrots next time old son.”

The man then described his experience to his colleagues in a matter of fact way.

“Well I tried approaching both horses, but they were far too busy eating to take any notice of me.”

Tactfully, I led him to share some more about what had been happening on an emotional level.

“Well actually I suppose I was quite nervous – of the horses themselves but also of looking stupid in front of everyone.”

“And how did the behaviour of your colleagues help or hinder you in the process?” I followed up.

The banter evaporated suddenly and silence fell. A couple of people looked at the ground and shifted their weight from one foot to the other. Eventually he said, “If I’m honest it was unhelpful to hear everyone laughing at me as I failed. Quite humiliating actually…” His voice faded into the now uncomfortable silence which I allowed to continue until the CEO spoke.

“I’m sorry. That was really disrespectful of me, of us. When you had the bottle to step up and go first too, it wasn’t fair at all to laugh. The same probably would have happened to me.”

We then explored together whether this was a familiar dynamic in the team. We talked about how they behaved with each other (and others) when someone was struggling and how they tended to react when the whole team found themselves in a new situation. What was it about the team and company culture which made it difficult for them to find, or show, empathy and compassion for others when they needed it? This led to a discussion about whether what had been seen as “failing” could be redefined as having the courage to try something new and learn from what happened. And then whether the group could chose to see this courage rather than the fact that he had not succeeded in what he set out to do.

After fifteen minutes or so of this engaged and meaningful discussion, I invited the man to try again with the horses and asked him this time to tell the team what they could do to help.

“Observing in silence would be good, and encouraging me when I need it. And if it goes wrong again then feedback later and ideas on what to do differently would be welcome.”

Holding his head higher this time, the man entered the paddock. He was clearly more relaxed after the discussion we’d all had. He paused when he was six feet or so away from the first horse. He held his hand out to greet her then put it back in his pocket, and I heard him breathe out as he did so. The horse suddenly lifted her head and looked up straight into his eyes. They held each others’ gaze for a moment.

“I think she’d be happy to meet you now,” I encouraged. He stepped forward confidently and the horse nuzzled his now outstretched hand. He lifted the other hand and stroked her strong neck.

I heard a cry of celebration erupt from the fence line and a huge grin broke out on his face.

In this first hour of the two day programme which this Senior Management Team embarked on, most of the unhelpful behaviour patterns which had become embedded in the team culture were flushed out into the open. As each person took turns to engage with the horses they embraced their own vulnerability and were thus able to step into a truly authentic exploration of themselves, their relationship with each other and the real nature of the team culture they had all co-created. The gentle process which ensued helped them to identify the subtle yet corrosive behaviours which they all privately knew were unhealthy for their own performance as well as the wider organisation but hadn’t been able to name previously. At the same time they were able to acknowledge that the team culture had evolved as a result of the pressure and anxiety prevalent in their industry and the accompanying need to appear constantly invincible.

As they peeled away the layers of façade and all found a way of being simply themselves, relaxed with each other, unafraid of failing, looking silly or needing to score points, the horses responded more and more positively towards them. The reaction of the herd fed a positive learning cycle with immediate and deeply satisfying feedback.

By the end of the programme, the team looked like different people to me. Certainly to the horses. And probably to each other too. They had had the courage to say what needed to be said, and to be the people they needed to be. And to meet their own failings and those of their colleagues with empathy, compassion and support.
​
Can your team find the courage to converse with this depth of honesty? And if not perhaps a horse could help….

I had anticipated that Molly would spend some time learning how to groom the mini ponies and perhaps, daringly, pick up their feet or lead the larger horses. But this fresh-faced, tiny girl arrived in her jodphurs, jodhpur boots and riding gloves and it was clear that her heart’s desire was to ride while she was with me. As my old ponies are long since retired I decided that if all went well and it seemed safe to do so, Molly would ride my horse Ruby. Although the more sensitive and responsive of my two horses Ruby is by far the smaller and I would be better able to support the child once she was in the saddle, than with my much larger gelding. I would, of course, retain control of Ruby while Molly was on board by keeping her on a lead rein!

Molly started by learning how to let Ruby come to her and then how to say hello once the horse had made contact. We progressed to grooming and by this time it was clear that something special was developing between the child and the very much larger chestnut horse. As Molly drew the grooming brush across the smooth glossy flank she gasped in awe, “I’ve never seen such a beautiful horse!” Ruby’s eyes softened, her head dropped and bottom lip wobbled in genuine relaxation.

After Molly had mastered some basic manoeuvres on the ground with Ruby such as leading her, and causing the horse to halt by simply relaxing her body and breathing out I asked her how she was feeling about the possibility of climbing onto Ruby’s back.

“Very, very excited!” she exclaimed.

“So it’s important that you are calm at the same time as excited Molly, before you climb into the saddle. Do you think that is possible?” I responded.

“Oh yes!” she cried. “I’d do _anything_** to be able to sit on Ruby!” So I spent some time teaching Molly how to relax her breath and her muscles, so that the excitement stayed in her heart, but did not cause her body to tense up. I could see from the relaxed state of my horse that my young student had mastered the lesson in next to no time.
Following my instructions to the letter Molly gently and respectfully climbed onto the mounting block and then into the saddle. An hour or so dissolved around us as the tiny girl rode my gentle mare, walking, halting, walking again, turning circles and even going backwards. My mare’s ears flicked backwards and forwards, paying attention to my instructions at the end of the lead rope initially, but very soon tuning into the diminutive girl on her back. Soon I did not need to give any guidance to the horse about what was expected of her – the requests from Molly were clear and effective. So much so, that just before we finished I suggested that Molly try the same manoeuvres with Ruby, but without touching the reins at all.

