Unearthing the emotional armor we thought was left behind
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Welcome Back!
It’s been a few months since Girl, Groomed launched on April 22, and I’m continually humbled by the way it’s resonated with readers. Whether this is your first newsletter or you’ve just started reading the book, I’m so glad you’re here and part of this growing community.
In these newsletters, I’ll keep sharing behind-the-scenes stories, personal reflections, and what’s next—because healing doesn’t stop at the final page.
Now, I want to share a piece about an unexpected moment of inspiration—one that reminded me just how deeply our past can live on in us, and how even an old pair of chaps can stir something essential:
The Chaps — Part 1: Unpacking My Emotional Armor
Unearthing the emotional armor we thought was left behind
One day when I couldn’t find the words, my chaps found me instead.
I had hit a snag with the chapter I was working on and, in frustration, had gotten up from my writing space to go organize a closet. It was my form of idle distraction. It was then that I stumbled upon my old chaps, hibernating in a white plastic sack sealed away in the back of a storage shelf.
Decades ago, I had gone through and discarded boxes of my equestrian history—ribbons, mementos, horse show programs, newspaper clippings… but when it came time, I was unable to part with my chaps. Instead, I had carefully folded the thick skins of leather and slid their bulky heft, along with the memories they held, into a plastic bag, stashed them in a box, and promptly forgot them. Thirty years distanced from my equestrian past, they showed up.
Horses weren’t a current part of my metropolitan city life other than some artistic renderings of these creatures that hung framed on my living room wall. It only registered with a few of my Seattle friends that I rode horses in my youth. It’s not something I hid exactly—just hard to explain the full extent of my all-encompassing focus on riding back then in Virginia. It was even more challenging to describe the man I rode for. It wasn’t something I talked much about. Besides, it served me to think that it was all behind me.
“I rode horses in a past life,” I would joke, as if it could be relegated to a distinctly siloed time.
I delusionally believed that I had as easily contained this part of my life—and all of its emotional armor—in plastic wrapping.
As I opened the bag and saw what was inside, I pulled these well-used chaps from their encasement and held them in my hands. The earthy suede leather unfurled along with my nostalgic thoughts. They were a deep chocolate color, with the distant clinging whiff of horse and musty barn smells still hinting at their purpose. They consisted of two large flaps with sturdy zippers built to enfold each leg. They were connected by one large strap that encircled the hips and one thinner strap that cinched in front.
Back in my youth at the barn, we all trained in chaps. Chaps provided a protective covering. They kept our knees and legs from rubbing raw. They enveloped us as we, in turn, hugged our mounts.
They were a kind of emotional armor—metaphoric of the emotional shields that I also needed at the time.
📩 Stay tuned – this is just Part One.
There’s more to this story, and I’ll be sharing the next piece in the upcoming newsletter.
Until then, thank you for being here and walking this path with me.
is a therapist and author of Girl, Groomed, sharing her personal story of trauma and healing. Her work blends professional expertise and personal insight to guide readers on their own journeys to resilience.
