Information on horse therapy for anxiety
Working with horses is a component of equine-assisted treatments, which treat both physical and emotional illnesses. But can horses actually aid in our recovery?
Hamer Equine Assisted Learning [ H.E.A.L.] offers a tranquil space for participants to experience the unique benefits of Equine Assisted Therapy Australia. H.E.A.L. offers physically and psychologically safe experiences with horses.
Without stigma or shame, we work to provide insights based on a range of experiences. This voice is strong.
Can horses aid in reducing anxiety? With mine, it did. I grew up being one of those kids who loved horses, and I was fortunate enough to have parents who drove me to weekly $5 riding lessons at a facility outside the city. Despite being quiet in class, I had pals at the barn. I was not very good at riding, but I was terrible in volleyball and kickball. I was severely depressed and anxious, but at the barn, I faced my worries and temporarily felt pleased.
Although Smokey was my best friend, I was lonely. I adored everything about the barn, including the scent of horses, the hard work, exercise, and information it provided.
Horses can help with healing. As the advantages of human-animal contact have been extensively investigated, therapies incorporating horses (and animals in general) have evolved.
Equestrian-assisted therapy: What is it? Horses have long been our allies in both life and recovery. People with terminal illnesses were given horseback rides by the ancient Greeks. According to 17th-century literature, riding may have been employed to treat:
gout
neurological conditions
"poor morale"
In therapy, horses continue to aid in our healing. People who struggle with a range of physical, emotional, and mental health conditions might benefit from the multidimensional experience that horses can offer. Equine-assisted therapies are becoming more prevalent all around the world.
Who oversees horse therapy?
The team may include a certified physical, occupational, or mental health therapist who is either trained to work with horses or partnered with an equine specialist, depending on the type of therapy. Additionally, there can be staff members or volunteers acting as "spotters" to help clients riding horses.
How horse therapy is applied to treat anxiety
Whatever term you use to describe the growing feelings of anxiety and the ensuing behaviors, anxiety is essentially fear and uncertainty about what may happen in the future.
Everything from cognitive errors to withdrawing from people or situations may be founded on former experiences or incidents, yet they have an impact on the immediate future.
By bringing people back to the present, equine therapy helps break this cycle. Horse-related activities can only be carried out at that precise moment. Horses are unaware of your past and don't worry about what hasn't happened yet. Horses feed instantly off of our feelings.
They notice and react to interaction when you are composed and assertive. They'll probably be upset or distant if you are.
Equestrian-assisted activities combined with cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) procedures significantly reduced social anxiety symptoms, according to a small 2015 study involving 12 women under the age of 30.
Anxiety symptoms can be debilitating and sap people's self-confidence and self-esteem. Adolescent participants in a 2015 Australian research of horse-assisted psychotherapy showed improvements in:
assertiveness
self-esteem
confidence
Different forms of equestrian therapy
EAP stands for equine-assisted psychotherapy.
The Equine Assisted Program (EAP), created by the Equine Assisted Growth and Learning Association (EAGALA), has gained popularity, and there are now programs all around the world. Being prey animals, horses are ideally suited for therapy because they respond swiftly to tiny changes in their surroundings, as well as those of people and other animals.
The horse serves as a mirror, reflecting the energy of the client. As herd animals, horses also find safety in their consistency.
This demonstrates that horses are highly sensitive to both their environment and the other animals in the herd. This characteristic makes it feasible for a human-horse bond to develop. Trusted Source
Equine-assisted learning and EAP are unmounted therapies, meaning there is no riding involved, in contrast to therapeutic riding programs.
“Horses are equal partners on the team and are allowed unconstrained to allow them to communicate freely with the client,” according to the EAGALA's website. ”
Horses are extremely sensitive, so individuals can work through life's issues by engaging with them, according to the statement, "without suffering judgment or interpretation by another person."
EAL stands for "equine-assisted learning."
Typically, learning-focused therapies like equine-assisted or equine-facilitated learning (EAL or EFL) concentrate on developing skills like problem-solving and teamwork.
Equine-assisted and equine-facilitated psychotherapies (EAP or EFL) on the other hand, concentrate on therapy objectives including controlling depression symptoms or dealing with trauma.
Hippotherapy
Hippotherapy is a type of physical and occupational therapy that has been used to address disabilities (the word "hippotherapy" comes from the Greek word "hippos," which means horse). a reliable source, such as:
autism
Brain damage
arthritis
Head trauma
stroke
behavioral conditions
Additional mental health issues
Therapeutic equestrian activities
In addition to riding, therapeutic riding also involves managing horses and barns, which is an extension of hippotherapy. This promotes the growth of cognitive, physical, emotional, and social skills in people with exceptional needs.
The client's relationship with a licensed therapeutic riding teacher is crucial in therapeutic riding.
Equitation therapy and hippotherapy Trusted Source have sparked the development of more modern therapies that use horses to treat mental illness.
a word on safety
The main focus of equine-assisted therapy is security. The client and the horse's physical, emotional, and psychological safety are the primary concerns of the equine expert and mental health professional.
Working with horses always carries a certain amount of risk because they are powerful, unpredictable creatures. A therapeutic relationship with the horse that is built on mutual trust and love emerges as the client learns to respect the horse's boundaries.
