Horses and Starfish

Contributing Author: Susan Brown

My daughter, who is a forensic interviewer with abused children, talks with frustration and sadness about generational trauma – about the kids trying to survive in terrible homes, being raised by parents who grew up in terrible homes. At some time in the past, a parent, grandparent, or great-grandparent, was devastated by a personal disaster (alcoholism, poverty, physical abuse, sexual abuse, disease, war, abandonment). That experience swamped their ability to live a decent life – eating away at them until they brutalized their family. Spouse to partner. Parent to child. Generational trauma.

Until someone helps. 

Until it stops. 

We can make it stop.

Today is one of those rainy days. Cold and uninviting. The kind of day where you just want to cozy up. Outside the cars are swooshing by, the sound rising and falling as they near and then depart. Across the street, three horses are huddled in their stable shed, looking wet and unhappy. I’m wondering about the horses at the Courageous Connections farm.

I can picture them so clearly – standing alertly in their roomy stalls, watching the people prepare for their days. These horses are always clean, well fed, and have that bright eyed, cared-for look that you always hope to see in an animal. Or a human. They’re interested; they’re connected. Ready to give back the love they’ve been given. They know that their people will have soothing hands, encouraging words, and soft voices.

Even for these horses, this sufficient life hasn’t always been the case. With smoldering eyes, the instructors have told me about how some of the horses were ill-treated and traumatized before they arrived at the farm. With support and care, their reactive fear has diminished. Their stables are dry and their pastures are wide and green. They might still remember their trauma, perhaps shy at a startling movement, but now they mostly know their days will be good ones.

Remi, Ari, Punkin, Willow, and Cutter have large spirits. Large enough to breathe with traumatized humans, to offer their strength. At the Courageous Connections Farm, the men, women, and children who come to them carry a lot of pain – children whose families abused or neglected them, first responders who give everything to help during disaster, vets who’ve seen the horrors of war, women and men struggling with cancer, critical illness, divorce, isolation. 

Today, several cars crunch their way down the long driveway. Winter rain or summer sun, it doesn’t matter. Leah, Shelley, Patty, and the other instructors and volunteers lead out the horses and smile. Introductions. The sweet, acrid scent of horse. The surprising softness of their coats. The blinking eyes of contented creatures. The warmth that radiates from their bodies. They flick their ears, but remain quiet. They understand. They will allow today’s visitors to lean into them, to bond with their great spirits, to gather enough strength to face and repair their lives.

Whether each participant’s pain is a fresh one, or from a family broken by old suffering, at the farm they are accepted and valued. They are offered strength from the horses and time for small moments to lavish the love still inside them on the goats and chickens. They breathe deeply and grow strong again.

This is what all of us want. We all want our dry stables, our friendly people, our wide grassy fields where we can drowse in the sun. We need to be cared for; we need to be safe.

Generational trauma, the cause of broken families and societal troubles, is halted one person at a time at the farm. The participants summon their courage to come; they make connections with the horses and then the people. They are valued and offered strength. Their pain is eased. The trauma melts into the past; the future, a good future, becomes possible.