A little year-end recap

Reflection is an art. More often than not, we save reflection for the things we feel we could’ve done better. Things that we feel weren’t up to our standards. Interactions we wish we would’ve handled differently. Maybe an event we wished we went to, or something we should’ve done. While I certainly feel plenty of mixed-emotions about this year, when I look back I just simply see how much has changed. For the better. And yes, there were plenty of times, moments, and events that I wish had transpired differently—but when I look back, I see how those things had to have happened to bring me here. Isn’t that just the beautiful part of looking backwards at the end of the year?

At the beginning of this year, I was in a very difficult space, mentally and physically. I had lost some horse-related relationships. I was still reeling from a significant concussion in the middle of the previous summer. There were themes of heartbreak as I watched my heart-horse struggle with consistent, debilitating colics, and other horses of mine have freak pasture injuries. I was traveling nearly every weekend across the country to try horses for a client, and while it served as an addition to an already packed schedule (meaning no time off), I was grateful for the respite away from the reality of my horses mysterious decline. But, for every action there is a reaction, and for every bit of darkness there is eventually light.

We’ve all heard the phrase. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’m not entirely sure all of the things made me stronger as much as it stripped me down and completely rebuilt me. Watching my horse go to surgery this spring was one of the most void moments of my life. Like a vacuum came and sucked all of the air out of the room. All I could do is just watch, and wait. Suddenly, it made every other thing of the winter pale in comparison. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was my horse. I think that was the strongest emotion I’ve ever felt: a string-like connection with another being that was so close to being cut. Luckily, thanks to the incredible surgeon, veterinarians and staff at the hospital, Henry made a full recovery from a large colon resection with very little complications. And with the help of his “second mom”, he had the perfect place to recover and just get to be a horse again. Without that team of people, I’m not sure we would’ve had the same result.

My love, Henry

From that pivotal moment in April, things shifted and I was able to secure a barn to move half of my training program to. Summer came quickly and show season was upon us. What started as a “what if” dream of obtaining my Silver Medal was starting to become a very possible reality. After years of taking every opportunity I could financially swing to take lessons, ride in clinics, and ride almost anything, I was beginning to see the fruits of my labor. There were many times I offered to show a horse for free, or pay for a ride or lesson with a clinician on my own dime. Years and years of grooming, cleaning stalls, being a working student, putting my head down and continuing through all of the “she can’t”s, “she’s not ready”s, and “she doesn’t know enough”s. This industry is hard. Imposters syndrome is a very real phenomenon, and I think the majority of us find ourselves there at one point or another. Am I ready? Can I do this? Will I fail? There is an important dichotomy between being brave, and taking steps back to truly assess where we are and if we are ready. If anything, this year taught me to trust myself and my intuition. There is a certain calm that comes from putting in the work every day, and preparing yourself and your horse to the best of your ability, and there are always opportunities to learn within the ebb and flow of success’ and failures. It truly is about the journey, not the destination.

I’m proud of the consistent successes I saw in the show ring, but they did not come without their fair share of trials and tribulations. For every time I went in the ring, I learned something new about myself, my abilities, and my horses. I think that was the true lesson—not how to score the highest, but how to present a harmonious partnership to the best of my ability. And, within focusing on the basics along with my partnership with that particular horse, I was able to showcase some really great moments while still having plenty to work on at home. Dressage has always had this level of mystery to me, having come from a western and then hunter/jumper background. There’s just so much to learn. In the beginning of the journey it felt slightly daunting and somewhat frustrating. But, looking back, I see all of the moments that I had to have to bring me here. Now it is exciting to think of all of the future lessons that will improve my understanding of the discipline (and horses themselves) even further.

