The only way I can describe the pain I felt from the impact of my body slamming into the ground is by saying it felt like an explosion from a firework.

The initial pain from the contact my hip made with the dirt spider-webbed out like the beautiful lights of a New Year's Eve Fireworks show.

Only the explosion was much quicker.

And a lot less beautiful.

June 15, 2014 was supposed to be the last day of my training. For six weeks, I had trained every single day in order to ride out at the reenactment of the Battle of Trevilian Station as a member of the Cadet Rangers, a Cavalry unit that during the Civil War was, as it name might foretell, made up of Citadel cadets.

That Sunday, was the last day that we had to train before we all returned to the farm to make the trip to the reenactment. This trail ride was also the last activity we had before our weekend was over.

Her name was River and she was green.

In equestrian terms, a "green horse" is horse with little to no training.

My Captain had just gotten this horse a week prior. And the week prior River's herd-mate, Yago, had thrown his son and broken his back.

That probably should have been my first warning.

My second warning should have been when she became so distraught while being saddled, she slammed my friend into a fence post.

But no, my Captain came up to me and told me that he had faith that I was a strong rider. He believed that I could handle River.

I wanted more than anything to make him proud. I was the only girl there. I was the only cadet there that had ridden into Civil War battles before. I had something to prove to everyone, or so I thought.

Off we go on our final trail ride. We did it. After all the time, money, and hard-work we had put in, it was over. After this trail ride, our training was over. Once we rode into battle the next weekend we would be Cadet Rangers. We rode off on our "victory lap."

We made it half a mile before River began to act up. She would try to pull her way ahead of the other three riders. Then she would fall way behind the other riders. Then repeat. Over and over. It was almost like I was driving a car with no controls...

A wide spot on the trail. Grass so green it was almost unreal. No weeds. Very serene.

I will remember this spot vividly. Forever.

It happened and was over in a three seconds.

She stopped moving completely. I felt her body tense up. She "crow-hopped," which, for a fun visual, is when a horse becomes a giant po-go stick. They jump up and down without kicking out their legs, which would then be known as "bucking." She jumped in the air once, lifting me off of the saddle. When I came down, I landed crooked on my saddle. She went up again and I flew off of her back.

I landed left hip first about 10 feet in front of her and just started screaming. If felt like my hip had shattered into a million pieces. I couldn't talk. I couldn't breathe.

And I couldn't move my toes.

I couldn't do anything except scream.

River took off in the opposite direction like a rocket and the three other cadets I was with immediately got to work.

One of them turned and galloped off after River.

One of them said he was going to go get the Captain and galloped off.

The final one, was my boyfriend. To this day I cannot imagine if the roles were reversed.

Watching someone you love crumpled on the ground screaming in uncontrollable agony. Not knowing if they're paralyzed or something even worse.

He jumped off of his horse, tied him to tree and ran over to me.

Once I was able to gain control of my voice, we realized that, thankfully, I wasn't paralyzed. The joy I got from being able to wiggle my toes was indescribable.

Some time later, it could have been 10 minutes, it could have been an hour. My Captain and another advisor pull up in truck.

With two men and great difficulty, I'm loaded into the truck and then off the ER!

I got to sit in the waiting room with Civil War gear, tear-stained eyes, and the seventh "Harry Potter" book I was re-reading for the hundredth time. My boyfriend took the opportunity to document the event:

I leave the ER an hour later being told that I have a bruised hip, sprained back, and whiplash. Considering the many alternatives, I got out lucky. Well, physically at least.

I've always been told, "If you fall off, get right back on." This has applied to both dirt-bikes and horses. I've taken my fair share of spills on both. And I've always gotten right back on with no problems.

This one was taken in March of 2014 after I took a spill off another Cavalry unit I ride with's horse at a full gallop. I landed shoulder first, quickly followed by my face and we're still not sure how I managed to escape with nothing more than a small concussion.

But this time I physically couldn't and it messed with my head.

The next time I got on a horse, I was terrified. I had lost all my confidence.

It took me two years to fully heal from that accident.

I had to heal in stages.

The first stage was gaining my confidence to ride on any horse again. Horses are not machines. They will not walk in a perfectly straight line at all times. They like to shift their weight from leg to leg. Also, they trip over things, or just over air, depending on how relaxed they are.

All of these would send me into a panic. Horses sense their rider's emotion and react accordingly. You can imagine about how well that went. There were times when I would have to dismount and sit out because I couldn't handle the fear.

It took me six months before I could ride a horse without a crippling fear washing over me. Six months before I could handle a horse shifting his weight because he was relaxed and not about to throw me.

The next stage was riding on the trail that I was thrown on.

It was March of 2015 when I rode on that trail again. Myself and two of three other Cadet Rangers took three of my Captain's horses out. I was on Major, the sweetest, gentlest old man a rider could ask for.

