And God Still Cries... by Mim Collins, Psy.D., MFT

Part 1

This is the last night of my visit to South Africa, and I pondering how I have changed. Tomorrow is the final day of my excursion to Johannesburg with several other horse lovers who came all this way for a six day training in Equine Assisted Therapy.

Our first day here was glorious. We arrived at our bed-and-breakfast at about 9:30 am and spent the day luxuriating by the pool in a rustic, warm and welcoming environment, hosted by Allison and Robert Tracy. We were welcomed with open arms and graciously served tea and biscuits while our rooms were being made ready. We were exhausted from the two day flight and lying by the pool in the warm sun felt like we had been beamed into another world of relaxation and care. When one of the staff members asked if we would like to be served lunch, I could hardly believe my ears: all of these lovely surroundings and being waited on too. It was almost too good to believe.

Yet, in this delicious atmosphere, something felt slightly off. Being waited on was nice, I'm used to it in restaurants, but this took me back to when I was young; and spent weeks during the summers at my aunt and uncle's 270 acre cattle farm in New Jersey with my cousins. Annie, their black housekeeper, served dinner every night. I think somehow I felt special--that somehow we were elite.

In reality, we were not elite at all. My father worked in a livestock business with my grandfather in Dover Delaware, a small Eastern town which was the capital. My mother said that we were "comfortable," more middle-class white Jews in the 50s than elite and life felt like it should. However, even then I felt an undefined nagging sense of discomfort. Our family, which included my parents, my mother's parents, my brother and me, were among a small group of Jewish families in the town. So I also knew what it felt like to be in a minority.

But now, in December, 2016, at the Owl's loft bed and breakfast, where all the servants are black, uniformed and living on the property in small shacks, paid under a living wage; and have no chance for upward mobility, I felt disturbed. Even though I had learned that many people in South Africa had servants and this was not an expensive luxury, it bothered me. And this troublesome consciousness was with me throughout an extraordinary week of new adventure and excitement. It still lingers deep in my heart.

Growing up with horses on my grandparent's 33 acre farm in Dover, my dream was to become a jockey. I wanted to sail through the wind atop a galloping thoroughbred racehorse at full speed wearing those amazing brilliant colors. But in the 50's my desire was not acknowledged or even noticed by my parents, whose support I would need to see me through such a dream. They were absorbed in the everyday chores of taking care of business and seeing to my brother's and my ordinary needs. My dream of being a horse person seemed extraordinary and out of the question and though they never said it, my dream not taken seriously.

As a child I always had a pony, and later a horse. I remember galloping on my appaloosa horse bareback through the field behind the racetrack on the farm…..what a feeling of freedom and power!! During those years I didn't know how to build the dream, let alone convince my parents to provide me with trainers so that I could learn to jump over obstacles and maybe even do dressage eventing.

I remember how my heart sank at the sight of a photo of one of my friends jumping her horse; beautifully dressed in an English riding outfit. I was green with envy. "How did she get to do that?" I wondered. I knew her parents rented a horse for her for the summer, made a make-shift stall in part of their garage, and provided her with a trainer. Then, I thought of her as so privileged. After all, I practically lived on a farm, had access to horses; everything I needed to follow the dream except parents who were interested in it too.

I remember, just a few years ago, my heart was broken because at the age of 73 her life was cut short; hit by a car and instantly killed. I flew back east for her funeral. There on the poster board was the picture of her on the horse; young, vibrant, beautiful, leaping together with her horse over the jumps. I wept because not only had I never captured my dream, but now I had lost my friend, as well.

Over the intervening years there was college, marriage, children, divorce, and psychotherapy to enhance individuation into my own self, graduate school, licensure and 40 years of practice. There never seemed time or energy to go back to my childhood dream. Finally, within the last year I began to seek out a way to be with the horses again. I have attended several equine workshops, wondering if I could ever really find my way back to the horses and integrate them into my life's work.

And then it happened! An opportunity! I was sitting in Freud's favorite café in Vienna, Austria last May with Leslee and several other travel mates. I asked Leslee when her next trip was. She said, South Africa. "What!" "Tell me more!" I replied. Then she said there would be training and certification in Equine Assisted Therapy. I couldn't believe my ears. Here was an opportunity to be with the horses again. I handed her my credit card and said, "Sign me up!"

I was delighted to become acquainted with our two extraordinary teachers: Dot Robertson and Sharon Boyce. In their presence I got to experience being with horses in a totally different way, and was introduced to a new way of working with clients. Now I was learning how to reach clients, not directly through insight and interpretation; but through allowing them to experience what was happening inside of themselves as they began to relate to the horses.

During the first few days of the six Day training, I was confused and frustrated, compelled to interpret the client's experience, which we weren't supposed to do. Dot and Sharon were extraordinary in their style of teaching. They embraced each of us with kindness, direction and grace, helping us to adjust to a new way of thinking. During their instructions, while they led us through many experiential processes, it seemed like they were performing magic. In a role-play each of us found ourselves shifting in our inner worlds. In that shift, we found we were lending ourselves to a different way of being with the client.

I was happily weary at the end of each day, eagerly returning to our bed-and-breakfast, showering, taking a nap, and looking forward to sharing dinner and cocktails with my newfound teammates and friends. At dinner there was discussion about everything: about the day's events, how much we appreciated sharing time with Sharon and Dot, what we were learning in terms of the political culture of Johannesburg, and how much we enjoyed working as a team.

I was immersed in a new world, hanging out in the pasture with the horses every day and working to become effective in integrating my two greatest loves: horses and psychotherapy. I had been warned that South Africa this time of year was unbearably hot. And while it got quite warm in the afternoon standing in the pastures with the horses as day turned into evening and we reconvened at the Owl's Nest; a soothing breeze embraced us, and carried us into the night.

To be continued in the next issue.

Mim Collins is in private practice in Valley Village, and can be reached by phone at 818.763.8222 or through her professional website, www.mimcollinstherapy.com