05/24/2026
This !! 💖
There are moments with horses that humble me so quickly that I can almost feel my ego leave my body in real time. I used to think that if my intentions were good, that should somehow count for more. I loved my horses. I wanted them to feel safe. I wanted partnership, softness, harmony. Surely they should recognize that.
But horses do not respond to our intentions. They respond to our behavior, our timing, our posture, our emotional state, our consistency, and the clarity of the patterns we create around them. They respond to what we actually do, not what we mean.
I think this is one of the hardest truths for horse lovers to sit with because most people I meet genuinely love their horses. They are not trying to create fear or confusion or tension. They are trying their best. But love and good intentions do not automatically equal understanding.
I remember this so clearly with Maxi. Years ago, when I was still trying so desperately to prove myself as a capable horsewoman, I spent a lot of time getting frustrated with her because she would become tight and resistant in situations where I thought she should have been more cooperative. I would watch other skilled horsemen ride horses with softness and flow, and then I would try to recreate the same thing with Maxi. Sometimes I could force pieces of it together for a few moments, but it never felt sustainable. It was like trying to hold water in my hands.
At the time, I interpreted a lot of her behavior as stubbornness. I thought she was challenging me. Looking back now, I think Maxi was simply telling the truth more honestly than I wanted to hear it. She did not experience me the way I intended to be experienced.
I might have been thinking, “I’m trying to help you.” But what she felt was inconsistency. Tightness. Ambition. Pressure without enough preparation. Requests that changed depending on my emotions that day. A human who wanted the result more than the conversation.
That realization hurt my feelings for a while. Not because Maxi was wrong, but because I had built part of my identity around being “good” with horses. Horses have a way of exposing the gap between the story we tell ourselves and the experience we are actually creating.
The interesting thing is that Maxi never seemed particularly interested in blaming me for any of it. Horses do not usually waste much time trying to decide who is morally right. They are simply trying to survive, seek comfort, avoid confusion, and discover what works.
Humans are much stranger about these things. We get attached to being correct. We build identities around methods and philosophies and labels. We argue over who is ethical and who is wrong and who has the better system. Meanwhile, the horse is over there quietly asking much simpler questions.
Do I understand you? Do I feel safe with you? Can I find comfort with you? Does this interaction make sense to me?
I think this is why horses have softened me over the years. They have taught me that many conflicts are not acts of rebellion or disrespect. They are misunderstandings. And misunderstandings usually improve much faster when somebody decides to become curious instead of defensive.
Now, when one of my horses becomes tight or worried or resistant, I spend much less time thinking, “Why are you being difficult?” and much more time asking, “What part of this conversation is unclear?” That shift changed nearly everything for me.
It made me more reflective. More adaptable. More willing to slow down and examine the tiny details of my body language, breathing, timing, and emotional steadiness. It made me realize that all horse owners are training their horses all the time, whether they mean to or not. Every interaction teaches something. Every repetition builds an association. Every emotional reaction becomes part of the conversation.
And this is often why people struggle when they buy a horse from an exceptionally skilled trainer. The horse is not just responding to cues. The horse is responding to years of refined timing, emotional control, subtle posture shifts, consistency, feel, and understanding. Skilled trainers often communicate in ways that look almost invisible because they have spent thousands of hours refining themselves.
Then the horse goes home with someone who deeply loves them but does not yet have the same awareness or skill. Suddenly the horse seems different. Confused. Resistant. Dull. Reactive. But often the horse is not “bad.” The conversation has simply changed dramatically.
I think this is why self-reflection matters so much in horsemanship. Not shame. Not guilt. Reflection. There is a big difference. Shame tends to shut learning down. Reflection opens doors. One says, “I am failing.” The other says, “Something in this interaction is not working yet.” That little word “yet” has saved me many times.
Because the beautiful thing about horses is that they are usually incredibly willing to meet us halfway if we become worthy conversation partners. If we can help them understand us clearly, and if being with us feels mentally, emotionally, and physically good, horses tend to become astonishingly generous.
Some of the most satisfying moments of my life have not come from accomplishing impressive tasks. They have come from those quiet moments where a horse softens underneath me, exhales, and chooses to stay connected because the interaction itself has become worthwhile. Those moments feel less like control and more like mutual understanding.
And honestly, I think that is what I was searching for all along, even back when I was too inexperienced to realize it. I am so thankful we had Linda to help us figure things out!
Coach Kristi