When my daughter’s riding instructor reaches out unexpectedly on a Tuesday morning, I brace myself for unfavorable news. It’s unusual for Erin to call; she typically sends a text.
“Maya had an accident. She fell from the horse,” she states. “Her arm … it’s broken.”
Internally, I shatter. Summer break had just begun a week ago, and with financial constraints, we had no vacation plans. Yet, my husband and I decided that our 8-year-old deserved a memorable summer experience, so we enrolled her in a week of pony camp at the stables where she had ridden consistently for the past ten months. We thought she would have a fantastic time with her ponies and friends. We were mistaken.
As I navigate the winding roads towards my distressed daughter, I replay our carefree conversation from just two hours earlier. Maya and her friend, Lily, were in the backseat, bubbling with excitement about spending the day with “their” ponies. The windows were down, and they squealed joyfully as they stretched their arms out into the wind.
“Arms in,” I instructed, trying to be both authoritative and collaborative. “If your arm hits a branch, it could break. And wouldn’t it ruin your summer vacation to have a broken arm? You wouldn’t be able to ride or swim!”
Did I truly utter those words?
As I arrive at the stable, I spot a group of girls gathered near the barn. They promptly direct me to a house across the driveway, where I find Maya lying on the couch, an ice pack wrapped in a towel resting against her injured arm, while another camper’s mother tends to her.
“My arm hurts,” Maya murmurs softly upon seeing me.
Later, when someone inquires if she realized immediately that her arm was broken, she responds affirmatively. “It looked like my arm had two elbows,” she explains.
The next eight hours are a blur of pain, waiting, fear, and disbelief—especially when a nurse with perfectly manicured nails suggests that I bring Maya’s social security card on our next ER visit to help access her records. Maya only breaks into tears when she learns she will need an IV—a needle in her uninjured arm to administer the sedative for casting. I feel my heart sink when I learn that they will need to fully break one of the fractured bones in her forearm to set it properly and avoid surgery. For that news, I step outside to collect myself.
Maya has always preferred cuddly toys over dolls, and as she matures, her love for living creatures grows. I felt both excitement and apprehension when she began riding. Her first pony camp the previous summer had been uneventful. Over the next year, lessons were mostly incident-free. I observed the other mothers, who occasionally glanced up from their phones during lessons, and noted one who mentioned she had stopped riding after a horse threw her. “They sense fear,” she noted. “It’s better to learn young, when you’re fearless.”
There are undeniable benefits to riding: time outdoors, physical exercise, responsibility, and focus. I appreciated that Maya had a passion outside of school. I envisioned her, years from now, brushing a waiting horse and preparing to saddle up, free from the burdens of childhood social pressures. I saw the stable as a sanctuary for her to connect with nature, where the physical demands of riding would provide her solace.
So, I pushed aside the risks. I silenced the thoughts of accidents and injuries. I tried to ignore tragic news stories and incidents I’d witnessed, including a young girl falling during a competition and crying for her mother. The girl was shaken but unharmed, yet I couldn’t shake the anxiety. I avoided watching the video of Maya’s first competition, hoping that by ignoring the risks, I could prevent them from surfacing.
However, injuries do occur. Just a week and a half after she received a ribbon at her first horse show, and only an hour into her second day at pony camp, Maya lost her balance when her foot slipped from the stirrup and fell, fracturing her forearm in two places.
Fortunately, my daughter is among those who heal.
That summer, the second question everyone asks upon seeing Maya’s purple cast is, “Will you ride again?” Her pediatric orthopedist confidently assures a colleague, “In my experience, young riders can’t wait to get back on.” Maya responds with a resounding “Yes,” but I begin to question if she should.
Clichéd wisdom encourages her to push through fear and get back on the horse. As her mother and staunch supporter, I feel compelled to promote her bravery. Yet, I am also the one who insists she wears a jacket in the cold, eats nutritious foods, and gets sufficient rest. Now, I must flip my protective instincts and encourage her to engage in an activity that has previously led to injury. Why should she face that risk again?
Eventually, the day of her next lesson arrives. Maya’s cast has been removed after four weeks, and she now wears a flexible splint that she will need intermittently for the next six months, as the risk of refracture remains. I wear sunglasses to shield my eyes from her potential falls, allowing me to mask my fear. But she rides again, naturally, toward the end of her lesson, and I feel a surge of joy as I watch her navigate the dusty path on her pony.
Afterward, we celebrate with pizza, but a wave of anxiety hits me again. What if she falls next time?
In my email inbox is a message from Maya’s second-grade teacher, who empathizes with our situation. As a fellow rider, she shares her own experiences with injuries, including a recent kick from a horse. She relates it back to her own experiences with raising kittens, realizing that sheltering them from danger ultimately led to greater risks. Her words resonate: we cannot shield our children from pain; overprotection can sometimes lead to more harm than good. I choose to keep her email for future reference.
Maya doesn’t fall during her next lesson, but she surprises me by expressing a desire to take a break from riding to join a new Girls on the Run group at school starting that very afternoon. I feel conflicted—relieved yet uncertain. I reach out to Erin, who assures me that Maya’s decision is perfectly fine, and she’s welcome to return to lessons whenever she chooses.
I keep that email as well.
In summary, allowing children to encounter challenges and potential risks is essential for their growth and resilience. While it’s natural to want to protect them from pain, experiencing adversity can foster strength and independence. Striking a balance between safeguarding and empowering is crucial for their development.