This autumn, I lost 90% of my vision in my left eye from a corneal scratch combined with a very serious infection. Two weeks away from leaving for our USDF Regional competition in Parker, Colorado, I had to face the ugly reality that even though I prepared in every other possible sense, due to this freak injury I might not be able to go. It was the most painful thing physically I had ever experienced. With being so close to my Silver Medal, I was a little heartbroken. I was originally going to bring 3 horses, but between my injury and other extraneous things outside of our control, it very quickly whittled down to just one. If life has taught me anything so far, when there’s a possibility that it might work out, you have to explore it. It might not—but that’s not the point, is it? Sometimes you just have to try.

We religiously followed the doctor’s protocol, applying two different special antibiotic eye drops every hour for a few days. Then it went down to eye drops every 2 hours. My eye was making a surprisingly fast recovery. The doctor was shocked. With how badly the infection presented, he thought I would have long-term complications, or potentially even had a life-threatening amoeba encysted in my cornea since it had not initally responded to other antibiotic treatment. About a week and half later, he cleared me to go to the barn and ride. I rode through the Prix St George test twice before leaving, with about 50% vision in my eye and wearing glasses that were most definitely not meant for athletic activity. Sometimes you just have to see what happens (pun fully intended).

Mickey and I have only known each other for about 8 months now. At the end of September, we had only known each other for a little over 5 months. I had ridden him through tests at shows a total of 5 times. 5 show-ring attempts before attempting the biggest show of my life. Shockingly, I’ve felt more connected to him than horses I’ve shown for multiple seasons. He presents a difficult amount of tension in the show ring that he does not present any other time. It’s a tricky ride, with a lot of power. Still, we managed multiple “Personal Bests” at Fourth Level Test 3, and our best test ended up being our Championship ride under two judges. In a very competitive professional group, we managed a 7th place out of 14 rides, with 3rd-7th being separated in tenths of a percentage point! He was an absolute beast and gave me some of the best feelings. The next day, we attempted our first Prix St George together and earned a 68% with one judge giving us a 72%! For my initiation as an FEI rider, I was on top of the world. We needed one last score for our Silver Medal. The next day it was forecasted for the weather to plunge nearly 35* and rain several inches. Gulp. One last test.

Mickey dancing his way to over 68% at Prix St George

That was one of those moments in life as a horsewoman where you have to access what kind of horse you have. When do you scratch due to the conditions? What can they handle? Horses are incredible beings that do not sign up to go to horse shows on their own volition, and as such, we are the stewards of their well-being and health. This was the last day of a grueling week after traveling several states. The pit in my stomach, debating what to do, all of it—those are the moments no one really brings up. I decided I would start warming up and go from there. He was a bit tired but still very responsive and still incredibly through to my aids, even with the conditions (and a fresh clip that left him with little-to-no coat). The wind and the rain stopped right before my ride… but the mud. It was everywhere, on everything. He still felt ready and able, so we went for it. After a very conservative test, we earned a 64% and the last score for my USDF Silver Medal. What a horse. He truly is the GOAT.

Since then, I’ve been busy training 2 FEI horses, 2 young horses, 1 not-so-feral-but-used-to-be-feral pony, and teaching multiple students on their own horses, in-person and virtually. I have 3 additional training horses coming in this January—including a very special stallion I am excited to campaign. It’s been an absolute pleasure getting to slow down a bit and have the majority of my horses at just one barn (hallelujah!). I’ve also been traveling to Ennis, Montana (about an hour and a half away) consistently to teach an amazing group of horse ladies over there. I’ve been accepted to go to Wellington for the Young Riders Graduate Conference, and will be attending the FEI Trainers Conference as well. I was also chosen as a recipient for the Captain Fritz Fund Grant through the Dressage Foundation to help with a portion of the costs of attending the Young Riders Graduate Conference. I’m so thankful for the individuals that donate to funds like these, for without this grant it would have made it nearly impossible for me to attend the conference. I have such an incredible group of people surrounding me, and an amazing group of horses as well. Looking ahead to 2025, I am thankful for all of the difficult events that happened this year that brought me here, on this path, with these people. I can’t wait to see what this next year brings!

5-year old KWPN gelding Okimoki at his first horse show, dancing to over 77%