The advantages of horse therapy
2018 research After therapeutic riding therapy, Trusted Source discovered a decrease in PTSD symptoms in military veterans.
2015 research According to a Trusted Source study, young people's motivation to continue receiving substance misuse treatment increased dramatically after participating in equine-assisted therapy.
Numerous studies have discovered significant increases in resilience among veterans and young people receiving residential care that included equine therapyTrusted Source.
A 2016 study found that professional carers who were suffering from compassion fatigue had significantly higher emotional quotients.
Negative aspects of equine therapy
What are the best practices in equine-assisted therapy, and for which disorders, is still up for debate. As previously indicated, there aren't enough studies. But as research advances, this is changing.
Because horses are expensive, equine-based therapies are also pricey. The Veterans Administration has been sponsoring EAP through EAGALA since 2019, however equine-assisted therapy might not be covered by health insurance.
It can be challenging to get to horses. While many people live in or close to cities, horses are typically kept in rural settings. Horses are not always out of reach, though.
Just a quick recap
More research is required, but equine-assisted therapies are becoming more and more popular for treating mental health issues like anxiety.
You could gain experience in emotional control and present-moment awareness by spending time grooming and interacting with horses. You can look through our horse therapy directory or ask your local therapist for further details about opportunities in your area.
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all we can do is keep breathing || chapter two
summary: Spencer’s doing better, but recovery isn’t linear, and some scars run deeper than either of you knew.
pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader
category: angst (eventual happy ending)
content warnings: swearing, drug abuse & addiction, substance use disorder, ptsd, descriptions of panic attacks/ptsd episodes, recollection of past bullying, unhealthy coping mechanisms, yelling/fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, body image issues
a/n: i was so taken aback by the response to chapter one--i didn’t think anyone would even read it tbh. thank you all and thanks for being patient with my lack of an upload schedule. i'm so sorry the word count is massive again. you get tummy appreciation, though, because 1) we all love spencer’s tummy, and 2) i personally gained weight when i was in residential treatment and it can be a bit of a mindfuck lol.
a/n 2: repeated disclaimer that i'm not a doctor, psychologist, psychiatrist, etc., just a direct care staff, past rtc patient and trauma recovery enthusiast. the horse therapy is pretty much entirely based on my own personal experience from nearly a decade ago, so don’t expect it to be an accurate portrayal of equine-assisted psychotherapy.
word count: 7.3k
song: you will be found from dear evan hansen
fic masterlist || masterlist
He’s been looking forward to the start of equine therapy since he got a spot in the program. But instead of being excited the morning of, Spencer ends up crying for an hour straight.
The day started off fine. It wasn’t hard to get up with the horses to look forward to, and he was able to get an extra plate at breakfast, so he could keep the pancake syrup from touching the eggs and sausage. Art therapy was a few hours later. He’d started to actually enjoy the pottery project—the recreational therapist had brought him a box of disposable gloves to use so the feeling of drying clay on his hands was no longer a problem.
Everyone’s projects were coming out of the kiln today and the next step was painting them. He’d been planning out the design and colors he wanted to use since the project started and was excited to finally start applying it.
Then he dropped his item, it broke into pieces, and he burst into tears.
He’d fled the room on instinct alone and curled up in a corner of the hallway, pressing his knees to his forehead. He was upset about the pottery, and upset that he was so affected by it breaking. He felt stupid and silly for crying over it, which only made him cry harder.
He heard distant laughter and he clapped his hands over his ears. He was being laughed at again for being a crybaby. He didn’t want to be a crybaby. He wanted to stop crying, he just couldn’t. The goalpost was cold against the bare skin of his back, and his wrists were starting to burn from the ties.
I want to go home. Just let me go home, please, I’ll do anything. Let me go, let me go--
“Spencer, it’s okay. You’re safe here. Can you repeat after me? I’m safe here.”
Safe here. Safe here.
Art therapy was over by the time he came out of it.
He has lunch at his therapist’s office instead of with the group. Lara asks what his flashback had been to.
He picks at his food. “It happened a long time ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Alright. Can you tell me how it felt instead?”
Spencer isn’t really hungry, but bites into his sandwich to stall for time. She doesn’t rush him. Eventually, he asks, “Do you know what alexithymia means?”
“No words for feelings,” she replies.
He nods. “That’s all.”
Lara opens one of her desk drawers and pulls out a composition notebook, which she then hands to him.
“What’s this for?”
“I want you to start trying to notice your feelings and sensations throughout the day. Make some kind of note, even if you don’t exactly have the words to describe it.”
He sighs. “Why?”
“Just noticing what you feel can help you develop emotional regulation,” she explains. She’s always been honest with him about the why of what she wants him to try and do. “It’s going to help you stop ignoring what’s going on inside you.”
I don’t want to do that.
“I know you don’t.”
“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he blurts. “That either. I—god.” He quickly takes another bite of food before he can say more.
“It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to like it,” Lara says with a small smile. “I’m sure the thought of confronting what you’ve been suppressing and avoiding is scary. But getting better requires you to do a lot of scary things.”
