A few years later, I was a freshman in high school suffering briefly from depression. I say briefly because, fortunately for me, it lasted less than a year, while I know many people who constantly struggle with it. I had no reason I could point to and say, “This is why I am unhappy,” – it was inexplicable. I constantly felt sad and lonely, I pushed friends and family away, and I would often hide in my room to cry or sleep. I tried to hide my depression because I felt ashamed, as many do. I played the usual game of, “I’m fine, how are you?” 

If anyone reading this suffers from depression, then you understand what I mean and what I was going through. You can’t just “buck up, buttercup” and get over it. It was truly a horrible year, especially as a young girl figuring out who I was. Fortunately for me, I had some equine therapy coming my way.

As Christmas approached, my parents said they wanted to talk to me. They told me that they believed my passion for horses and riding wasn’t going to fade anytime soon, and they felt it was benefiting me in many ways, between the hard work and having a healthy, active hobby. As long as I agreed to continue putting in the effort with the caretaking, I could get my very first horse. My stomach fluttered with excitement as I was lifted up when I needed it most.

My mom used to ride when she was younger, so she took me to look at a few horses and we even took a few on some test rides, but none felt like quite the right fit. Until one day, I was at the horse facility getting ready for a lesson when the farrier arrived (someone who trims horse hooves). My mom sparked up a conversation with the farrier, who told my mom about another client who was selling their middle-aged and mild-mannered Arabian gelding – she said she thought he would be the perfect first horse. 

Both of my parents came to see this horse and when we saw that stunning, fiery chestnut horse, it was apparent that he was bored and lonely – the only horse in a small dry lot. Risky belonged to a family with young kids who were too young to ride, and the parents no longer had the time. After several years of not being ridden, they decided it wasn’t fair to have him just sitting as a pasture ornament. He latched onto the love I offered to him, and from that point on we were practically inseparable – we needed each other.

Prince and I bonded in a beautiful way – a girl and her horse. I trusted him completely, and he would do anything I asked of him. Taking care of him kept me busy and out of trouble, it improved my depression, and gave me a sense of purpose – I believe he saved me. As a result, I promptly renamed him Prince. 

We moved Prince from the facility where I had been taking lessons to one just on the other end of the same dirt road. I had this new facility all to myself, besides the property owner’s two horses. Countless times, my dad would take the time to drive me to the stables so I could ride. He’d drop me off and I’d stay until well after dark before calling him to pick me up, content to sit in Prince’s stall and do my homework while he ate his hay. There was something so comforting about being there with him, just the two of us. Over the years, Prince and I grew with each other in confidence and skill. 

To be continued…