Feel Afraid – Do It Anyways

By Lydia Fairchok

Homeownership introduced me to my archnemesis: the exterior dryer vent cleanout. I honestly didn’t pay much attention to this humble hole in my house when I first moved in. Like most folks, I threw clothes in the dryer, turned the dial, and expected my fabrics to be warm, fluffy, and dry within the hour. I knew the vent cleanout existed, but it was an abstract knowledge, like knowing that there was wiring behind the drywall or insulation in my attic. I assumed that as long as I kept the lint screen clean in the machine, I wouldn’t ever have much to do with the cleanout. As you might have guessed, this theory only served me well for so long. Eventually I found myself standing in the side-yard watching my friend Michael prop an extension ladder against the side of my house. “Okay,” he said as he gave it a wiggle. “Up you go.”

I gulped. The tallest object I own is a sixfoot stepladder, and my comfort zone caps out four rungs up. When I asked Michael for assistance, it was because I knew he had a ladder tall enough to get me to the second story of my house where the cleanout is located. (Whose idea was it to put it there of all places? But I digress.) I had also secretly hoped that I wouldn’t be the one ascending the ladder; however, Michael knows I usually prefer to do things myself, and I hadn’t told him I was afraid of heights. I can do this, I thought, and began to climb.

I’m not sure how tall the ladder actually was, but my conservative estimate is seventy-five to one hundred feet. Maybe two hundred. That’s how it felt anyways by the time I was close enough to reach up and pry open the flaps covering the vent. A solid mass of

lint greeted me on the other side, blocked by the screen behind the flaps and firmly matted into place. I made the mistake of looking down.

“You’ll have to take the screen out,” Michael said from a million miles away. At least that’s what I thought he said, but it was difficult to hear over the sound of my own pulse rushing in my ears.

“What?” I called back.

“You’ll have to cut the screen out. Come back down and get some wire snips.”

I didn’t need to be told twice to come down. It was almost worse than going up, but the promise of being grounded again was stiff motivation. I breathed a sigh of relief when I reached the bottom, and I hid my trembling hands by scurrying off to rummage for a pair of snips in the garage.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked when I returned.

“Fine,” I lied glibly. Michael and I were both police officers on the same department, and I valued my reputation of being able to handle myself on patrol. I would never hear the end of it if the guys knew I was terrified to do something as benign as climb a ladder. Palms sweating, I slowly crept from rung to rung back into the stratosphere.

The lint blockage was more severe than either of us had predicted. I ended up clinging to the ladder for a fourth time, cutting away bits of screen and desperately wishing to be anywhere else in the world while Michael ran an industrial-strength leaf blower from the interior side of the vent. Finally—finally—the mass dislodged from the force of the blower. Shreds of lint filled the air like lazy confetti, but I couldn’t appreciate the moment because my vision was tunneling down to a narrow tube, like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. I felt sick. Michael appeared at the base of the ladder. If I pass out on this ladder, I am going to die, I thought. Well, maybe not die, but something is going to break and it’s not going to be good. I forced myself to breathe and looked around to refocus my vision. Slowly, I unpeeled my white-knuckled hands from the rung in front of me and fished around with a foot until I found the next step. Breath. Step. Breath. Step.

You can talk yourself into being afraid, but you cannot talk yourself into being unafraid.

I stopped. The ladder was wobbling, making it even harder to find each new rung. “Stop shaking the ladder,” I hissed at Michael through gritted teeth.

“I’m not shaking it,” he said.

Unconvinced, I spared a glance downward. He truly wasn’t touching the ladder; the vibration was entirely from the uncontrolled shaking of my knees. “Okay,” I said, swallowing hard. “Hold onto it then. I need to get down.”

Just in case I needed any more reasons to never be a fire fighter, my experience with that ladder was burned into my brain. I don’t recall much of what happened right after I made it to the ground, but I do know the next time my dryer vent needed a little TLC, it was Michael who went up the ladder instead of me. I gained a new appreciation for my own limitations, the effects of fear, and the principle feel afraid—do it anyways.

Don’t Be Afraid?

