Hold The Line Services

12/30/2025

As the year comes to a close, we’re reminded that first responders and veterans continue to carry the weight of extraordinary service—often without enough support for their own mental health.

At Hold the Line, your generosity helps provide trauma-informed, accessible mental health care to those who serve our communities every day. Because of supporters like you, we’re able to reduce barriers to care and offer services that foster resilience, healing, and hope.

A year-end gift allows us to continue this vital work into the coming year.

Thank you for standing with those who give so much of themselves. Your support truly makes a difference.

With gratitude,
Hold The Line

12/21/2025

In trauma therapy, we often refer to the sympathetic side of your nervous system as a "deer, bear or opossum," (fight, flight, freeze).

There are pictures of deer and bear in the office, and I often joke with clients that you will never see a picture of a opossum because of how much I detest them.

Here is a picture of an opossum that will probably the only exception to that rule. Take it easy on yourself this season, especially if you are carrying heavy things that you tell no one about.

12/21/2025

12/19/2025

Snakes shed so horses can run.

The Truth of 2025.

This year hasn’t been about speed or spectacle.
It’s been about pressure. About things rubbing where they used to fit.

About realising, slowly and sometimes unwillingly, that certain roles, relationships, and ways of being just don’t work anymore.

Snake years turn you inward.
They make you less tolerant of noise.
Less willing to over-explain.
Less interested in carrying things that were never really yours to begin with.

Shedding isn’t pretty.
It can be uncomfortable. Lonely. Irritating in a way you can’t quite name.
But it’s exact. Nothing comes off by accident.

And that matters, because what comes next requires movement.

The Year of the Horse is about momentum. Direction. Freedom.
But horses don’t run well when they’re tight or restricted.
They need space. They need clarity. They need to trust where they’re headed.

So Snake slows you down first.
Not to stall you, but to stop you bolting in the wrong direction.
It teaches discernment before speed.

You don’t move into a Horse year dragging old skins behind you.
You move in lighter.
Clearer.
More honest about where you’re actually willing to go.

So if 2025 has felt confronting, quieter than you expected, or strangely clarifying, you’re not stuck.

You’re shedding.

The work is mostly unseen.
But it’s the reason the horse will be able to run when the time comes.

12/14/2025

For First Responders: A Reminder About Regulation & Resilience

In this work, you’re exposed to more stress, trauma, and unpredictability than most people will experience in a lifetime. So let’s reframe the goal.

The goal is not:
• To never get triggered
• To stay calm 100% of the time
• To feel happy after every shift

That’s not realistic in a job built around crisis.

The goal is:
• To understand your triggers so they don’t run the call
• To build a resilient nervous system that can recover after impact
• To respond to all emotions—anger, grief, fear, numbness—with awareness instead of self-judgment

Getting activated doesn’t mean you’re weak.
It means your nervous system is doing what it was trained to do: protect you.

Resilience isn’t about shutting feelings down.
It’s about learning how to come back online—again and again—after what the job asks of you.

If this image resonates, it may be time to ask:
👉 What helps my nervous system reset after a hard call?
👉 Who do I feel safe enough to talk to?

You don’t have to carry this alone.
And you don’t have to be “fine” to be strong.

12/14/2025

First Responders — Your Emotions Are Communicating With You, Not Working Against You

In this job, difficult emotions can show up fast, loud, and without warning. But they aren’t signs of weakness — they’re signals from a nervous system that’s been carrying more than most people will ever understand.

Here’s what those feelings might be trying to tell you:

🔥 Angry → A boundary was crossed, or something wasn’t fair. Your sense of justice is part of what makes you good at this work.
⚖️ Guilt → You’re holding yourself to impossible standards — the “should have done more” trap many responders know too well.
🛡️ Insecure → You’re comparing yourself to unrealistic expectations, often created within the culture of the job.
📉 Discouraged → You’re giving everything you have, but it doesn’t feel like enough — common in high-stakes, high-burnout environments.
🌪️ Overwhelmed → Too much is happening at once — because the calls never stop, and your body hasn’t had time to reset.
🤝 Lonely → You’re craving real connection behind the uniform, not just camaraderie on the next call.
💔 Sad → You’ve witnessed or lost something that mattered — sometimes more than you allow yourself to acknowledge.
❓ Self-doubt → Your brain is trying to protect you from being hurt or failing, especially after critical incidents.

