In The Saddle with Anita Marsh: How my horses are helping with my grief

I’m going through a phase of wanting to retreat from the world and stay at home with my horses. I’ve stopped competing and I’ve only seen close friends a few times as I’ve stepped back from my life as it was.

Things that mattered before are just no longer important. Goals that I wanted to achieve just don’t interest me anymore. I know this is grief. I know after four months I should feel more together but I don’t.

My horses are providing me with the much needed feeling of happy-inducing-endorphins and the sense of presence which I’ve mentioned before but essentially I’m struggling.

I’m aware my family probably unsure how to take away the pain. The thing is nobody can.

It’s not something that I can parcel up and give away. It’s not that simple, and after around ten years of writing this equestrian column I find myself at a loss on what to write about.

Sometimes the truth is the best thing to say. There is a vulnerability in being honest. It’s all I can be right now.

So what have I been up to? Well, I’ve taken Sully, my young Appaloosa, to my trainer’s for a lesson. She’s been coming to me, but it’s good for him to remember the trailer and get him out.

He’s such a sweet horse and he’s used to travelling out and about as he had his first showing competition age 11 months old. I don’t want him to stand still too much so this was a way of getting him, and me, out.

As many of you know, I use Harriette Rushton. She’s a wonderfully talented showjumper and trainer. She’s young, energetic and has a fantastic way with horses.

I love the way she pops on him and fine tunes him before I ride in her lesson. She always makes him look so elegant and gorgeous under saddle. It’s a glorious sight. Not many trainers do this and I know I’m super lucky.

I haven’t jumped Sully since dad was in the hospice. I came off him twice coming into the fence during this time. If you’re not presenting him confidently he won’t go over and I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I was worrying I’d fall and break something so I was holding back on approach.

Of course, this is totally the wrong thing to think because they say what you think about gives it legs. So it was only natural he balked at the fence.

So for now we have focussed on flatwork. However, this lesson was different. When I arrived I remembered we’d last been there in November and for my 50th birthday present Harry had helped us jump our first 80cm.

I don’t know what it was, but it made me feel like the ‘old me’.

The mind is a powerful thing and it remembers and replays the most negative of events, despite having thousands of jumps on Sully that had gone well. It had paralysed me for months following dad’s diagnosis and loss.

We did flatwork and I was grinning from ear to ear. Harry popped up a small cross and asked if I fancied going over it. I did, however, I could feel my mind take over and going into the fence Sully could feel me tense up.

He naturally stopped. He’s a young horse and needs me to lead him. Do you know what happened?

I stayed on. I didn’t die. I didn’t break anything.

I brought him back round again and this time I thought if dad telling me I could do this and we did.

Sully and I went into that fence together - a partnership with me leading him.

Yes, my position was awful. I wouldn’t lean into him in the jump position in case he stopped but did it. The feeling washed over me of pure pleasure and joy.

I trust my trainer. I trust her with my horse, with my confidence and with my goals. She might not have experienced the death of a parent (and by goodness I wish that on no-one) but she is good at knowing how to help me. I have a huge respect for her.

I might not be the standard of Team GB, or even close to anything like her - but I love that she doesn’t judge me.

She just wants to bring out the best relationship with my horse and I and our potential.

Right now, she’s taking on someone with a lot of grief and still standing there with a smile telling me I’ve got this.

No matter what you achieve with your horse - no matter how small it is to you. Know that there are many of us out there who all have our own fights. You are not alone. Keep going.

Sometimes in our darkest moments we just need someone we trust to tell us it’s OK we feel like this, but also to know that whilst it’s OK to visit pity city - we don’t want to live there.

My dad really wouldn’t want me like this. That’s what I have to keep remembering.

I’m currently having counselling to help me in my grief. Don’t be afraid to ask for help and thank you for following my column. Your support and love means a lot. I’m sending it right back at you all.