Feeling afraid and doing it anyways is different from “mind over matter”, “don’t be afraid”, or even “relax”. These common platitudes—which I have often said to my students and even myself without very much thought—carry the message that the feeling of fear is something that can be done away with through some voluntary effort. This is simply not true.

Fear is a phenomenon that affects the body. It is our brain’s first line of defense against things that will hurt or imperil us, and the more we ignore it, the stronger it gets. As the perception of danger grows, the brain signals the endocrine system to start producing hormones such as adrenaline and cortisol. These chemicals initiate physical reactions throughout the body. You may have noticed several of them in my story about the ladder: my dry mouth made me swallow or gulp; my palms sweated; my sense of distance was distorted; I had difficulty hearing over the sound of my racing heart; my hands and knees were shaky; my vision became tunneled; and I was nauseous.

Frightening events override which portion of the brain is “in charge”. As the endocrine system floods the body with new chemicals, the prefrontal cortex decreases in activity. This is the portion of the brain where most of our executive functions take place (logical thought, problem-solving, multi-tasking, etc.). The survival reflex area of the brain lights up instead, governing such reactions as freeze, flight, and fight at the expense of rational thought. This is why a scared rider clings tensely to their horse in a hunched, fetal posture, even if they logically know they should sit up and relax to receive the best results.

These physiological responses are scalable, meaning that a small fright will only result in a small amount of adrenaline being released into the system, and a truly terrifying event will cause large amounts of hormones to flood the body. What qualifies as a “small fright” versus a “terrifying event” is extremely individual. For example, most people would rather climb a ladder than face an armed robber; I can honestly say that I have felt fewer physical effects from adrenaline in the face of armed suspects than I did clinging to a ladder twenty feet up the side of my house.

Most people experiencing fear related to horseback riding are low- to mid-range on the fear spectrum. They are motivated by a voluntary desire to interact with the horse and often hold an inner fantasy of being able to fearlessly enjoy the very activities that cause them to lock up. The fear cycle may be initiated by an actual event experienced or witnessed, or by the anxious anticipation that something bad/harmful might happen. Regardless of the source, the physical effects cannot be diverted by thoughtbased solutions alone. You can talk yourself into being afraid, but you cannot talk yourself into being unafraid.

Now hold on a minute—is this really true? You may be thinking of many times when you were fearful about something and mustered yourself through it with positive thoughts, breathing exercises, or some other coping strategy. By the time things were over, you may not have felt any fear at all. I am not discounting any of these experiences! Humans as a species obviously have an enormous capacity for overcoming fear and accomplishing tasks that would ordinarily repel us. But here is the distinction: Doing something despite being afraid does not mean you are not afraid while doing it. It just means you are feeling afraid and doing it anyways.

Perhaps I am splitting hairs, but this concept matters because the language we use has a profound impact on our riders. When the emphasis is on the rider not being afraid—a physiological process that occurs without their consent and will keep occurring until the stress hormones have left the bloodstream—riders are preempted from using their mental bandwidth for productive changes. Instead, they are trying to mentally muscle something that is physically impossible. The message of “don’t be afraid” implies that they shouldn’t be afraid or that they can become unafraid through willpower. They can’t. What they CAN do is feel their fear and do the task anyways.

Fighting Fear the Right Way

When we train riders with this mindset, we empower them to see fear as a steppingstone, not an obstacle. Sadly, feeling fear (as opposed to repressing it) is an underappreciated skill. And is it any wonder? We are conditioned from an early age to scorn the idea of being a “scaredy-cat” and to feel dumb for being afraid of things that someone else doesn’t perceive as intimidating. Self-condemnation and shame have never produced a better rider; mindfully dealing with fear has. The next time you are working with a tense, uncertain, or terrified student, try the following:

• Acknowledge that being afraid is okay! This is vital after something scary like a spook or a fall, or when the student is anxious about possible outcomes that have not yet materialized. (Even better, make it a part of your introductory lessons and continue to talk about it periodically throughout every rider’s education.) Tell your riders that fear is normal, and that everyone’s bodies experience fear in many situations even if they don’t pay attention to it. Fear is not a weakness; it is a

chemical reaction. Inform them that the body can release stress hormones even when the brain is also having fun, so it’s okay to have conflicting emotions. Reduce shame by being open about times that you have been afraid.