Spencer wants to protest. Being strapped to a chair in a shed and dosed against your will is scary. Your mother being diagnosed with Alzheimer's is scary. Being sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit is scary. Feeling things? That’s not scary.
Isn’t it?
He tries not to think on it too much.
Despite the unpleasant thoughts running through his mind, Spencer finds himself nodding off on the van ride to the horse ranch. His eyes unfocus, his blink rate slows… and then he jerks back awake at the sensation of his head falling forward.
A frustrated noise escapes the back of his throat. He’s sick of feeling tired all the time. He’s getting enough sleep in theory, but still finds himself drowsy at least once a day. It’s to the point that he’s regularly wearing his glasses instead of his contacts to keep his eyes from feeling quite so dry. He pushes them back up now as he tries to tune back in to his surroundings.
“… don’t get how seeing some horse is supposed to make me feel better.” That’s Aiden’s voice. He’s Spencer’s new roommate. He wasn’t happy when he found out he was getting a new one, having much preferred having the room to himself, but it’s been okay so far, mostly because they keep out of each other’s way. Aiden seems uninterested in making friends, and that suits Spencer just fine. Lara’s been encouraging him to talk to fellow patients instead of just the direct care staff, but he’s resisted it. The last time he befriended someone, they ended up--
Spencer’s fine with the two of them keeping to themselves.
Melanie, one of the staff accompanying them, is leaned over the back of the middle seat as she talks to Aiden. “Well, I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but I’ve seen this program help a lot of people in my time here,” she says. “Spencer?”
“What?”
“You’ve been reading a lot about horses, right?” At his nod, she continues, “What have you found out?”
“Equine-assisted psychotherapy lacks the rigorous scientific evidence to demonstrate if it provides benefits in mental health treatment. Horses have been used to aid in psychiatric treatment since the 1990’s, though,” he says. He intends to stop there, but can’t stop himself from continuing. “It doesn’t necessarily involve riding, but may include grooming, feeding, and ground exercises. The goal is to help the client in social, emotional, cognitive, and or behavioral ways.”
He can feel Aiden’s eyes on him and takes a breath before meeting them. He knows all too well that his infodumps aren’t always well received. He doesn’t want to be friends, but would prefer for his roommate to not view him with disdain or annoyance. But Aiden looks interested, and says as much--”that’s interesting.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t, and there’s silence between them for the remainder of the drive. It’s not uncomfortable, though.
When the van pulls into a parking spot and everyone starts to get out, Spencer begins to feel nervous. He’s read everything he could get his hands on, but as a relatively new therapy, there’s no standard program; it varies by facility, so he doesn’t know exactly what to expect. He’s been looking forward to this, but what if it turns out to be a bad fit for him? What if the people here don’t like him? What if the horses don’t like him?
He hangs at the back of their group of ten—six patients and two staff—as they’re led to a shaded area. They’re introduced to the program director and assistants, and are given an overview of what they’ll be doing over the next six weeks. They won’t be riding the horses, just doing groundwork (he’s not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed). Then he learns that intention of this specific program isn’t just for the horses to help the clients—the clients are to help the horses as well. The animals all have the gentle temperaments suited for therapy, but also have their own struggles. A lot of them were adopted out of poor situations.
They’re led to a circular corral next and spaced equidistantly around the edge. Spencer’s heart rate picks up as the horses are brought in—the animals will be picking their therapy partner, the director says. As they’re let off their leads a jolt of anxiety runs through his body, making him twitch slightly. This feels uncomfortably familiar to school P.E. when teams were picked. No one wanted him then. What’s gong to happen if none of the horses want him, either? He looks down at his shoes.
But just a few moments later, he hears his name, and looks up to see one of the horses approaching him. “Looks like you and Chance are our first pair,” the director is saying.
First?
Chance is almost entirely black, save for a spot of white between his eyes and above his nose. His size is a little intimidating, but his demeanor is gentle. One of the assistants comes up to Spencer and instructs him to hold out his hand so the horse can sniff it.
His hand trembles slightly as he lifts it. Warm breath hits his fingers as Chance sniffs at it. Then the horse presses his nose completely against his hand. The moistness would usually bother Spencer, but for some reason it doesn’t. Instead, a smile slowly spreads across his face. The assistant tells him he can pet Chance now. He runs his hand up and down the horse’s snout, and despite the slight coarseness of the hair, finds it soothing.
The horse shuffles closer when Spencer is given his lead to hold. A startled laugh escapes him when Chance presses his nose into his neck. He pats his head a few times, then takes a tiny step back. He’s thrilled that at least one of the horses likes him, but feels a little crowded by the large animal. To his surprise, Chance seems to understand, and takes a step back of his own.
He absently pats his horse as he watches the rest of the group pair up. He still can’t believe he was picked first.
The rest of their time with the horses is very simple. They’re taught how to lead them, and after practicing in the corral, they take the horses back to their paddocks. Spencer’s disappointed to say goodbye already, but understands the need to not overwhelm the horses or even themselves. “I’ll see you next week,” he finds himself whispering to Chance.
