10/17/2026
Influencing the thoracic sling begins with understanding and working with the horse’s nature and seeing the whole horse, and I think this is one of the distinctions between horsemen and horse people.
We can talk about the thoracic sling and its functions, understand the biomechanics, do all the correct exercises, ride the right way, and do all the right bodywork. But unless we can truly reach the horse, especially when he's troubled, I don't believe we ever fully experience the purity that comes with a horse truly letting down and opening himself up.
And I don’t mean simply a state of relaxation or the absence of resistance. I’m talking about something much deeper than that. A state of mutual respect, humility, honesty, and truly seeing one another. There is so much a horse tells us through his body, in the nuances and subtleties of how he moves, carries himself, and responds to us. Sometimes a horse can be doing exactly what we’ve asked, yet something about him tells us he isn’t quite there. Other times he may be struggling, but we can feel that he’s genuinely with us, trying to find his way through it. There is a difference between a horse who is simply going through the motions and one who is truly participating.
This is where working with the horse’s nature becomes so important to me. Horses are not always quiet, agreeable, or comfortable, and good horsemanship isn’t necessarily pretty. Sometimes what the horse is expressing is difficult, and sometimes we find ourselves in conflict. But I believe much of the relationship is developed in those moments, when we are capable of recognizing what the horse is telling us and working toward a genuine resolution. Not by avoiding conflict or simply insisting on obedience, but through an honest exchange in which both horse and human come away with a better understanding of one another.
One can try to get the thoracic sling engaged through various exercises, and while I certainly believe those exercises have their place, I always seem to come back to the same conclusion. Return to the foundation and work with the horse’s mind first. Because if the horse’s mind isn’t in it, he isn’t really there.
What we have instead is obedience without presence, without brio, without the horse showing up as who he really is.
I think we can become so focused on what the horse’s body is doing that we lose sight of what he’s expressing through it. We can teach him to perform an exercise, hold a posture, or respond to an aid, and everything may appear correct from the outside. But there is a difference between a horse who has learned how to give us the right answer and one who is truly participating in what we’re doing.
And I think that can give us a false sense of security and even a false sense of relationship. We mistake obedience for understanding, compliance for willingness, and the absence of conflict for trust. Meanwhile, we may have never really gotten to know the horse underneath all of that training.
I think it’s possible to have the best intentions, to genuinely care about the horse and believe we’re doing right by him, and still become so focused on getting the responses we want that we lose sight of the horse himself. I want the horse to have an opinion. I want him to be able to express himself, and I want to understand what he’s telling me. That doesn’t mean allowing him to do whatever he wants, nor does it mean avoiding the responsibility of guiding him through difficult things. It means being willing to have an honest conversation, even when that conversation involves conflict.
And I think the same has to be true for us. An authentic relationship doesn’t require either of us to be perfect, and I don’t believe we can give ourselves fully to a relationship if we’re constantly trying to remain agreeable, quiet, or nice. We are human, and sometimes we have bad days. Sometimes we get frustrated, misjudge something, or ask more than we should have. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t hold ourselves accountable, but I don’t think we need to be riddled with guilt over every mistake either. There has to be room for honesty on both sides, including the moments when we get it wrong.
I’ve often wondered whether, in our efforts to be kind and fair to horses, we sometimes become so concerned with never creating discomfort or conflict that we stop being fully present ourselves. We hold back, second-guess our instincts, and become more concerned with doing everything right than with what is actually happening between us and the horse. And I think the horse can feel that uncertainty just as much as he can feel our frustration. Neither of us is really giving ourselves over to the relationship when we’re constantly trying to maintain an appearance of harmony.
To me, there is something much more meaningful in a relationship that has been tested, where mistakes have been made, disagreements have happened, and we’ve found our way through them. Not because conflict itself makes a relationship stronger, but because the honesty, understanding, and resolution that can come from it allow us to know one another more fully.
At the end of the day, I judge my work through the horses themselves. Not just by how they respond or how much they’ve improved physically, but by how they relate to me. Even after difficult moments, when a horse comes over to see me, or whinnies when he sees me the next day, that means something to me. It tells me something about what exists between us beyond the work itself. I am constantly questioning myself, reflecting on what I could have done differently, and trying to become better at what I do. I don’t always get it right, and I don’t expect that I ever will. But when a horse continues to seek me out, to engage with me, and to willingly meet me again after we’ve worked through something difficult, I take that as a meaningful reflection of our relationship. It doesn’t mean I was right in everything I did, but it gives me confidence that, despite my imperfections, something important is coming through. And to me, that is the part that matters most.
There is a quality that comes through in a horse when he is genuinely with you that I don’t believe can be manufactured through exercises alone. His expression changes, his movement changes, and there is a willingness and a certain pride in the way he carries himself. He isn’t simply performing what he has been taught. He is participating, and his individuality is still very much present in the work.
I don’t believe this means we should disregard biomechanics or that the mind alone will develop the body correctly. The physical work is important, and understanding how to help a horse organize himself is part of our responsibility. But I think we need to be careful not to confuse our ability to influence the horse’s body with our ability to truly reach the horse.
The quality of the physical work depends so much on the quality of the relationship underneath it. And I think that relationship develops through learning to recognize the horse in all those little moments that are so easy to overlook. Through understanding his nature, paying attention to what he expresses through his body, and becoming sensitive enough to recognize the difference between what he is doing and how he is doing it.
Perhaps that is one of the biggest differences between knowing how to train a horse and becoming a horseman. We can spend a lifetime learning how to influence the horse’s body, but unless we are equally committed to understanding the horse who lives within it, I think we will always be missing something essential.
