When worry settles in after the storm
The Storm Outside
Storms have been rolling through on a regular basis lately. One night, it sounded like it rained a lot just as I was drifting off to sleep—and then, almost as quickly, it was gone.
Dalila is very sensitive to the weather. If there’s lightning or thunder, she gets anxious. And if I’m honest, so do I.
I tend to worry about the horses who are out in the pasture—especially now that they can’t get into the three-sided shed. Will they get struck by lightning? Will something happen before morning?
I don’t know why I worry about this. I’ve never had one struck during a storm. Mike did have four cows killed in a storm once. One strike of lightning. Just like that.
Usually, I go out in the morning and find the only disappointment is the mud that clings to my boots and the extra work of slogging through it to feed.
Still, worry has a way of ignoring logic.
The Nights We Listen
When Mike and I first married, I’d lie in bed and listen to him breathe. He had asthma, and sometimes his breathing was irregular enough that I’d wake and listen more closely. Be sure he was okay. As if my listening somehow held things together.
Then we had children, and I’d lie awake listening to the baby monitor, alert for every sound—or absence of sound. I’d finally drift off only to wake again at the slightest cry.
Later, when Mike developed a chronic illness, sleep became something fragile. I remember one night he was snoring robustly. I was just about to fall asleep when he quit. I couldn’t hear him breathing. I waited for what felt like way too long and finally shook him.
He was irritated.
I felt better.
Now I sleep very soundly. The other night, before I was aware of a storm, Dalila decided she wanted out of the bedroom. I was sleeping so soundly that I could barely move.
Then the storm swelled. The lightning was close, and the thunder was loud. Then the driving rain hit. I lay there trying to settle back into sleep while my mind wandered to the horses.
The Storm Inside
That’s the joy of living in the country, right? No city noise after dark. No traffic. Just the sounds of nature—frogs at the pond, crickets in the pasture, and in the morning, birds singing.
And sometimes?
The sound of your own thoughts.
What keeps you awake at night?
For many of us, it’s not really the storm outside. It’s the storm inside—the worries we carry, the responsibilities we shoulder, the “what ifs” that replay in our minds when everything else gets quiet.
The thing I’ve learned from horses is this: they don’t stay in worry.
They respond to what is, not what might be.
A horse standing in the pasture after the storm isn’t replaying the lightning strike that almost happened. They return to grazing, to breathing, to being fully present in the moment.
There’s wisdom in that.
Returning to Calm
When people spend time with the horses here at the ranch, I often see something shift. Shoulders soften. Breathing slows. The constant spinning of thoughts quiets down—not because problems magically disappear, but because the nervous system finally gets permission to rest.
Sometimes healing doesn’t begin with talking.
Sometimes it begins with simply standing beside a horse and remembering what calm feels like.
When You’re Ready to Exhale
If worry, caregiving, stress, or the weight of life has been keeping you awake at night, maybe it’s time for a different kind of support. Schedule a complimentary Zoom conversation by clicking the button below, and let’s talk about what’s weighing on you—and whether spending time with the horses might be the right next step.
Because sometimes the peace we’re looking for arrives on four hooves.
Every story needs a soundtrack.
This is the one I’ve chosen for this post—sometimes because of the title, sometimes the lyrics, sometimes simply the feeling it stirs in me.
