My self-destructive perfectionist tendencies played a large part in building my anxieties about riding and competing. However, I do not just worry about disappointing myself; I am worried about disappointing others. I remember a certain round at a schooling jumper show at Sweet Dixie South, where I was a working student this summer. At this point, I was probably at the lowest level of confidence that I ever have been at riding-wise. The round was not necessarily bad; maybe I missed at a jump or two, maybe I had a rail or a run-out. I don't remember the specifics. What I do remember, however, is holding back tears as I was walking to the barn. I remember letting the tears out as I hosed off my mare, and I remember truly worrying about what "others" were thinking. I am not talking about the people whose opinions really matter to me, like my coach; I am talking about the random strangers in the warm-up and on the sidelines.
What if they all think I am a bad rider? What if they think I am not good enough for my horse? What if they think I should not be riding at the level I am? I drove myself crazy thinking about what possibly could be going through the minds of these random strangers. I remember opening up about these worries, and received the best advice I have received to this day: What makes you think that you are special enough for everyone to truly care about what you are doing? This may seem harsh, but it is true. I recognized the amount of truth to this advice when I turned it back upon myself. I was too wrapped up in my own struggles to care about anyone else's round. I was internalizing my own rail, not judging the other riders who had rails down. I realized that those people in the warm-up were not busy scrutinizing my every move; they were focusing on (shocking, I know) warming up their horses. Of course, there are people who will be negative, and who will judge you. Unless this person is in position of importance to you, like a coach, their opinion does not matter. Why would you care about what a random stranger thinks of you? They do not know your whole story, nor do they deserve to. This realization was imperative to taking the next step in minimizing my anxiety about riding and competing. Especially in this sport, we are all just trying to "make it". We all have our own unique goals and struggles. We all are working to overcome these struggles to reach our goals, so that we can overcome harder struggles for bigger goals. It is a revolutionary idea: the less energy you spend worrying about what everyone else thinks, the more energy you have in focusing on yourself. It is freeing.
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I am a teenager. I am an equestrian. I have chronic anxiety. The perfect storm to become extremely intimidated by “perfection” on social media. I know that I am not alone in spending hours scrolling through Instagram, comparing myself to other riders (especially ones around my age). I start questioning myself: Why don’t I ride like that? How does he/she ride so effortlessly? I work just as hard; how come I am not as good as them? Hour by hour, post by post, I tear myself apart.
It is extremely important to note that the reality of social media, is that it IS NOT REALITY. A single post is a single moment of time, a tiny sliver of the grand scheme of life. Generally, people only post the best moments on social media, further adding to this illusion of perfection. And, that is okay. One of the ways that I boost my confidence is scrolling through my own Instagram, reflecting on some of the best moments of my riding career. I think that it is a beautiful thing to be able to share your personal highlights with the world. Social media is a fantastic tool for both networking and as a personal memoir. However, again, the reality of social media is that it isn’t reality. Life, and ESPECIALLY life as an equestrian, is not perfect. These perfect moments that we post on social media are singular moments. Hours, days, months, years of blood, sweat, and tears pour in to these singular moments that we have the pleasure of sharing. So, the next time I find myself scrolling through Instagram and comparing myself to other riders, I will challenge myself to remember that that girl with the blue ribbon or that boy with a perfect dressage test put in the blood, sweat, and tears. I am seeing a snapshot of their story, the snapshot that ISN’T blood, sweat, or tears. I challenge you to do the same. Instead of convincing ourselves that we are “not as good” as the people we see on social media, let’s celebrate each other’s accomplishments and remember why we love this sport. Last weekend I took my young horse, Foxtrot Todd, in the Novice at Rocking Horse. It was one of those weekends that was quite good undersaddle, but not as ideal on paper. It was an incredible learning experience for the both of us, and I am enjoying getting to know Toddy (as I affectionately call him) better and better every time I sit on him. He put in a steady test for a 33, a lovely clear show jumping, and an easy cross country after a 20 early on in the course prompted us both to focus a little more. Overall, I am quite happy with both of our efforts, and look forward to returning to the drawing board in preparation for the next event.
That being said, though I had a good weekend riding-wise, I dealt with numerous internal struggles throughout the entirety of the competition. As I intend to use this blog as both a personal memoir and as a possible inspiration to others, I am comfortable with sharing the extent of these difficulties. I recently have been experiencing a flare-up of my Ulcerative Colitis, which proves time and time again to be a permanent nemesis. As I was tacking up Todd for show jumping (coincidentally my least favorite phase), I began to experience intense stomach cramps. This is typical for me; on a normal day, I would take pain medication and go for a nap. However, this, unfortunately for me, was obviously not a normal day. I headed to warm-up anyways, with withdrawing in the back of my mind. Todd, being the young Thoroughbred he is, can be a bit much to handle in warm-up; he does not particularly enjoy being in close proximity to other horses. I became extremely tense, due to both my nerves and pain, which in combination with my horse's mental state was not ideal in the slightest. My mind completely took over at this point. I convinced myself that because I was in pain, I could in no way possible ride my round adequately. I became fixated on the thought that I was incapable of pushing through, and my anxiety continued to mount until it was unbearable. I did, admittedly, bring up withdrawing to both my coach and my mom, and was told to "take it one step at a time". That I did. I began to relax, and went on to put in one of the nicest rounds I've ridden thus far. I was physically uncomfortable, yes. However, because I have dealt with this same type of discomfort before, I knew that there was nothing seriously internally wrong with me; I was PHYSICALLY able to ride my round, and it would have no bearing on my health in the future. However, because I was experiencing this discomfort, my anxiety fully took over. I convinced myself that I was unable to ride. I was incredibly fearful of the embarrassment of a bad result, so I would have rather withdrawn and avoided the possibility altogether. In this case scenario, pushing my limits was the absolute best thing I could have done. After the round (and a Tylenol or two), my confidence soared. I am in more control over my body and mind, because I did not let either of them dictate my actions. I know that I am capable. As a side note, there are some mental and physical limits that cannot be pushed. However, that is a conversation for another time. |
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AuthorErin Lassere Archives
March 2021
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