There’s ten minutes left in the session, and it’s spent with the director telling them more about each horses’ specific background. Chance was poorly treated by his previous owner, mostly kept locked up in a small barn and not properly cared for. He has many talents and abilities, the director says. He needs to learn that he didn’t deserve to be treated the way he was, and be told that he is brave.
Spencer rests his chin in his hand and stares out the window on the drive back to the treatment center. He knows from his reading that horses are emotionally intelligent creatures, but he’s still… well, amazed by how the horses all picked who was most similar to them out of the group instinctively.
He feels more understood by an animal he’s interacted with for twenty minutes than he has by a person for months.
Before bed that night, he chews on the stem of his pen cap, thinking over the events of his day. Slowly, in a manner that could almost be described as cautious, he picks up the empty composition book Lara gave him and opens it. His hand hovers over the blank page for a few moments, then he puts pen on paper and begins to write.
---
You made dinner reservations for his visit this Saturday. You’re getting ready for it when there’s a knock on the front door.
“I’ll get it,” Spencer calls from the living room.
You return to fixing your hair up. You’re not expecting anyone, so it’s probably just a package or a neighbor. But just a few moments later, you hear Spencer raise his voice.
“No! No, I don’t—don’t touch me, please.”
You’re only half dressed, but hurry out to the living room anyways. When you round the corner, you immediately see what the problem is: JJ has dropped by unexpectedly.
It’s not that Spencer doesn’t want to see his team. They just bring memories with them, and he had decided shortly after his birthday that he wasn’t ready to confront that yet.
He’s standing a little ways back from the door, staring at JJ while she looks back with hurt on her face. “Spence--” she starts before she sees you.
At Spencer’s side, you place a hand on his arm and he takes a step behind you. “JJ, what are you doing here?”
She struggles to keep her eyes off of him as she answers. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, I just—Will and I made cookies with the boys today and we had a lot of extra, so I just wanted to drop some off for you. I—I didn’t know Spence was here. I didn’t mean to--”
You hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay, JJ. You couldn’t have known. You were just trying to do something nice.”
She nods, relieved at your understanding. “Yeah. Yeah, I….” She blows out a breath, then holds out a plastic wrapped plate of cookies to you. You take it from her with a quiet thank you. Then she looks back to the man that’s essentially hiding behind you as best as he can, despite how tall he is. “Spence, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t want me to touch you.”
There’s a tug on your clothing as he curls his fingers into the fabric on the small of your back. You tilt your head to look at him, but his gaze is on the floor. “You…” he glances up once, then looks back down. “You should ask next time,” he says quietly.
“Okay,” she replies, just as softly. “I will.”
You bite down on the inside of your cheeks to hold back a smile. Spencer often struggles to advocate for his needs, especially with his friends and colleagues, in fear of being a burden or more of a nuisance than he thinks others already perceive him as. He did it a lot with you when you first started dating. It took a lot of time and reassurance that yes, you really did want to know his wants and needs, for him to open up. Telling JJ to ask before touching him may seem small from the outside, but it’s a big deal for him.
After a rather awkward silence, JJ speaks again. “Well, um, I should get going. Just… let us know if you need anything, okay, Spence? We—the team, we’re all here for you.”
“That’s rich,” Spencer mutters behind you and you freeze. You recognize that edge to his voice. It’s usually accompanied by sharp words and remarks that he’ll regret later.
Please please please tell me JJ didn’t hear that.
“I’m sorry?”
Fuck.
“I hate to rush you out, JJ, but we have dinner reservations, so--” you try to interject but Spencer speaks over you.
“I’m just saying, why should I believe you’re here for me when you weren’t last time?”
JJ’s eyebrows come together. “I… don’t understand, I’ve always--”
“No, you haven’t!” It’s like Spencer can’t get the words out fast enough, the way he keeps interrupting before either of you can finish a sentence. This is clearly something that’s been weighing on him. You just wish he was unloading it onto his therapist rather than poor JJ, his best friend outside of you, who’s just trying to be nice. “Ten years ago I was shooting up in police station bathrooms and Emily is the only one who said a damn thing.”
His grip on your clothes tightens, forcing you to take a step back. You move the plate of cookies to one hand and reach back with the other, circling it around his wrist. “Spencer.”
Realization dawns on JJ’s face and she crosses her arms. “Spence, I couldn’t--”
“You couldn’t.” The little laugh he lets out derisive. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
You don’t know where all this is coming from or what he’s referring to, but JJ does, her expression hardening.
“You know what would have happened if the higher ups found out,” she says. “I was protecting your job. We all were.”
“You shouldn’t have!” he cries, emotions other than anger seeping into the words. “This damn job is one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me! I got anthrax poisoning, I still have issues with my knee from being shot. I nearly died from a shot in the neck, and let’s not forget, I was framed for murder by a psychopath I arrested, who then kidnapped my mother while I was in prison! Oh, and what else? Oh right, this job is the reason I’m a fucking addict in the first place!”
JJ’s clearly trying to hold back tears now, but one slips out and your heart aches for her. You close your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, then speak quietly but firmly. “Spencer, you need to leave the room.”
