Watching a child interact with an animal is one of the most tender things in the world, because they seem to speak the same language. Like many children with disabilities, I went through various forms of physical therapy as a kid, and among them was hippotherapy—the most beautiful therapy in the world. At least for me.
But the beginning wasn't encouraging. They assigned me a bay horse, beautiful but young and restless, unwilling to tolerate the monotony of circuits around the ring. He threw me twice, without apology. After the second fall, I grew afraid, even though those two hours a week gave me the illusion of having a horse all my own—one I could dream adventures with, like a princess in a fairy tale.
Then one day I switched to a different therapy center. That's where I met the horse of my life. His name was Rodano, and his coat was black as night. He was enormous—nearly two meters at the withers—so only a few children rode him. A fall from that height could hurt. But Rodano was a good horse, attentive and kind. I felt his gaze on me when I arrived, and his patience as he waited for me to move at my own pace. For someone with spasticity, mounting a two-meter horse was no simple task. But he waited, and I repaid him with endless affection and attention. I was eight or nine years old, and during those dark years of childhood when few kids came to my birthday parties and no one wanted to play with me, Rodano was my best friend.
We had a bond unlike any other. We sensed each other's moods and loved one another. The world saw what we meant to each other the day I fell. One evening, our instructor had us do an exercise with plastic cups in a poorly lit corner of the ring, and the noise of the plastic in my hand terrified Rodano. He bolted—it felt like I was riding one of those wild horses from a Western film that needs to be tamed. I fell hard. My helmet flew across the arena, and I was shaken. But once his fear passed, Rodano consoled me with his eyes, asking my forgiveness. There was nothing to forgive. That fall taught me that fears must be faced. In life you can fall. What matters is getting back up and trying again, always looking forward.