06/16/2026
There are a few phrases I hear fairly often in the horse world.
"I don't want him coming toward me."
"He needs to stay out of my space."
And before anyone comes for me, yes. Boundaries matter. Safety matters. Horses absolutely need to learn to respect our space.
But the longer I work with horses, the more I've found myself looking at these statements a little differently.
If my horse gets worried in a new environment, spooks at a deer jumping out of the trees, gets overwhelmed at a new location/show, or suddenly loses focus, I don't want that to be the first time we've had the conversation.
I want to have prepared him long before that moment arrives.
I want to be able to influence his feet and help organize his body when his mind starts to scatter, how to soften to my lead, reach down, take a breath, and release tension.
I want him to know how to yield his shoulder and understand how to soften through his ribcage.
Those aren't things I want to teach in the middle of the storm.Those are pieces I want to teach on the quiet days.
The "boring" days when nothing exciting is happening. The paint drying days, which I love.
Because when life gets hard, our horses don't magically rise to the occasion. (Well, sometimes they do!)
They do fall back on their preparation.
Will a worried horse still lean into us sometimes? Possibly at times.
Will a shoulder occasionally drift into our space? Absolutely.
But if we've spent time teaching the tools beforehand, we can help them find their way back without turning every moment into a fight or flight.
And here's something I often think about.
Imagine you're having one of the worst days of your life. Everything feels heavy, and you pick up the phone to call your best friend.
Not because you need them to fix everything. You just need someone steady who can help you find your footing again.
Now imagine they answer the phone and say,
"Whoa. You're a lot right now, you're being too much."
"Call me back when you've got yourself together." And then they hang up.
Most of us wouldn't feel supported or understood.
We'd probably feel even more alone than we did before we made the call.
Now, horses aren't humans, but they are sentient beings. They are social mammals, and seek safety, clarity, and connection.
We talk a lot about relationship, trust, and confidence.
But are we truly creating those things?
When our horse is worried, uncertain, or overwhelmed, do we become a place of clarity and guidance?
Or do we simply tell them what not to do?
For me, good horsemanship isn't about keeping a horse away from me.
It's about helping a horse find their way back to me.
Back to their body, back to a place where they can think instead of react.
Back to a regulated state where they no longer feel the need to live in fight, flight, or survival mode.
And if I've done my job well, they don't just learn to trust me. They learn how to find confidence within themselves.
Not through force, or fear.
But through preparation, understanding, and a conversation we've practiced multiple times before the difficult moment ever arrives.
