August 19, 2025 
If you want a blog post from a young, hot, equestrian mom who has her crap together, keep on scrolling.
You know the type… They’re the ones on social media who always look perfect, even when they’re “making fun” of themselves. Mucking stalls, their cheeks perfectly flushed. Their kids are gutsy little riders on six-figure, dish-faced ponies.
Yeah, well, that ain’t me.
You get the average mom with feral kids. The one who will never have a six-pack but has a squishy muffin top. The one who will never have enough followers to get brand ambassador swag. The one who can’t afford a Pony Finals pony.
This mom snaps at her five kids on the regular. Because, well, they usually deserve it. Another truth bomb: horse shows stress me out. Gleaming ponies, flawless lead changes, zero pony or kid sass, elegant parents clapping. It’s all polish, all the time, and I can’t keep up.
I’m the one with pretzels embedded in car seats and applesauce explosions in the cup holders. Thrilled if my kids get dressed before noon. Brushed hair? Bonus. Perfectly braided pigtails and bows? A miracle. Clean jods? Impossible.
Those glossy equestrian lifestyle magazines showcasing fancy people with fancy show barns and spotless living rooms? Not me. Our couch is dappled with mystery stains, our dining chairs are ripping rattan, and our “home décor” is basically piles of dirty laundry. Our little farm has no chandeliers or pristine barn aisle—just sagging fencing and kids running wild.
So, yes, sometimes I wonder if we even belong in the Instagram-ready horse show world. Because there are moments when I feel completely out of place; like I’m trying to play a role I was never cast for. That of the put-together mom, when I’m truly the barely-holding-on mom.
The other day, I signed up for a local show. Just me, my husband/groom, my three younger girls, and our young pony. The second I hit “submit,” I semi-regretted it. Chaos was coming.
Sure enough: we lost a garter, brought outgrown gloves, forgot a helmet, and ran late. I was already questioning my life choices when I climbed on the pony to give her a quick peek at the ring, yelling over my shoulder at my husband: “We need to swap tack immediately or we’ll miss leadline.”
Then, I snapped at him again to “grab our numbers ASAP!” (Because yes, I am a far-from-perfect wife, too.)
We tried to wedge my younger daughter’s fingers into the too-small pair of gloves, gave up, and sent her in, whining and gloveless. Still, somehow mid-ring, she was smiling. The pony behaved. And, as we walked out of the ring, the sky cracked open, and dumped rain on all of us.
There was water squishing in my shoes, our saddle was water-stained. If I wore mascara, it would be running into my crow’s feet. Maybe I needed that, though.
A reminder that horse showing is supposed to be fun. It isn’t about perfection. It’s about happiness. Like magic, when the rain stopped, we were all smiling (well, not so sure about my husband). A literal reset.
Because often, even regular mom life feels like it’s about appearances. Birthday parties aren’t just cupcakes in the backyard anymore; they’re designer productions with balloon arches. Vacations aren’t camping; they’re “glamping” staged for curated feeds. Even those of us who swear we’re immune to the pressure still wonder if we’re doing enough. Being enough.
Add horses into the mix, and the pressure mounts. Your kid must behave and ride well. The pony has to be a robot. And heaven forbid you, the parent, lose your cool or show a crack. How embarrassing.
It’s exhausting. Some days I want to shout, “This isn’t me!”
You know what, though? The more I share my imperfections with other horse moms, the more I realize I’m not alone. They share their messes with me, too. Behind every braided mane and Show-Sheened pony is often a parent—tired, trying, imperfect—just doing her best.
And honesty, it makes us stronger. Because when we admit the hard parts, the mess, the chaos, it takes away the shame. We’re living the real story. Together, we can build a kind of unfiltered armor; a community we can lean on when things start to unravel.
If more of us let down our walls instead of concealing the purple bags under our eyes, the early mornings fueled by stubborn love and too-much caffeine, or the moments when frustration almost wins, the ups and downs of horse-mom life would feel a little less isolating.
We’re doing this sport with the little people we love most in the world. With the animals we love most in the world. That alone is amazing. And truly? More than any likes, followers, or shiny moments, that collective strength will carry us through tough times. It’s built on real stuff.
So, if you’re an imperfect horse show mom too—welcome. You’ve found your people.