You can hear him breathing shakily behind you. “(Y/N)--”
“Now.” You squeeze his wrist and he finally lets go of your clothing. He takes a few steps away, stops, turns back and opens his mouth to say something, but at the look you give him, shuts it and continues on his way out.
A sniffle draws your attention back to JJ, who’s looking up at the ceiling and swiping at the tears sliding down. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I shouldn’t have come by without giving you a heads-up. I’ve just made things worse.”
“No, JJ, don’t be sorry. It--” There’s thumping noises from further back in the apartment so you step forward and shut the front door behind you. She has her arms wrapped around herself when you turn back.
“It’s not your fault,” you continue. “You were just trying to be nice. You’re a good friend to him. He’s just… everything is really raw for him right now, if that makes sense?”
She nods, wiping at her eyes again.
“It’s, uh, not an excuse, though,” you clarify. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. You didn’t do anything wrong. That was all him, so please don’t blame yourself.”
JJ is quiet for a bit, staring at the floor. Then she says, “I should get going.”
“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” you agree quietly. Realizing you’re still holding the plate of cookies in one hand, you lift it slightly and add, “Thanks for these. And, um… I’m so sorry about that.”
She shakes her head and glances at the door. “Don’t be. Like you said, it was all him,” she murmurs.
You know she’s right, but you’re still barely able to stop yourself from apologizing again as she descends the stairs. You can’t help but feel like you should have done more, stopped him somehow, even though you don’t know how you could have. The way his behavior changed… it was like he wanted to get it all out, and when Spencer Reid wants to say something, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop.
The apartment isn’t quiet when you walk back in. There’s the scraping and clatter of a desk drawer, followed by frantic footsteps and the thud of books falling off the shelves. You know what he’s doing, and you know he won’t find anything, so you just lock the front door and continue on to the kitchen to put the cookies away.
You lean on the counter and cover your face with your hands. It doesn’t matter if you mess up your hair or face, or anything, really, because you’re not making it to dinner anymore.
You stay like that for a while, eyes closed, trying to think of a place to even start with Spencer after all of that. When the sounds of him tearing through the apartment stop, you lift you head back up and promptly jump—he’s staring at you from the nearest doorway.
“Jesus, Spencer--”
“Where’s my stuff?” he asks, and the seriousness in his tone of voice makes your anxiety spike. You know exactly what he means by stuff.
“It’s gone. What did you think was gonna happen?”
“Yeah, but it’s…” he trails off and his expression puzzles you. It almost looks like he’s confused. “It’s all gone.”
Ah. “Yeah, well, I know you think you’re sneaky, but you’re very much the opposite when you’re not sober,” you reply. “Finding your hiding spots wasn’t hard.”
He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. “I don’t like it when you move my things,” he says quietly.
“I don’t like it when you use,” you counter.
He visibly flinches, then his hand tightens on the door frame. “I’m not going to—to take it, I just want to hold it. Where’s my stuff?” he repeats.
“Holding it, right,” you sigh.
“It’s comforting,” he argues.
“Even if I believed that, it wouldn’t matter, Spencer. I threw it all out. There’s none here.”
The humming noise he makes is angry, and he rocks back and forth on his feet in an agitated manner. “You shouldn’t… I don’t….”
I don’t have the energy for this. It’s a thought you feel terrible about as soon as you have it, but it’s the truth. Lara had cautioned you before his first visit that he was going to be hypersensitive to disappointment and frustration until he learned how to cope with the feelings he’d been using the Dilaudid to block out. Unfortunately, the information, while useful, didn’t always make his emotional extremes easier to deal with.
You run a hand down your face. “Spencer…” you start. You’re not sure what to continue with, but you don’t have to—for whatever reason, that sets him off.
He tears his eyes away from the floor to glare at you. “Don’t—don’t touch my things ever again!” Then he turns and all but runs to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
You suck in a breath and drop your head to the counter. The marble is cool and you thump your forehead against it gently a few times, focusing on breathing in and out slowly to calm down. When you’re ready, you walk as quietly as you can to the bedroom door and press your ear against it to hear the unmistakable sound of Spencer sobbing into his pillow.
Part of you wants to go in and comfort him, but you suspect that you’d just make it worse right now since some of his frustration is directed at you. And truth be told, you’re frustrated with him, too. So you retreat to the living room, flopping down on the couch and pulling out your phone to call the restaurant to cancel your reservations. Doing so is more upsetting than you expected; a few tears of your own slide down your face after you hang up. Before you know it, you’re calling Tara.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asks you.
“I…” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Spencer’s… we’re having a bad day. If you’re not busy, can I talk to you about it?”
“Of course,” is her gentle reply, and you pull yourself to your feet, moving to the farthest point away from the bedroom in the apartment so Spencer won’t overhear.
“He got angry when you told him you got rid of everything?” she guesses when you reach that part.
“Yeah. He told me that he doesn’t like it when I move his things. I already knew that; that’s why everything else is where he left it. I think he was mostly just caught off guard that I knew all his hiding places.”
“If he’s having a trauma response to seeing JJ, he’s not going to be thinking clearly, either,” Tara points out. “I wasn’t there, so I could be wrong, but from what you’ve said, it sounds like she was some sort of trigger for him.”