We hit the trail. It wasn't easy for me. We took the trail at a walk and every time Major asked if we could speed up, I felt my stomach drop.

"He's going to get mad at me. He's going to throw me," my mind kept telling me of this gentle giant that just wanted to stretch his old legs.

I am very grateful that the two other Cadet Rangers I was with were incredibly supportive. They were gentle and encouraging, but they also pushed me.

We rode past the spot where I was thrown. It was a wave of emotions, but I got past it. Major just walked along without a care in the world.

Passing the spot felt like crossing through a barrier. The ride was no longer intense, but enjoyable. I felt like I could let out a breath of air that I was holding in. I was able to laugh with my friends. I was able to let Major run. I was able to enjoy the hobby I love so dearly.

The last and final stage and the reason why I am writing this article happened on April 23, 2016: riding River again.

The last reenactment event of my cadet career was a final maintenance weekend up at my Captain's farm. However, we were told that we were in for a treat. We had guests that we were going to perform for and we needed to split into three groups of three to show all sides of The Citadel Military Living History Society: Infantry, Artillery, and Cavalry.

Out of the four cadets that earned the title of Cadet Ranger in the past several years, only three remained in the club (the other cadet had graduated) so we were the obvious choices to represent the Cadet Rangers.

"Haley, you're on River," my Captain looked me in the eyes as he said those words.

I wanted him to say those words. I had waited two years to hear those words. But my entire body shook as I collected her tack.

I was terrified of the young Marsh Tacky. The "demon in a Hhorse's body," I would whisper when I would walk past her in the pasture. But I needed this. Riding River again was the last step in setting me free. I had to do it for myself.

When I went out to get her in the pasture, she was like a completely different horse. She walked right up to me, gently nuzzling my chest.

This was not the wild-eyed mare I had encountered two years prior.

The horse that took three people and an immense struggle to tack up two years ago, was now taking a bit with ease.

The moment of truth, I climbed into the saddle.

Nothing.

Nothing happened.

She shifted her weight to adjust to mine and then stood there, waiting for me to give her direction.

We went off down the trail to give the horses some exercise before showtime.

We rode past the spot.

Nothing. From me or her.

The trail ride was exactly what I had hoped for, completely uneventful.

Our "showtime" or Presentation of the Colors? Not so much.

We were somewhere new and different, the fenced in portion of my Captain's front yard. She was not happy. It was a small space and there were trees and benches and a lot of new things for her to take in.

She had a moment of panic and "danced" with me on her back.

I was ready. A quick tightening of a reigns and a sharp turn and I had her back under control before she . Still not a happy horse, but a horse that trusted me.

The actual ceremony goes off without a hitch. The horses steal the show and we were done. Dismissed to go tend to and feed our horses.

I had done it. I beat the final stage of my healing process. I was free.

This is River. This photo was taken the day after I rode her in the ceremony. She's no longer the "Demon Horse" of my nightmares. She's a giant lovebug that follows me around the pasture looking for attention and kisses.

After two long years I feel like I can finally put the accident behind me.

I'm writing this article, one as a way to tell this chapter of my story, now that it's over, but also as a way to tell people that it's okay to be afraid of something you want, but don't let the fear stop you.

Yeah, I know it sounds cliche, but bear with me please.

One week after my accident, I still went to event. I trained for six weeks from riding every day for upwards of four hours to saddling and unsaddling a horse, over and over again, until we could do it at a speed that was to our Captain's liking.

For normal reenactment training weekends we sleep in a pasture in canvas tents with a nice campfire. For Cadet Ranger training weekends, we slept with a small canvas tarp as a ground cloth, a saddle as pillow and a horse blanket, soaking wet from horse sweat as our blankets. In the middle of the woods.

There are a lot of reenactment cadets that ride our Captain's horses, but they're not Cadet Rangers. They haven't gone through the training. They haven't ridden into battle as a Cadet Ranger. They haven't earned the honor of tucking their boots into their pants, a honor earned by riding into a reenactment battle as a Cavalry member. They may be fantastic equestrians, but the training to ride as a Cadet Ranger is seldom offered and highly sought after.

So I was not about to go through all of that, just to give up. I had worked hard for the chance to be Cadet Ranger. Come hell or high water I was going to ride at that battle.

And I did. Nervous and in pain, I fought through them both to take the first step into the two year mental battle and recovery.

Only I was going in as a Cadet Ranger. Earning that title was all I needed to pull myself up by my newly tucked in bootstraps. It was proof to myself that I was determined enough to finish what I wanted, that I was strong enough to fight through the pain and fear and that I was surrounded by people that wouldn't let me give up.

Two years later and look where I am. Strong, determined, surrounded by people that encouraged me, and proud. Proud of myself, proud of how far I have come, and honestly, I'm proud of that demon horse, River.