July 8, 2026 
Lameness, sickness, vet bills, heartbreak. What happens when the very thing that once lit you up, the thing you woke up for in the morning, that saved you, no longer makes you happy?
When it just feels like stress?
Horses got me through the highs and lows of my life. An eating disorder. My parents’ divorce. Feeling like an outcast at school. Being bullied. The transitions to college, graduate school, the working world, creating a family. Horses were there for all of it, the good and the bad, bringing me peace after difficult days.
When I was with my horse, the world melted away.
I would trail ride for hours alone, enjoying the crunch of leaves beneath my horse’s hooves; peace and solitude that only he could bring. I would groom my gelding until he gleamed, simply enjoying the movement of the curry comb across his body.
My stressors dissipated as I sprayed on Show Sheen and admired my handiwork. I would wake up happily at 3:30 a.m. to lunge before a show, like it was nothing. Amped up on adrenaline and caffeine, I was ready to tackle the long hours with gusto rather than exhaustion.
Now I miss the pure fun of it all—the carefree feeling of heading to the barn without a plan, without a schedule, and without a list of responsibilities waiting for me. When just being with horses felt like an escape and brought me peace and happiness.
Things have changed, and I’m incredibly sad about that.
As we age, our lives become more complicated. We take on careers, marriages, children, mortgages, and responsibilities. In my case, we built our entire life around horses.
We live on a farm. My daughters ride. Our days revolve around feeding schedules, lessons, and finding time to squeeze it all in. There are fences that need to be mended, horses that need to be fed, hay that needs to be stacked, and an endless list of chores waiting, no matter the weather or how tired we are.
The barn used to be my refuge. But lately, it’s a place of yet more responsibility. One more thing on my long to-do list.
Recently, I’ve found myself asking a question that feels almost impossible to say out loud: What do we do when our passion stops feeling like passion?
This sport asks so much of us. It demands money, time, resilience, and the ability to ride the highs and lows—sometimes all within the same week.
This past year, we faced heartbreak when we had to rehome my daughter’s heart horse. Then, out of nowhere, our young pony fell ill. After a long, brutal winter, the sun finally returned, but instead of enjoying the warmer days, we were managing her illness—not to mention paying the costly vet bills.
The financial impact on my passion is real. The cost of everything ‘horse’ continues to rise—along with the rest of life’s expenses—and it takes a toll. I’ve spent countless hours trying to find the right horse for my children, only to discover prices that felt impossible.
It is mentally exhausting, because that’s what financial stress does to a passion.
It turns moments that should feel joyful into calculations. It makes every unexpected vet bill, every special yet potentially costly opportunity, and every setback feel heavier. Instead of simply enjoying the horses, I am worrying about how we can sustain the life we’ve built around them.
Maybe it’s also because I don’t have the time to ride the way I once did. With family responsibilities and a farm to run, it feels impossible most days. During the rare occasions I do make it into the saddle, someone is whining for a snack, asking for a Band-Aid, or using the ring like a sandbox.
The relaxing trail rides I once relished are a distant memory. Somewhere along the way, horses stopped feeling carefree. And, at this time in my life, horses are competing with other forms of self-care, which have become a juggling act alongside of taking care of their day-to-day needs.
I know I need to go to the gym if I want to feel my best, but every hour there is an hour I could, or should, be tidying up the tack room or pulling a mane. The little things that once brought me joy—a quick hack, feeding treats, the smell of leather in the tack room—have been overshadowed by the weight of everything else.
And perhaps that’s what makes these feelings so complicated: there is a guilt that comes along with doing a sport that, for many people, is unattainable. The ability to do it at all means that we are incredibly blessed.
I know there are people who would give anything for the life we’ve built. Whatever our version of that dream looks like—a backyard barn, a leased horse, weekend lessons, or simply time spent at the stable. It feels impossible to admit that, sometimes, despite our gratitude, we still feel overwhelmed and unhappy.
And there is guilt in resenting the very thing that once brought me so much joy. Guilt in missing the version of myself who never questioned whether I wanted this life. So, what is the solution when the thing you’ve loved your whole life no longer feels joyful?
The truth is, I don’t know.
Maybe the answer is accepting that passion isn’t always constant. There are seasons when the joy feels easy, and seasons when it feels buried beneath responsibility, exhaustion, or financial pressures.
For some, this may look like taking a break from the horses. For others, it may mean redefining what horses look like in their lives for a while.
Maybe the answer is simply staying the course, even when you want to throw in the towel. Or, at least, staying long enough to see whether the feelings change; to remember why we loved horses in the first place.
And perhaps part of the answer is letting go of what once was and focusing on what is right now, rather than lamenting the past.
For now, I’m trying to refocus on the small moments. Watching horses graze peacefully. Feeling the warmth of their noses against my hands.
I’m trying to remember this season isn’t about my own goals in the saddle. It’s about enjoying my children’s journey with horses––witnessing them discover the same magic that horses once gave me.
Watching one of my daughters do around-the-world on her pony like she’s competing for a gold medal while her sisters cheer her on. Watching my oldest daughter and her horse meandering through the field.
These moments do not center on me anymore, but maybe that’s what life is about: letting go of the version of who we once were and embracing who we are now.
The role horses play in our lives changes as we do. Sometimes they are our escape. Sometimes they are our responsibility. Sometimes we need to step back from them for a while.
The passion hasn’t disappeared completely—it has simply changed shape.
