*the horses in the photos shared are in no way associated with the incident being discussed*
I’m writing this because of something I saw recently.
I watched a clip from a trainer I had, not long ago, invited to come on the podcast.
As I watched, I felt nauseous. I could feel the blood drain from my face. The clip wasn’t as overtly violent as others I’ve seen. What disturbed me most was how calm it was. How controlled. The almost-kindness implied in what was happening. The psychological weight of it set off every alarm in my body.
DANGER.
Then came the deep shame. I had been curious about this person's approach. Their theory. Their work. And immediately the overwhelming thoughts followed. I should have known better! I should have dug deeper! I should have seen this. How did I miss this? What do I do now?
Here is what I can say clearly.
I take my role as host and curator of the Dear Horse World podcast very seriously. This platform exists, like our education work, to gather minds, widen understanding, and help us become better horse people. Including me.
I don’t believe one trainer holds all the answers. I believe in collective knowledge. I believe in many minds, not just one. And I believe that staying honest, curious, and accountable is part of that responsibility.
Over the years, I’ve seen plenty that made me feel sick. I’ve cried in the stands at shows. I’ve lain on the shower floor waiting for the deep despair to pass. I’ve walked away from situations I later wished I had stayed in, not to fight, but to name what wasn’t okay. To put words to what was happening, instead of choosing polite silence.
When something disturbs me in the horse world, I return to a few truths that have shaped me over the years.
Humans are flawed. Even the best of us misread, push too hard, stay too long, or quit too late. That doesn’t excuse harm, but it does keep me grounded in reality. Mistakes will happen. The question is whether we learn and change when we know better.
Not all horse people love horses the same way. Love exists on a spectrum. Some people are exceptional riders and competitors and still fall short in how they regard a horse’s inner life. That shapes priorities. That shapes choices.
There is also a fear that speaking up will get you cancelled. Many people have witnessed something awful and stayed silent, not because they didn’t care, but because the cost felt too high. Socially. Financially. Professionally. Our industry still lacks clear, trusted pathways for reporting harm, and that leaves both people and horses vulnerable.
And shame is not accountability. Humiliation does not equal justice. Shame cuts off empathy, and empathy is part of what allows reflection and change. Accountability matters. Boundaries matter. Consequences matter. But cruelty does not need to be answered with cruelty.
Despite how it can feel, things are changing. Not fast enough for many of us, and I understand that. But the shift is real. Ten years ago, a conversation like this wouldn’t have landed the way it does now. Today, people across disciplines are willing to listen. That openness matters.
Change is uncomfortable. We’re in a messy middle, full of uncertainty, and humans hate that. But uncertainty is also where growth lives.
So what do we do?
We find comfort in doubt.
Doubt isn’t weakness. It’s attention. It’s a refusal to go numb. Apathy is the real danger.
We say something when it doesn’t feel okay. Not to win an argument. Not from a place of superiority. Just to name our experience. This doesn’t feel right. This worries me. This looks unsafe. Quietly. Clearly. Consistently.
Individual actions matter. Your voice matters in the aisleway. Your choices matter in who you support, what you normalize, what you repeat, and what you refuse. Cultural change doesn’t only come from the top. It comes from thousands of small moments of integrity.
As for me, this individual will not be on the podcast. But that alone changes very little.
What I want is to widen the conversation. Not to weaponize the platform, but to use it the way we always have. Through conversation. Through vulnerability. Through collective reflection. Including my own.
I’m sharing this because I know I’m not the only one who has felt that sickening moment of recognition. The moment when your body knows something isn’t okay.
If we want a better horse world, it won’t come from certainty.
It will come from attention. From courage. From learning.
And from choosing the horse again and again, even when it costs us something.
This conversation is bigger than one voice. Here are a few recommended resources if you want to go deeper.
- Karen Rohlf on Training Horses as Individuals not Systems
- Celeste-Leilani Lezaris
- Shelby Dennis - Milestone Equestrian
- Bettina Biolik - Academic Art of Riding
- Tara Davis - Unbridled Goddess
- Saddlefit 4 Life®
*the horses in the photos shared are in no way associated with the incident being discussed*
