10/31/2026
Psych Saturday: Whispers
One of the seemingly inevitable effects of getting old is the aches and pains of both an aging body and a life spent with horses. One of the great pleasures of age is a tacit permission to complain about them with others. My younger colleagues, family, and friends grin and shake their heads knowingly, while my contemporaries joyfully join in the chorus. We are glad to find someone who both understands and will listen while we catalogue our complaints and all the different remedies we have tried.
Sorry. I am going to indulge myself here. For my younger readers, bear with me, because there really is a point buried in here.
Some months ago I added a spin class to my regular exercise routine, which set off an unexpected and complex chain of physical issues, from back pain to a pattern of nerve, knee, and foot pain on my right side. I will reserve the gory details for conversations with my compassionate peers. What I want to share with everyone is my experience of searching for solutions and of the healing process.
Worry. When I hurt and it affects the things I love to do, I want to fix it, yesterday. When there is no easy answer, when the doctors, PTs, and chiropractors listen patiently with that “This is really interesting” look, in that “I have never seen that combination of symptoms before” kind of way, I worry. I love certainty, and as much as I preach the gospel of complexity, I want simple and certain answers with an effective plan attached. I want a fix, and I want it to be big and loud enough that I can feel it working.
Confusion and doubt. Without a plan that is certain to fix the issue, I begin to ask what my life looks like if this doesn’t get better. That kind of reckoning can be powerful, shaking you to your core. Even as an older adult, I realized how much I take for granted. When your body does not cooperate, you realize how fragile it all is. Accepting this and considering the alternatives can seed uncertainty, leading to confusion and doubt that touch everything from relationships to work to play.
Frustration. All along the search for help and solutions, I kept discovering more ways the pain affects my life and the things I love to do. The aches and discomfort while sitting in my consultation chair during sessions. The twinges as I turn and spin while dancing. The numbness in my right foot after a ride. The more the pain interferes with the things I love, the more pi**ed off I get.
Hope and despair. Along the way, I have sought the help and advice of trusted professionals: Dr. Danielle Estrada of Real Health, Dr. Catherine Wycoff, Dr. Christine Schmitz, and of course my massage therapist, Jody Schein. I name them here to recognize them and their thoughtful, professional care. I am grateful that I have both the resources and the opportunity to work with such a fabulous team. Each has provided expert and helpful guidance. Even with such a great team, the path has felt like a roller coaster, each step forward bolstering my hope that I will return to the me that was, and each step back inviting hints of despair.
Attunement. Pain draws your attention. Perhaps that attention underpins the whole experience, with all its ups and downs. One upside is that I have become more aware of my body. While I still notice the pain, I have cultivated an appreciation for change and, through that, for the restoration of function. This has mattered to me on a number of levels, not least an appreciation of my own progress and healing.
Appreciation. I want to end this list with my chiropractic journey, because it brought an awareness that I think matters most in my work with people and horses. At my first adjustment I did not get the dramatic cracks and pops I was used to from previous experiences. Instead, the adjustments were targeted and subtle. A skeptic by nature, I thought, “No way is this going to help.” But a day or two later, I used my newfound attunement to notice small but important changes that added to the progress I had already made. The impact of a whisper.
All of this has me reflecting on my horses. My horses deal with aches and pains too. I wonder if they go through the same set of emotions. Does pain bring them worry, confusion, or frustration? I know how incredibly sensitive my horses are, and my guess is that they have kept their attunement to themselves and their bodies in part because they are not burdened by the disconnect that our “higher” mental faculties create for us.
Which means they are always listening for the whisper. We are the ones who keep shouting.
I am reminded of the advice of my trusted mentors. Pippa repeatedly urges me to whisper and to expect my horse to respond like a highly schooled horse. My dance instructor, Maria, often says, “Do it like it’s easy.” Each, in their own way, is encouraging me to do less. Not to do nothing, but to act in smaller, gentler ways and to trust the wisdom and sensitivity of these wonderful, miraculous creatures that horses and humans are. When I do, good things happen.
My body has been teaching me the same lesson from the inside. The big fixes I wanted never came. What helped were small, careful inputs and the patience to notice what changed. Healing turned out to be less about force and more about listening.
I suspect my horses have been trying to tell me that for years. It took a spin class, a sore right foot, and a very gentle chiropractor for me to finally hear it.
The body, like the horse, rarely needs us to shout. It needs us to whisper, and then to pay attention.
~ Paul
PC - Erin Gilmore Photography