None of these emotions mean you’re broken.
They mean you’re human.

If no one has reminded you lately: your internal world deserves as much attention as the calls you run.
Slowing down to listen to what your emotions are trying to say is not weakness — it’s maintenance.
It’s longevity.
It’s survival.

Stay safe. Stay connected. You don’t carry this alone. 💛

12/14/2025

The Horse Who Would Not Move

New York City — September 11, 2001

When the towers fell, the streets filled with ash, glass, and silence.

Mounted police horses had been deployed to help evacuate civilians. One of them was a chestnut mare named Sirius. She belonged to Officer Daniel McKenna, a mounted unit veteran who had ridden her for seven years.

When the South Tower collapsed, Daniel was struck by debris. He never stood up again.

Sirius survived.

As the dust cleared, rescue workers tried to lead her away from the ruins. She refused. She planted her hooves into the pavement and would not move forward, backward, or sideways.

They tried another handler.
She backed away.
They tried food.
She turned her head.

For hours, Sirius stood motionless at the edge of Ground Zero, ears forward, eyes fixed on the place where Daniel had fallen. Ash settled on her mane until she looked like stone.

A firefighter draped an American flag over her back to keep her warm. She did not flinch.

Photos of the lone horse standing in the ruins spread quietly—never officially released, never explained. For exhausted rescue crews, she became something steady in a landscape that made no sense.

Near midnight, a chaplain approached and rested his hand on her neck. He spoke softly, words meant more for comfort than command.

Only then did Sirius lower her head.

She followed him three steps away from the pile. Then she stopped, turned once more toward the ruins, and let out a low, broken whinny that cut through the smoke.

Sirius was later retired and sent to live on a farm upstate. She never accepted another rider.

When she died years later, Daniel’s badge number was engraved on her stall door.

Because even when the world fell apart, she stayed where love told her to stand.

12/06/2025

𝗪𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘂𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗻𝘁.

Spend an hour watching a herd and something uncomfortable becomes obvious.

They are not slow.
We are frantic.

We have normalised a pace of life that is biologically unsustainable.
Instant replies. Same-day delivery. Tescos 𝘞𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘩. The obsession with immediacey.

The constant low-level vibration of what’s next?

Our nervous systems are stuck in a permanent high-frequency buzz.

Then you walk into the stable.

A horse does not live in “Clock Time” (Chronos).
They live in “Deep Time” (Kairos).

They do not know it is Tuesday.
They do not know you are late.
They only know Now.

When you enter their space, you hit a wall of stillness.

And if we are honest, at first it’s annoying.
You want to rush the process. Hurry up and catch. Hurry up and groom. Hurry up and get the job done.

You arrive carrying the momentum of your entire workday.

But the horse refuses to hurry.

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗿.
𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗺 🌧

This is where the science of entrainment kicks in.

Physics tells us that when two oscillating systems meet, they eventually sync.
The stronger rhythm pulls the weaker one into line.

A horse’s heart rate is slower.
Their breathing is deeper.
Their electromagnetic field is larger.

They are the stronger rhythm.

They drag you out of the speed of wifi and drop you back into the speed of blood.
The speed of breath.
The speed of the earth turning 🌎

You think you are waiting for them to react.
But really, they are waiting for you to arrive.

Because until you slow down, you are not truly there.
You are just a body vibrating with tomorrow’s to-do list.

By the time you leave the yard, you haven’t completed a task.
You have stepped out of the rat race and remembered you are a mammal. 🐴

Slow down.
The email will still be there tomorrow.
This breath won’t. 🫁

12/03/2025

🤎

12/02/2025

Every experience leaves a trace in how we show up physically. Horses pick up on these cues because, as prey animals, it's part of how they navigate their world.

When guided by trained professionals, this awareness becomes a powerful tool for reflection and growth. Horses For Mental Health highlights this work so more people can find care that feels grounded and real.

Learn more at horsesformentalhealth.org 🐴

12/01/2025

The Ohio legislature is putting $40 million in cash into a state fund that promises direct financial help for firefighters, police and EMS first responders who suffer from a post traumatic stress injury.