Get back in the saddle
Anxiety has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. One of the biggest contributors is my crippling fear of failure. This has been a huge struggle for me my entire life, but it really hit me like a brick wall when I came to Union to kick off my college education. It may seem dramatic, but it is difficult for me to describe the utter panic and anguish I felt the first time I failed a college class. It was an online summer class and I seriously underestimated how hard it would be to succeed in an accelerated science course while working full time. I had never come close to failing a class before, and I was devastated. As I sat in my room curled up in a ball, seriously considering dropping out of college altogether, my father came into the room and reminded me of a story.
When I was about 4 years old my family moved to the country. I’m not sure if this is to blame for my “horse girl phase”, but much to my chagrin, for the next five years, I was obsessed with all things horse. My biggest dream was to have my very own horse. When I was about 7 years old, my dream came true. My grandfather bought my brothers and me a small, gentle mare who we named “Jengibre”, (ginger in Spanish) because she was the color of ginger snaps. I loved Ginger more than anything in the world and would spend every spare moment with her.
One day, my grandfather came to visit and I was ecstatic. I could not wait to show him my amazing horse jockey skills, and prove to him that I was grateful for and, above all, worthy of this amazing gift he’d given me. The night he arrived, he and my father went out to the pasture to bring Ginger in for the night. I, wanting to showcase my incredible horsemanship skills, tagged along and asked my father if I could ride her back. My father stated gruffly that he wasn’t about to carry a heavy saddle and bit all the way out to the pasture, but I was welcome to ride bareback if I really wanted to. I jumped at this opportunity to show off my “mad skills,” even though I had zero experience riding without a saddle and reins. My father helped me onto Ginger's back and gave me a rope that looped around her neck. I tried to use the rope to steer her but to no avail. This wasn’t much of a problem because Ginger was very smart and knew her way home. I sat back and relaxed as Ginger made her way up the gravel road. I periodically stole glances behind me to make sure my grandfather was watching and impressed.
It wasn’t too long until I ran into some problems. In order to get to the stable area, we had to get off the road and pass through the backyard yard and several fruit trees. Ginger plodded along towards her stable, unaware that we were about to pass under a low hanging branch that would leave me hanging. I saw it coming and tried to get her to turn, but she didn’t respond. I calculated my trajectory. I wasn’t going to fit under it, there was no way to jump over it, and Ginger wasn’t going to move around it. I began to panic. I was not scared of getting hurt, the gentle Ginger never went over a paltry 3mph when I was riding her; I wasn’t in any real danger. The fall from her back, while jarring and unpleasant, was not what I was afraid of. I was scared I was going to fail in front of my grandfather.
We reached the branch and I had to act. I grabbed onto it and held on for dear life as Ginger plodded out from under me leaving me dangling from the tree. I dropped down and ran after her; grabbing onto the rope and leading her to the stable. My chest got tight, it was hard to breathe and I began to get dizzy and nauseous. I closed my eyes, leaned against Ginger and took several deep breaths, trying to keep a panic attack at bay.
The experience itself wasn’t particularly scary. Having grown up with two older brothers, I had experienced situations far more harrowing than this one. The thing that caused my panic was the fact that my father and grandfather were making their way to the house and the thought of having to face my grandfather with my failure was almost too much to stand. I braced myself, expecting him to make jokes about how I had bragged about my horsemanship skills. Much to my surprise and relief, he didn’t. While he did chuckle a bit, he didn't make fun of me. Instead he praised my quick thinking and prompt action. I went from hanging my head to puffing my chest out in pride as my grandfather bragged to the rest of my family members about how his grandchild was smart, brave and quick to act.
I didn't understand the deeper life lesson behind that story until my father reminded me of it the night after I received my failing grade. In hindsight, this experience taught me that failure is not what matters. It does not define you. It’s what you do in the face of failure that defines you.
Yeah, failing a class really didn’t feel great. It meant I had to retake it the following semester and had to give up on my plan to graduate in 4 years. In the end, we will all fail at some point in our lives; but what really matters—and the thing that will have a lasting effect on your life—is what you do after you’ve failed. Will you just sit there and let the branch hit you? Or will you hold on, run after the horse and get back in the saddle?
By: Ashley Reyes