• Ask your student to describe what their body is feeling. Most riders will need a little bit of coaching to find the symptoms of fear. Ask them: What does your heart feel like right now? What is your breathing like? Are your hands tight on the reins, or loose? Help them be aware of their entire body. This checklist is best performed at the halt, with the instructor standing by to speak softly. It is a tender moment of regrouping where the very act of naming these physical effects helps to ease them.

• Direct your student through physi-

cal actions that reroute the fear cycle.

Because the effects of fear are physical in nature, they must be dealt with in a physical manner. Have the student “shake out” their tense, sweaty palms or tight ankles. Dismount, stretch, and remount. Break up tunnel vision by having them name objects that are outside their direct line of sight, both by using their periphery and by turning their heads. Take breaths together or ask them to breathe deeply as they name all the individual smells they can detect.

• Talk about adrenaline as a positive factor. While many of the effects of fear are counterproductive for riding (like the tendency to assume a fetal position), it also has the potential to be a force multiplier for good. Tell your students that they can use the extra alertness and strength that comes from adrenaline to make them more secure in the saddle. Help them notice how alive and ready to go their muscles are. Tell them that adrenaline can increase their mental focus and that it allows them to work through discomfort. Adrenaline is sort of like a superpower—it can be used for good or bad, and the distinction is up to the user.

• Be realistic. Don’t tell students that noth-

Check your verbal toolbox for outdated phrases like “Don’t be afraid” and replace them with the motto “Feel afraid— and do it anyways”

ing bad will happen, because the reality of riding and handling horses is that accidents do happen. You can’t guarantee that they won’t get hurt or scared. Instead, ask your students to create their own statistical comparison: “Mary, how many times have you fallen off? How many times have you ridden a horse? Ok, so you have fallen off three times and have ridden a horse hundreds of times. You have jumped Chip in three other lessons and never fallen off while jumping with him. It is not impossible that you will fall off while taking that jump, but it is unlikely.” A fair assessment of risk is more reassuring than a false platitude.

When Fear Isn’t So Frightening

Engaging in this manner with fearful students not only eases the stigma surrounding fear, but also shifts the prefrontal cortex back online. Remember: this is the portion of the brain that governs logic and problem-solving, so getting it back in the game allows your student to handle situations with all their tools instead of just survival reflexes. Most of these techniques are best applied at the halt, but riders can use interventions like body awareness, looking out of their peripheral vision, or breathing exercises at any gait. They can also combine these things with exercises that will help their horse exit fight-or-flight mode. It is important to note that these tactics interrupt the fear cycle, but they do not undo it. The effects of adrenaline can take up to an hour to completely dissipate, and the body can release stress hormones even when the mind is simultaneously having fun. Talk to your students about this so they are not disheartened when they are “still afraid” or when something they enjoy is the source of their tension. Having brought their body back to a state of relaxation and having allowed the logical part of their brain to consider the actual risks involved, they may still feel the effects of fear, but it is no longer so intimidating and they are now prepared to let the positive side of adrenaline work for them instead of against them.

Fear in riding is tricky to address because it is never an invalid thought. Horses are unpredictable and there is no guarantee that everything will go as planned. However, the way we speak about fear and how we address its presence in our riders does not have to be a wild card. Check your verbal toolbox for outdated phrases like “Don’t be afraid” and replace them with the motto “Feel afraid— and do it anyways”. Empower your students to understand their bodies and use adrenaline to their benefit. You will watch them tackle even the most entrenched anxieties (or the tallest ladder) when they are free from the stigma of fear.

About the author:

Lydia Fairchok is certified in Recreational Riding Level 1, and lives and teaches with her three horses in Central Indiana. Lydia segued from a full time instruction career to the field of public safety in 2014 and continues to teach a small number of students while working as a police officer and 9-1-1 dispatcher.