The wind howled through the trees, sending dust swirling across the turnout. Reya shifted uneasily, her muscles taut with tension. Then, as if the storm itself conspired against her, a sharp mesquite branch, thick with spikes, flew straight into her tail.
We were on our way from the barn to the turnout when it happened. I held onto the lead rope, but I didn’t tug on her. Letting go could have been dangerous, but I was prepared to if she had pulled. Instead, she ran in a wide circle, trying to find relief while still attached to me. The more she moved, the more tangled the branch became. She crow-hopped, bucked, and darted in circles—cycling through frantic bursts of movement, searching for relief. As I stood there, watching her nervous system in motion, I knew that the best thing I could do was also the hardest: nothing—at least, not yet.
Understanding Reya’s Nervous System in Motion
Reya wasn’t just reacting to the branch—she was following a deeply ingrained nervous system response. When horses (or any mammals, including humans) experience stress, their bodies naturally move through different states in an effort to resolve it. This process is called pendulation, where the nervous system swings between activation (fight or flight) and deactivation (rest and digest).
At first, Reya fought—kicking and running. When that didn’t work, she momentarily froze, her body rigid with tension. This wasn’t true relaxation but a high-alert pause, a moment of assessment where movement is inhibited, but the nervous system remains engaged. Freeze is often misunderstood as a sign of calm, but in reality, it is still an active stress response.
Holding Space as an Anchor
In that moment, I wasn’t Reya’s rescuer—I was her anchor. Instead of rushing in and escalating her panic, I remained still, tracking her responses carefully. I knew that if I stepped in at the wrong moment, I could push her deeper into survival mode. But if I gave her space, her nervous system would find its way through the cycle.
As she cycled through bursts of movement and brief pauses, I stayed grounded, breathing deeply and keeping my own system regulated. The calmer I was, the safer she would feel in my presence. It took several iterations of fight, flight, and freeze for me to remove the entire branch, a piece at a time. I allowed her to go through this process as many times as she needed, without trying to force her to remain still. In the end, once I had carefully removed the last piece, she finally found relief.
The Power of Self-Regulation
What happened next was just as important as the event itself. Reya stood still for a moment, taking in her surroundings. Then, I watched as she engaged in self-soothing behaviors—first a deep exhale, then a slow neck shake, and finally, a long yawn.
These calming signals are often misunderstood, but they serve a critical role in nervous system regulation. Horses use them to appease themselves, another horse, or even an object in their environment. In this case, Reya was helping herself downregulate from the heightened state of stress she had just endured. Finally, she lowered herself to the ground and rolled—a full-body reset.
Moving Forward, Unburdened
The next day, as we walked past the very spot where the incident occurred, I carefully observed her body language. Would she tense up, anticipating danger? Would she avoid the area altogether? Most people assume that after an event like this, a horse would develop a lasting fear of the place where it happened.
But Reya simply walked forward, completely neutral, as if it had never happened. Why? Because her nervous system had been given the chance to complete the cycle. She hadn’t been interrupted or forced through an experience she wasn’t ready for. She had been supported—given the space to process, the presence of a calm anchor, and the ability to regulate on her own terms.
A Lesson in Holding Space
As humans, we often feel the need to fix, soothe, or rescue in moments of distress. But true healing doesn’t come from rushing to intervene—it comes from allowing space for the nervous system to do what it was designed to do.
Like us, horses have nervous systems built to handle stress, process it, and return to balance—if given the right conditions. In this moment with Reya, I didn’t impose my own urgency onto her experience. I tracked her, stayed grounded, and waited for the right moment to help.
And that made all the difference.
Want to Learn More?
For those interested in understanding more about how horses communicate their internal states, Rachaël Draaisma’s book, Language Signs and Calming Signals of Horses, is a fantastic resource. It provides deep insight into the often-overlooked ways horses self-regulate and interact with the world around them. You can find it here.
Additionally, Equusoma offers valuable education on Somatic Experiencing® for horses and trauma-informed equine interactions. For more information, visit Equusoma’s website.
Reya’s journey is just beginning, and I look forward to sharing more of her story. Follow along as we continue exploring the depth of horse-human connection, nervous system resilience, and what it means to truly hold space for healing.