“That’s more than a fair assessment. It’s just… confusing,” you say. “He wasn’t like this with her when he first got home from prison. He actually spent a lot of time at JJ’s house before his relapse. He’d go over and hold Michael when he couldn’t sleep. Why is seeing his best friend suddenly such a bad thing?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t have to make sense to us. It only has to make sense to the traumatized part of the brain,” she explains. “He may not even know why himself.”
“Hmm.” You ponder it for a moment. “I think I’d find that interesting if I wasn’t living it.”
Tara laughs out loud at that. “Yeah, I’ve found that to be rather commonplace sentiment in the field of psychology.”
You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling calmer. “Thanks for listening,” you say. “I feel better now.”
“Anytime, (Y/N).”
You exchange goodbyes, making plans to catch up properly over lunch next week. You hang up, then tiptoe back to the bedroom door. It’s quiet now; Spencer seems to have stopped crying. You knock softly. “Honey? Can I come in?”
When he doesn’t respond, you try the door handle. It’s unlocked, which is a good sign—he’s upset, but not upset enough to completely shut you out. You open the door just enough to look in.
Spencer’s on the bed as expected, huddled under his weighted blanket. His back is to the door and you see his shoulders shuddering in the little breaths that follow him crying. In your experience, he usually seeks out comfort before this stage, often having the breakdown itself in your arms or stumbling into them halfway through. This is a bit of uncharted territory. You know that after outbursts of negative emotions, he tends to need reassurance and touch from someone to help him decompress and feel better. You just don’t know if that’s going to hold true for this kind of reaction. A trauma response, Tara called it. You hope it will, because you don’t know what else to do.
“I’m going to come in now,” you tell him before taking a step inside. You leave the door open behind you so he won’t feel trapped, then slowly approach him, looking out for signs that he doesn’t want you near—tensing muscles, slight rocking, shaking his head—but he stays still.
Once you sit down on the edge of the bed you can see his face. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks are red and raw from wiping away tears. A few are still slipping out, sliding sideways down his face and dropping onto the wet patch on his pillowcase as he stares blankly at the wall across the room.
Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his arm as lightly as you can. He takes in a deep breath, but does nothing to suggest that he wants you to remove it. After a few moments to ensure that he’s okay with touch, you start running your hand up and down his back. He whimpers a little in response, closing his eyes and titling back into your touch.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly.
You don’t get a straightforward answer. He chews on his bottom lip for a bit before speaking in a scratchy voice. “Can you…?” he mumbles, lifting his head up slightly from the pillow, then dropping it back down. You don’t know what he’s asking for until you see some of his fingers poking out from under the blanket and the stroking motion they’re making.
You maneuver across the mattress to sit against the headboard, jostling him as little as you can, and he shifts to place his head in your lap. When you start carding your fingers through his hair, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a little sigh.
“What’s going on?” you ask once the tension has faded and his body has settled fully into the mattress. He just shrugs and you press your lips together to hold back a sigh. You’re familiar with him going nonverbal and you know that he can’t help it, but it’s discouraging. One of the main things he’s been working on is being more open about his emotions. It’s been a welcome change to not have to pry things out of him. But he seems to have gone right back to old habits tonight and it’s… well, it’s disappointing.
The silence carries on for a long time as you continue to run your hands through his hair. He’s so still and relaxed that you think he may have fallen asleep until he takes in a deep, shuddering breath and clears his throat. “I… I want to go back,” he whispers.
“Back whe--” you start, then your heart drops as you realize what he means. “Oh.”
Your hands fall to your lap as he sits up and clambers out of bed, muttering, “gonna get changed.” He shuts the bathroom door behind him—for whatever reason, he’s not always comfortable with you seeing him changing or in the shower anymore—and you sit still for a few moments, processing what he just said. After over a month of listening to him express his desire to come home—begging you, even, in the beginning—you were unprepared to hear the opposite.
You shake your head slightly to try and clear it, then follow his lead, leaving the bed and changing out of your fancy clothes, trying not to think about how much you had been looking forward to wearing them to the restaurant.
Spencer remains quiet for the drive back to his treatment center, staring out the passenger side window, legs pulled into his chest. He mumbles a quick “bye” to you when you check him back in—no hug or kiss on the cheek like you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead he turns right back to the nurse and staff member running the process and asks, “Is Matt working tonight? I need to talk to him.”
At least he wants to talk to someone, you tell yourself as you leave, trying to soothe the sting caused by the fact that the someone isn’t you.
---
The next time you see him is six days later, on Friday evening. You’ve only talked once since Saturday, over the phone on Wednesday night, and it wasn’t a long call. He was upset about the horse therapy appointment being canceled that afternoon because of the weather—it had rained hard all day—and didn’t say much else. He ended the call before the ten minute mark, saying that he was tired and wanted to go lie down.
He also didn’t request a visit for the weekend—he either didn’t think his treatment team would approve it or he just didn’t want one. So you’re visiting him at the center today. You’ve brought dinner with you—you cooked one of his favorites yourself—but before you eat, you’re having an appointment with him and his therapist.
Spencer glances up only briefly when you enter the office, quickly looking back down. One of his knees is bouncing.
