Re-finding your skills as a Re-rider.

As a re-rider, one of the hardest, and most humiliating things has been finding out exactly where my skills have atrophied. I still distinctly remember the first time back up on a horse. It had been a couple years at least since the last time I'd found a horse to ride. I was a little nervous getting on. I kept thinking "how much have I forgotton?", but once I was on board that all went out the window. I was too busy thinking "Holy Cow, when did the ground get so far away!" to worry about atrophied skills. Of course once I relaxed a little, my old rusty muscle memory squeaked something to me about seat, and posture, and hands, and soon I was relaxed, and speaking to the horse again. But some part of me still goes "Holy Cow, when did the ground get so far away" every time I get on.
Before getting Fritha, I spent some time with a good friend of mine, riding her horses. She has a couple of lovely lesson horses. I'm so glad now that I got that ride time in before tackling Fritha. However, those lesson horses are all Paint/QH's. The main lesson horse Beau has the very typical smooth jog trot. Riding Beau bareback gave me a very false sense of confidence about my skills.
I recently started riding bareback on Fritha. I had planned to wait to ride her bareback until she was closer to 6, but some problems with saddle fit pushed that up a little.
I was nervous about her reaction to my being up there with no saddle, and very nervous about how she would deal with bareback mounting, and all the flailing that has to go on in order to get my short round self up on a horse . I SHOULD have been nervous about my rusty skills. Fritha was a doll for mounting. Fritha was as willing to please as always once I was mounted. She was a little nervous, but otherwise was listening for the slightest cues I might give her. Unfortunately I was giving her all sorts of unintentional cues, slight and otherwise. Every shift in my seat, every clutch with my thighs was a cue she tried to follow. We weaved a rather drunken path through the arena. I was finally able to quiet myself at the walk enough to build confidence and start to enjoy the added sensitivity. Then I asked for a trot. I am so very glad there was no one there to witness it. Fritha the wonderful patient soul that she is refused to try and trot again. It took much to convince her that I wasn't going to fall off, and that it was safe to trot. She finally tried again, and I was maybe a smidgeon better. Where were my skills?
I've always been good at sitting trots bareback. I rode some rather spectacularly bouncy trots as a teen. I'd practiced on those lesson horses...but of course, that was the problem. Practicing on those smooth low jog trots in no way prepared me for sitting Fritha's big, round, forward trot.
So what was a the solution? More practice of course, this time on Fritha. I'm slowly remembering the things my body needs to do.
Of course, in the perverse way of things, I retain muscle memory, not just for the good riding I've done, but also for the bad. All those hard lessons I learned as a kid about keeping my legs long I get to learn all over again.
But I admit, the occasional bout of humiliation aside, I am loving every minute of it. Even feeling like a sack of potatoes, the joy of being on my horse is there. The feeling of peace and contentedness follows me through my day.