October 7, 2026 
Around here, I’m raising ‘horse girls’––that’s how my four girls identify themselves.
Not riders. Not equestrians. Horse girls.
Somewhere along our horse journey, my horse kids and I developed our own sort of code: the phrases I repeat so often that my girls probably hear them in their sleep. Some of them started as barn rules. Some came from difficult rides, long days, and moments when someone was crying into a pony’s mane.
And the more time I spend around horse kids, the more I realize this code isn’t unique to my girls, or our little backyard barn. These are lessons horses have been teaching generations of kids long before mine.
Lesson #1: Horse kids help out.
You don’t walk past an empty water bucket. You don’t watch someone struggle to carry something when you have two free hands. You hold the pony. You sweep the aisle. You grab the gate.
I see one of my younger daughters struggling to carry her saddle, and her sister jumps in to help. I watch my middle daughter help the younger girls lead their pony down to the ring without letting her snag grass. All without my prodding.
Those are the moments that make me proud.
We help because we can. And because it is the right thing to do.
Lesson #2: Horse kids are strong.
Not because they never cry—my horse girls cry plenty.
They are strong because they learn that being scared and doing something anyway can exist in the very same moment. They have disappointing rides. They fall off, and it hurts. I’ve watched my girls cry, wipe their faces on dirty sleeves, and climb back aboard.
They’re shaky and uncertain, but still doing it.
And that doesn’t mean pushing through fear when something is unsafe: part of becoming a horse person is learning the difference between fear that is telling you something important, and fear that you can work through.
All these emotions are part of the journey. Feeling embarrassed; cheeks flushed when things go wrong in the show ring. Getting angry with themselves, too. But they learn that it’s okay to feel down and then find the courage to keep trying.
Lesson #3: Horse kids come back tomorrow.
The pony bucked. Ran out. Spooked at the boogeyman in the ring. Nothing seemed to go right.
But we don’t throw away something we love because today was hard.
“Some rides are going to be tough,” I said to my girls after a particularly difficult day. “But often the next day is better. That’s something horse kids know.”
Horses don’t allow for much instant gratification. Progress comes in tiny pieces, sometimes so slowly we don’t even notice it happening. But a hard ride doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going backward.
Lesson #4: Horse kids don’t say, “I can’t.”
This is probably the one that gets the biggest eye roll around here. A sample conversation:
“You can say, ‘I don’t know how.’ You can say, ‘I’m scared.’ You can say, ‘I need help.’ But don’t tell me you can’t.”
“Mom, no way. I can’t jump that vertical,” my daughter calls to me from her pony.
“I wouldn’t ask you to do something I didn’t believe you were ready for. I know you can do this,” I encourage.
And my daughter trots over the little jump perfectly, with a huge grin on her face, confidence blooming in her chest.
“See! I told ya!” I say, clapping and whooping.
Horses have a funny way of teaching kids just how many things they can do that they once believed they couldn’t.
Lesson #5: Horse kids put their horses first.
Before you eat, make sure your horse has eaten. Before you get comfortable, make sure your horse is settled in for the night. After a long show day when all you want to do is crawl into bed, your horse still needs to be untacked, cooled out, watered—wrapped, if necessary—and tucked in all cozy.
Even when you are exhausted after a long week of school and your pony still needs you, you show up. Even if it’s just a bareback stroll while the sun sets, you get your butt down to the barn.
My eldest daughter works two jobs, comes home sweaty and exhausted, and still has to ride her horse and do the chores at our farm. That expectation has been set.
She’s a horse kid, after all.
And maybe the hardest lesson my kids have had to learn is that, sometimes, putting the horse first means letting them go.
Sometimes loving a horse means admitting that you aren’t the right home, rider, or situation for the partner you’ve come to love. Sometimes it means making a decision that breaks your own heart.
Horses teach kids that loving something means taking care of it, even when it isn’t convenient. And sometimes, doing what is best for them even when it hurts deeply.
Lesson #6: Horse kids get dirty.
Really dirty.
They have hay in their hair, horse slobber on their shirts, muck on their boots, and some unidentified substance smeared across their breeches approximately two minutes after putting them on.
They know manure won’t kill them—it just makes them stink. Neither will carrying a sloshing water bucket, scrubbing a trough, or cleaning a stall.
There is something I love about raising girls who aren’t afraid to ruin their clothes, break a nail, sweat, or work until their arms ache.
I want them to know they can do hard things.
*****
Just the other day, my seven-year-old announced that she was coming to help me with the barn chores because “that’s what horse girls do.”
Maybe they’re listening after all.
I don’t know what horses will look like in my girls’ lives as they get older. Maybe they will still ride every day. Maybe horses will become something they do occasionally. Maybe, one day, they will step away from them altogether, and when they drive by a field, they will get a wistful feeling.
Of course, the horse mom in me hopes they never do.
But I understand that raising horse girls was never only about raising ‘girls who ride horses’ or ‘girls who win ribbons.’ It was about raising kids who know how to love something deeply; to work, help, persevere, care for something besides themselves, and—yes—get a little dirty along the way.
