How I found myself through loss

I was a mere seventeen when I met the man I thought I would marry. He was just shy of twenty-one. I fell in love with how gentle he was. He, with how I kept the focus off of him. He was quiet, I was loud. He was shy, I was far from it.

He eventually realized each other's flaws, but by then it felt too late: we lived together. We even adopted pets together. When people would ask if about him I would say "He's not perfect, but I'm sure I'll marry him someday".

Time passed, we grew further apart.

After a long four years, I went away with some family, away from him. I found myself smiling more. I was excited to be free of him, even if only for a week. Upon my return, I realized I was dreading the thought of coming home to him. That was enough to wake me from my blindness.

The past four years walked out my front door.

I was alone. The dark walls of my basement suite suddenly felt smaller despite all of his things being gone. But it felt brighter, as though he had cast a shadow over my home.

I was scared, but I felt relief. I looked around my home and I began to dance. Free at last, I thought. For the first time in my life, I was happy to be single; to be independent; to be me.

It was only about a week before a gentle fog was lifted. I stopped hiding indoors and hiding my face from the world. I was free to explore my identity free of judgement. I quickly realized how badly I wanted to ride a horse. An odd thing to crave, I thought... As supernatural as it may sound, I felt it calling me. I don't just mean I wanted to sit on a horse and feel it pull me around. I wanted to really ride.

The following weekend, I drove four hours North-West and rented a horse and wrangler for a full day of riding in the mountains of British Columbia. It was the greatest eight hours of my life.

His name was Gus, he had brown fur and a crest full of thick, black hair. He was gentle and sweet, and he loved to play with my sweater. We rode through trails in between trees, along forest-service roads, up rocky slopes, until we reached an opening followed by a long, flat path.

"Have you ever cantered?" my wrangler said.

"No!" I exclaimed with so much glee it felt like my cheeks might fall from my face. She smiled and explained how to enter a canter safely.

Gus started trotting, then he slowly started to run. I held on for dear life and I felt myself laughing. Not just a giggle, but a loud, enthusiastic laugh. My heart was beating faster and harder than ever before. I felt like a kid again. It's similar to the feeling of falling from a tall roller coaster, only... you made it happen. You told the horse to run. You are responsible for holding on to him as he runs seemingly faster than a bullet leaving a gun. It was a rush, unlike anything I'd ever felt before. As Gus slowed, my wrangler turned to me.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

There were no words. This is where I was meant to be. I made it to the ground before I started bouncing up and down with so much pure joy that I physically couldn't contain it. I knew I loved horses but I had never suspected such joy to be buried in me.

Through a day with Gus, I learned more about myself than I could have in a lifetime. I rediscovered my love for the outdoors, for adrenaline, for laughter. It was less about the horse and more about the freedom of doing something on my own.

He hated horses. He hated travel. He hated anything new.

To do something like this on my own was terrifying, but it was worth every moment of uncertainty. Staying in a hostel, eating new foods, getting myself lost; It was all worth it to find my authentic self.

I went home with a new passion for life, friendship, and adventure. The walls I had built were finally torn down and I was able to live my life passionately and free from fear of judgement.

I walked in my front door and dropped my bags, scanning the room and greeting my pets that, thank goodness, stayed with me. I felt pride and determination for the life ahead.

"I can do this."