My personal journey began before I was born. I believe there is a fine, invisible thread that connects me to the spirit of the horse. From as early as I can remember, I have been captivated by their beauty and the freedom they embody. Yet despite this deep love, my journey with horses has been a rough one.
Over the years, I experienced countless dangerous moments on horseback. Although I loved horses deeply, my connection to them remained superficial. I did not yet understand the depth of love in its purest form, nor did I understand the emotional world of the horse.
In 2010, I had a serious accident on my horse. Looking back, it came down to one simple truth: I did not know how to read a horse’s emotions. Had I understood what my horse was communicating that day, I would never have climbed into the saddle. The accident left me with a head injury and multiple physical injuries, followed by a long twelve-month recovery.
After healing physically, I decided it was time to buy myself a horse who had “been there, done that.” Instead, I found a horse who would change my life in ways I could never have imagined. He was an eventer who had been on an Olympic campaign before being cut from the program. On paper, he was everything I did not need after such a traumatic accident.
But the moment I saw him, I knew he was mine.
Once again, my inability to understand a horse’s emotional world placed me in a difficult position. The horse who became my best friend also became the one I slowly grew petrified of. He ran me down, broke my nose, and felt like a kite on the end of a string—powerful, reactive, and completely out of my control. He had extreme girthing issues and utterly dismantled my belief that I was competent or confident around horses.
Yet despite all of this, he became my greatest teacher.
Through the teachings of Mel Fleming—Connecting with Horses and Riding with Synchronicity—our life together began to transform. I started to understand that the fear and trauma I had carried since my early years were buried deeply within my body. My horse, Jag, was reflecting this back to me with unwavering honesty.
I came to see that my fear was fuelling his fear, and in return, his fear was fuelling mine. We were caught in a cycle that neither of us could escape—until I was willing to look inward. As I continued this journey, more of my own emotional baggage was revealed. And as I healed, so did our relationship.
With time, patience, and presence, our connection deepened. The more I learned to listen, regulate myself, and meet him with honesty rather than control, the better our relationship became. What once felt impossible slowly became a place of trust, understanding, and mutual respect.
This journey changed everything—for me, and for how I now understand horses.