You sit down on the other side of the couch, looking between him and Lara in the chair across from you. “So, um, what’s going on?” you ask.
Spencer looks to Lara and she gives him an encouraging nod. He takes in a deep breath before speaking. “I… I wanted to talk to you about what ha—happened last week,” he says quietly, keeping his gaze on his lap.
You don’t know why exactly he wants to do it here, with his therapist, but wanting to talk about it at all is a good sign.. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“Right, um. Seeing… seeing JJ, it--” he stops abruptly, and his hands tremble slightly as he runs them down his thighs. “Sorry, doing… doing this is making me really anxious.”
“Take your time,” Lara says and you nod in agreement.
“Okay.” He runs his hands through his hair a few times before continuing. “Se—seeing her brought up emotions and, and memories I wasn’t ready to, um, confront. It… it really tri—triggered me.”
“Yeah, I could tell,” you say quietly.
Spencer grimaces at the words. He lifts his hand, puts it back down, then lifts it again and rubs at one of his eyes. “I…” he starts, then fixes his gaze on the floor and goes silent.
“(Y/N).” You tear your eyes from him and look at Lara. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Spencer about Saturday? Maybe what it was like for you?”
“Oh. Um.” You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. You’ve worried about how what you say could effect him since his relapse—one of your biggest fears is saying something that would drive him to use. But it’s stressful to keep up with, and with his therapist is probably the best place to start ridding yourself of your new habit of… well, of walking on eggshells around him.
“I think it would be good for him to know,” Lara says.
“Alright.” You lace your fingers together in your lap. “I guess it was just… startling to me. JJ’s your best friend and you’ve never acted that way to her. Or anyone, really, other than your father.”
Spencer stays silent, but flinches at the mention of his dad.
“Do you have anything to say to that?” Lara prompts. He shakes his head, so she looks back to you. “How did seeing Spencer like that make you feel?”
You take in a deep breath and let it out slowly; you’re a little scared to say, not wanting to make him feel worse. “It was… distressing. Especially when he got mad at me for getting rid of his Dilaudid. I know he doesn’t like having his things touched without permission but I don’t think it was reasonable to expect that I wouldn’t have done that.”
Lara nods. “That makes sense. But our feelings aren’t always logical.”
“Yeah, I understand. I guess I just wish he would have told me what was wrong instead of being silent--”
Spencer finally speaks up then, in protest. “I couldn’t help it!”
“I—I know that,” you argue back. “I just—I’m just telling you how I felt.”
He looks away, folding his arms and sinking further into the couch.
“Spencer,” Lara says gently. “You wanted to know how (Y/N) felt, remember? And we talked about how you were probably going to hear things you wouldn’t like.”
You blink, taken aback that this was his idea. And with that comes the realization of just how long it’s been since he’s asked how you’re feeling. Thinking back, you realize that the last time you had a conversation that wasn’t only focused on his feelings and well-being was the day you found him asleep and tied to his mother. This… it’s Spencer before prison.
You’re drawn out of your thoughts by him sighing and muttering, “Yeah, I remember.”
“Alright. Anything else?” Lara asks you.
There’s a lot else, you’re discovering, but you’re not sure you can unpack it all right now. “Maybe…” you say. “Maybe he could just tell me what I can do to help when he’s… triggered?”
“I don’t know,” he says dully, and when he catches the small frown on your face, insists, “I don’t.”
“Yet,” Lara adds.
He sighs again. “Yet,” he repeats.
“I know it’s frustrating,” she says. “Your solution to these kinds of feelings before was denial or using. A solution, not just a problem,” she emphasizes. “I want you both to try and think of it like that, and get comfortable with the fact that it’s going to take awhile to overcome those habits.”
A solution, not a problem. It’s… weird to think of his addiction that way, but you can try, so you give her a nod.
“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer mumbles. But behind the defensive body language, he just seems tired.
He seems to relax a little when the meeting wraps up and it’s only the two of you in one of the rooms used for visits. He remains quiet, but when you place the plate of food you dish him across the table from yours, he slides it back and sits in the chair beside you. “Sorry,” he whispers as soon as you take a bite of food.
“For what?” you ask once you’ve swallowed.
“For yelling at you on Saturday,” he says quietly. “I was upset but I shouldn’t have yelled.”
His leg is bouncing under the table; you put your hand on his knee to still it. “Apology accepted,” you say softly.
He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t have to. I was awful to you on Saturday.”
You frown at his skewed interpretation of events. “Spencer, you really weren’t. You yelled at me, yes, but other than that, you were fine.” And you’ve said much worse when you’ve been high.
“I ruined dinner. And don’t say it’s not a big deal,” he adds before you can speak. “You mentioned it every time we spoke in the week leading up to it. You were really excited about it, and I ruined it.”
Spencer’s read you like a book—that was exactly what you were going to say. “Yeah, I was really looking forward to it,” you admit. “And it sucked to have to cancel the reservations. But there will be other dinners, and it’s not like you did it on purpose.”
“But what if I did?” His voice is so quiet that you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t right next to you.