In complete trust, of me and my horse, Molly immediately let go of the reins and held onto the front of the saddle, and then guided Ruby around the paddock simply by subtle shifts of her body and breath. Now – my horse is trained to respond to this subtle level of “cue” when I am riding her, that is true – but it was Molly’s ability to harness and moderate her own natural energy and use her body fluidly, not to mention her ability to listen to instructions, and absorb and execute accurately the essence of what I was teaching, which helped her to achieve this phenomenal level of communication with her new equine friend.

Her experience drew to a close and Molly dismounted and led Ruby up the field where I untacked the horse and we all prepared to leave. My friend asked her daughter how it had been; and she replied with absolute joy and wonder,
“This is just the BEST day of my entire life!”

And then Molly reached her gloved hand out to Ruby to say goodbye. The horse extended her soft velvety muzzle and pressed it firmly against the child’s hand, and they stood there for many minutes, motionless in their silent communion. I was deeply moved and humbled to witness such a profound connection.

And it set me wondering – what was it about the way Molly was which enabled this kind of connection, which so many of us strive for as adults in our professional and personal lives, to occur with my horse? What was it that led Ruby to listen for and willingly follow her youthful leadership?

Was it Molly’s ability to have a heart full of wonder and to be fully present in the moment? Was it that her trust of me and my horse was so absolute that she simply believed she would be able to do whatever I asked her to try and that Ruby would follow? Or was it that she knew how to allow her desire and wishes to flow through her body into clear and authentic communication with the horse? Or was it the power of her gratitude for the gift of her day, and her very existence, which was expressed when she exclaimed “This is just the BEST day of my entire life!”

Or perhaps it was all of these things which led to something quite remarkable happening on that day between a child and a horse – something which reminds me of the power of being present, of believing in myself, of trusting, and of allowing a sense of gratitude and wonder to fill my heart so that every day becomes the best day of my life.

This young woman was giving a lecture at a natural horsemanship demonstration I was attending. She told the story of how, at the age of 22, her back was broken and she was left with no movement below the belly button. Once a talented young horsewoman with aspirations to become a stunt rider she now faced life in a wheelchair. She talked about how she had struggled to come to terms with her injury and could not even bear to go and see her horses out in the paddock at her home. Her life, and her dreams, had been shattered along with her spine.
And then, one day, she found the courage to go out to the paddock in her wheelchair. There was one horse who immediately came to the gate. The mare looked over the gate as if to say “Where have you been? When are you going to play with me again?” Lauren described how she had then entered the paddock and how her horse had greeted her, first nuzzling her legs which lay lifeless in the chair. She told us how this had made her cry. But then as she reconnected with her horse and took comfort and courage from her, the words which had been haunting her for weeks “Why me?” – they changed. Instead she thought “Why not me? Why should I not play with my horse again, or even ride? Why should I not have some new dreams?”

So this remarkable woman set her sights on becoming a Paralympian and she achieved her goal and more, winning gold at Beijing in 2008. Not only did she win, but she had also trained her horse herself from her wheelchair rather than turn her mare over to other professionals. Her relationship with her horses remained more important than a medal.
​
Those three tiny words. “Why not me?” struck me with their power. They almost felt like a battly cry, rejecting the helpless, defeated voice of the victim. And they were full of hope. This young woman whose spirit would not be limited either by her body or her negative thinking changed everything with those three words. Whenever I have wavered since that day and the insidious whisper of my self-critic calls “Are you really good enough?” this simple phrase immediately connects me with the possibility of my own potential and power. They help me stay true to my vision. Why Not Me? Three words which can change a life. Could these words work for you too?

Telling the inner critic to be quiet, well it is a little like ending a discussion with an argumentative child by telling them to shut up. They might be quiet for a while, but the energy of their argument will build during the silence, fuelled also by resentment because they weren’t heard, for the rebellion only to erupt some time later with even more force.

The inner critic is in place to keep our spirit small, in check. It is probably there as a reflection of someone else’s need at some point in our lives to do the same. Perhaps a parent, a carer, a sibling, a teacher, a friend. They criticised us, due to their own struggle, thinking that they could be greater by us being smaller. Or perhaps because our greatness, which they glimpsed, frightened them, left them wanting, or feeling that they could not control us. The more threatening the emergence of our full potential would have been to them, the stronger their criticism of it. And we internalised all this, because we held them in regard or love, believing what they said about us to be true. But the criticism was not about our spirit, it was about theirs.

So, instead of trying to silence your inner critic, hear it. That does not mean you believe it. Instead hear it and let it serve as a reminder of your greatness, and that once someone saw it first, before you did. The greater you were found wanting, the more magnificence they probably glimpsed. Meet the voice, not with scolding, but with self-compassion. Speak to the child in you who is still bewildered because they were not encouraged, praised, or understood. The child whose wings were clipped.

And for those who planted the seeds of your self doubt, meet them or their memory with compassion, for it was their lack of self-worth and self-love which caused them to be afraid of your greatness. Smile on them, and forgive them for it was just part of their struggle, although misguided, to be great.
​
And soon you will hear just the faintest whisper of your inner critic and smile, because your true voice will be stronger for having had it.