March 6, 2025 
Trigger warning: this post contains references to suicide, which some individuals may find distressing.
Sometimes, you think you have it all planned out—the path for yourself, the path for your children. You envision the future like a crystal ball is cradled in your hands.
But we aren’t all-knowing, and often we aren’t in control, especially when it comes to horses. ‘Horse-life’ isn’t black and white; if you try to live it that way, you’ll always be disappointed. Horse life is unpredictable; full of abscesses, suspensory injuries, and other forms of heartbreak. But also, full of joy.
Being a happy horse person means embracing the gray, learning to adjust, and making the best of what you have, even when the future isn’t as planned.
I’ve learned this lesson countless times with my daughter, thanks to the horses. And while I wouldn’t say I’m perfect at rolling with it, I’ve become more adaptable, more flexible. It’s one of the best life lessons horse-life’s given me.
After my daughter’s lease ended in September, I was certain this would finally be the time our plan materialized; we would find her a horse of her own. We’d tried twice before, unsuccessfully.
Though the outcome had still been something wonderful—a lease on a mare she adored—a horse that made her a better rider, it was still exhausting and discouraging. This time, though, I was committed. Rather than renewing the lease, I’d find her a horse to keep.
To afford the right horse, we’d stable at home and trailer in for lessons and shows, maybe board in the winter for access to an indoor. Training board was out of the question, which eliminated many options in our budget.
My daughter was heartbroken when her lease was over and at the thought of moving her next horse home, leaving her beloved barn family behind. Still, she was thrilled at the prospect of finally having her own horse. I promised her we could make that miracle horse happen.
Even before the lease ended, I prepared by scouring ads for potential horses. In a lower budget, options were few and far between, but still, I searched diligently. Yet nothing came to fruition. My daughter was horseless—again.
Without a horse of her own, my daughter’s world teetered. She still took weekly lessons, but it was a stark difference from the time she had poured into horses before. Her dreams of showing were also on hold, along with her other goals. She never complained, but I could see it in the way she carried herself; the sadness, the emptiness. The quiet ache of something missing.
I worried. What if she wasn’t okay?
As months passed with no luck in our search, the toll it was taking was palpable—not just on her, but on me. I felt I had failed her.
No matter how many times my husband reassured me that she was “fine,” I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was letting her down. But why? Why did we have to find her a horse right now? Why did her journey have to be so black and white—either success or failure, nothing in between?
One day, sitting in the car with her, I asked for the 100th time, “Are you okay? I know the horse situation has been hard on you.”
She rolled her eyes hard at me, “I’m fine.”
And then, unexpectedly, the words poured out of my heart and up through my mouth, like a pipe finally burst. “I know I check in a lot, and it’s annoying. I just worry about you without the horses.”
The atmosphere shifted. My daughter looked at me, listening instead of seething because she couldn’t scroll her phone. She wasn’t shutting me out.
“The horses were there for me during some really hard times, especially in high school. When I felt like the world stopped making sense, the horses still made sense.”
I had never told her this before. I barely shared it with anyone over the years, stuffing it deep down where it didn’t throb as much. But I told her then—how, as a teenager, I lost two friends in high school. No one knew they were struggling until it was too late. Both took their own lives. A tragedy. My innocence ripped from me.
I explained how I had spiraled into seeing the world through a hazy filter. I could hardly muddle my way through each day. I was depressed for the first time. Lost.
But… I had horses. I still found joy in them. When everything else felt unreachable, they were steady. When I couldn’t understand or articulate my feelings to any human, the horses didn’t require words and explanations. They just were.
And that’s how it’s been for me, at so many points. Horses have grounded me when life feels like it is whirling out of control.
In that intimate moment with my child in the car, I realized why this failed mission to find a horse had consumed me. And why I felt like failing at it was failing her.
I was terrified that without horses, she might dip into a dark place she couldn’t recover from. That she would need them, the way I had needed them, and I wouldn’t be able to give her that lifeline. That she could grow depressed, or worse.
But it also dawned on me that my daughter and I are not the same. Our lives are not running parallel. She was still riding. She was okay. And she had a mother who showed up for her. Who would walk through a raging fire for her.
And, as I gripped the steering wheel, something her trainer had offered about our horse situation resonated with me: “Sometimes, you have to seize the opportunities that come along.”
Even if the future didn’t include a forever-horse, any future with horses is a blessing.
So, instead of clinging to this rigid idea of the perfect horse, I opted for a different option that had presented itself: a short-term lease on a beautiful bay gelding. We could live in the gray for a little longer. We didn’t have to plan forever. We could be flexible and embrace the “for now.”
Sometimes, the easiest solution is good enough. And, judging by the string of elated texts my daughter sent me after I signed the lease, I hadn’t just settled. I had made her incredibly happy:
“So excited for tomorrow.”
“Endlessly grateful.”
“I’m so excited to become a better rider.”
“Can’t wait to bond with a horse again!” she spammed me. And I loved it.
We’re still living in the uncertainty of what will happen when the lease ends, but I’m leaning into the gray. The future may be unclear, but for now, my kid has this horse. For now, she’s fully immersed in what she loves. She’s happy.
And that’s enough for me.
I used to think having it all figured out was the goal—to create a roadmap and follow it to my ultimate destination. But horses have taught me otherwise. They’ve shown me that life isn’t about forcing the future into a tidy plan; it’s about adapting, adjusting, and finding peace in the here and now.
Sitting in that car with my daughter, spilling my long-buried story, I realized that this journey isn’t just about horses. It’s about trust. Trusting that she’s okay, trusting that I’m doing right by her, and trusting that we’ll find our way, regardless of what the future holds.
Because in the end, it’s not about the perfect horse or the perfect plan. It’s about riding the waves in life. Swimming harder and stronger instead of sinking. And knowing that, no matter what, we have each other—we have the horses. And for that, I am thankful.