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean…” he rocks slightly in his seat, which you immediately recognize as one of his self-soothing behaviors. You move your hand from his knee to his hair, lightly running your fingers through the curls covering the nape of his neck to try and help. His head tilts forward a little at your touch and after a brief silence, he continues. “I just mean that self-sabotage wouldn’t exactly be something new for me.”
“Oh.” You take your time considering it; he won’t believe you if you give in to your knee-jerk reaction to protest the negative feelings he harbors towards himself. But he grows agitated at your silence, rocking a bit harder and rubbing at his eye. You tug his hair lightly without really thinking about it in response.
“I’m just thinking,” you assure. “You deserve an honest, thought-out answer.”
After taking a deep breath, he nods. “Okay. I understand. Maybe you could just, uh… to help c--comfort…” He swallows and his voice drops back to a whisper. “Could you do that again?”
“Do what?”
“Um, pull… pull my hair. You did that a few moments ago. Please?”
You almost want to tease him—a year ago, you would have. But he’s been so timid and unsure when asking for any intimate touch other than cuddling since he got back from prison. You don’t want to discourage him from asking any more than he seems to be discouraging himself.
“Of course, baby,” you answer softly, and do just that. He closes his eyes and drops his head onto your shoulder. “As far as the self-sabotaging goes, you’re… not good at lying to me,” you muse. “And after six years with you, I feel like I’m pretty familiar with all the ways Spencer Reid self-sabotages. This never even crossed my mind until you brought it up, so I don’t see that as being what happened.”
You can’t tell if he believes you. A neutral “okay” is all you get from him, but at least he’s not outright disagreeing.
You gently pull his hair a few more times. “You should eat before it gets cold and we have to heat it up again.”
He takes the suggestion, picking his fork up, but you’ve never seen him less enthused about eating one of his favorite foods. He’s only cleared half of his plate when you’re done with all of yours.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
You can’t help but sigh at the habitual response, and consider your next words carefully. “Spencer, I don’t mean to be pushy, but you told me you were working on not dismissing people’s concern for you when they express it.”
“I am,” he mutters, but doesn’t say anything else, just continues to push his food around his plate aimlessly.
“Well, is something wrong with the food?” you ask. “Did I get the texture wrong, or--”
“No, no,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “It’s not the food. The food’s great. It’s… it’s me that’s the problem.”
Your eyebrows come together. “I don’t understand.”
“I…” He starts to blush. “I’m not eating it all because I think I need to lose some weight.”
“Don’t you dare,” you say immediately without thinking. He makes a startled noise at the same time you clap your hand over your mouth. You definitely don’t want him to lose weight, you just hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.
On the day he came home and agreed to treatment, you’d seen just how underweight he’d become as you helped him unbutton his shirt. The stark outline of his ribs against his skin had been scary, and you had no desire to see that again. It was a relief when he started to gain back what he’d lost in prison and afterwards. And you were happy to see him continue to put on even more than that.
You clear your throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. You were just so skinny when you got here. You look good like this.”
“I’ve never weighed this much before,” he says, and the distress in his tone makes you think that this is a fact that has been bothering him for a while. “Some of my clothes are getting too tight.”
“We can buy you new clothes.”
“But we don’t know how much longer the insurance will cover my stay here. Residential treatment is expensive. We don’t need to be spending extra money on clothes when I could just lose the weight instead and not need them.”
“Hey.” You put your hand on his cheek. “I don’t want you to worry about money. The insurance is covering it for now. If they stop, that’s a problem to deal with when we get there. Just focus on getting better.”
He looks away from you, down to his lap. “I should still lose some weight,” he says eventually.
“Have you medical staff told you that?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” he admits with a sigh.
“Then you’re not allowed to worry about it,” you say firmly. “Finish your dinner.”
Spencer hesitates, but picks his fork back up. The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly when he starts eating again, telling you that despite his fretting, he’s happy not to stop himself from eating as much as he wants.
He seems to be in a much better mood at the end of the evening than he was when you arrived, though a bit more subdued and quieter than normal. He also appears to be very tired. It’s only 7:30 but he keeps yawning. He denies dozing off with his head on your shoulder while you were talking after dinner, but you’re sure he did.
During your parting hug, he nestles his face into your neck just like he always does when you’re sleeping in bed together. “Try and get some good sleep tonight,” you encourage, smoothing your hands down his back. “And Spencer?”
He pulls back to look at you and you settle your hands lightly on his waist. “I meant it, you know.” You squeeze slightly. “When I said you look good like this.”
It takes him a few moments to catch onto what you’re implying; when he does, his eyebrows shoot up and his breath catches. “Oh. O—okay. I’ll, um…” he glances down shyly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You better.” You look over your shoulder as you leave, and the small smile he’s wearing prompts one of your own.
---------------
tell me what you thought here!
i'd like to put it out there that i don’t hate jj and i really hope it didn’t come across like that. i hadn’t even planned that scene; it just wrote itself. i promise it’ll be resolved before the end of this fic.
another shoutout to the book The Body Keeps the Score for helping immensely with the planning and writing of this. i literally have pages of notes from it.
you can also find irl pictures of spencer’s therapy horse here.
all we can do taglist: @thatsonezesty13 , @jhillio , @elitereid
general taglist: @calm-and-doctor
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