November 4, 2025 
There have been times I’ve wanted to quit the horses. Sell everything: the blankets in every size, bits in every shape. I’ve even imagined selling our farm, the one I dreamed of owning my whole life. My special place, where my young daughters race across the field to hug their pony, and my oldest rides as I watch from the window.
But almost everything I’ve worked for is tied to horses. I love them with a passion that runs deep; perhaps too deep, sometimes. But I love sharing that with my daughters, watching them learn the lessons only a barn can teach. How to keep showing up, even when it’s hot, cold, or hard.
I also love seeing my daughters in show clothes, faces glowing after they finish their course. I love our pony, the one I broke, now ridden and loved by my girls. That’s living the dream, right?
And, of course, I love to ride. Except…
Here’s the hardest truth. The reason I’ve wanted to quit has nothing to do with the horses. It’s not the long hours at the barn or the money it takes to keep them fed and sound. Those are sacrifices I’m willing to make.
What makes me want to quit are the bad people. The dishonesty. The lack of integrity. The constant undercurrent of manipulation and ego that seeps into the sport I’ve poured my heart into.
Lately, I feel broken inside from a combination of factors. I’ve been lied to, misled, talked down to, trashed behind my back. I’ve been told I don’t know what I’m doing—that I need a trainer to “protect me” from being taken advantage of. And even with one, I’ve still been taken advantage of. Even worse, a trainer who warned me about it did it herself.
Horses misrepresented. Promises broken. Bills fabricated. Gossip spread. Drugs given. Lies told. The kind of deception that makes you question everything in this sport. That makes you ask, is this truly worth it? Constantly having to watch my back?
Sadly, the same names—the dirty ones—keep circulating because people look the other way. Even when the right thing is to call them out, it’s easier to stay quiet. Why take a stand when some unsuspecting person will come along, buy a horse, pay board, and keep them in business?
The worst part is my children see this ugliness too. They’re learning that some people will lie straight to your face if it means a sale. That money can matter more than honesty, more than the welfare of the horse, more than safety. It’s heartbreaking to witness that loss of innocence.
Lately, my heart is heavy watching my oldest daughter’s horse dream unravel. I tried so hard to help her chase it, only to pull her out of a toxic barn. I thought at least we had finally found her a horse while she was there, one that would take her where she’s always wanted to go.
But the truth didn’t match the sales pitch. Now, we’re left with a sweet horse who was misrepresented. And not for the first time, I felt like I failed my daughter. In trying to make her dreams happen, I trusted the wrong people. Again.
I’ve watched my kid hang her head, swallow her tears, and ask if it’s all going to be okay with her horse. And I’ve had to tell her the hardest truth: “I’m not sure.”
I’ve also told her that first and foremost, we must do right by her horse—especially because someone else didn’t. That’s the part no one tells you about chasing dreams with horses; sometimes doing the right thing hurts the most.
She replied softly, “I’m thinking I should just give up riding. It feels like things just keep going wrong — like the bad people always win.” And part of me feels the same. But another piece of me, the part that’s still intact, couldn’t bear to let her believe that.
I told her, “I’m going to find a way for you. We’ll get you back in the show ring.” Even though I don’t know how or when.
But what I do know is that there’s no manual for comforting your child when someone else’s actions have broken both of your hearts. All you can do is keep forging ahead. Teach her the right way.
Keep your integrity. Do what you love. Put the horses first.
And though I’m still fighting the urge to ditch the horses, here’s where I land every single time: we can’t quit. Quitting would teach my daughters that unethical people win. And the horses lose. That we should hand over the joy we’ve built because others made it ugly.
I won’t do that.
Instead, I’ll find a way to make this work—for them and for me. I’ll fight to keep the good parts alive: the giggling in the barn aisle, the horses grazing against the backdrop of changing leaves, the trust in our pony’s eyes. And I’ll make sure, most importantly, to surround myself and my girls with the right people.
Because even in the hardest moments, I’ve learned the good horse people—the truly good ones—show up for me and my girls.
They rally. Offer advice, encouragement, perspective. They remind me that honesty, kindness, and horsemanship still exist. That there’s more good than bad if you look for it. That there are professionals who aren’t out to milk you for everything you’re worth. Who care. Who heal.
So no, I’m not quitting. Not for the shady ones. Not for the heartbreak.
Because as broken as it feels sometimes, this is still where our hearts are. And if there are honest people trying to do it right—parents, kids, horse lovers, and a circle of pros who care—it’s still worth fighting for.
