Let's talk about FEAR
“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek” - Joseph Campbell
Fear is one of the most uncomfortable human experiences.
It tightens our chest, clouds our thinking, and can leave us feeling small or unsafe in our own skin. In the horse world, fear is everywhere — and yet it’s rarely spoken about. We’re told to be tough, to push through, to “be the boss.” But fear doesn’t vanish because we deny it. It only burrows deeper, showing up in subtle ways — in tension, in control, in the silent pressure we place on ourselves and our horses.
What if fear wasn’t a weakness to hide, but a signal to listen to? What if courage wasn’t about pushing fear away, but about allowing ourselves to feel it, understand it, and respond differently?
Fear as Information, Not Failure
At its core, fear is simply our nervous system trying to keep us safe. It isn’t always logical. Sometimes it’s a whisper of worry in the mind. Sometimes it’s a tightening in the heart. Sometimes it’s a gut punch that comes from old wounds or vulnerable moments.
Our horses know this intimately. Their primary survival instinct is to flee when afraid. Yet in the human world, we often punish or suppress that instinct — calling it “naughty” or “disobedient.” The truth is: fear is communication. For us. For them. And when we learn to treat it that way, everything begins to shift.
The Day We Did Nothing
Over the years, trainers have come to visit me, often with well-meaning offers to help “train my horses.” They expect we’ll get halters and ropes, maybe do some groundwork. But before anything, I usually suggest: let’s just sit with them first.
So we sit. No agenda. Just stillness. The horses wander, graze, flick an ear, yawn, release a breath. The humans begin to soften too. And then something beautiful happens: the trainers often confess that they feel tension, even nervousness, around horses — something they hadn’t fully realized until that moment of quiet.
By sitting still, the fear that had been buried under busyness and bravado finally had space to surface. Not to shame them. Simply to be seen. Presence revealed what was already there, and that awareness softened both horse and human.
The Zorro Moment
But fear doesn’t only live in others — it lives in me too.
I remember a moment with my horse Zorro. He and I had a difference of opinion. I wanted him to move; he wanted to stay. He was agitated, and truthfully, I wasn’t fully present either.
As the tension rose, he swung his hindquarters toward me and lifted his legs. To him, it was a protest — a clear “no.” But to me, it felt like a direct threat. In an instant, fear surged through me. I felt vulnerable, unsafe, and flooded with the impulse to “fix” it fast.
Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest piece of wood and began chasing him. Anger had mixed with fear, and for a moment I was ready to lash out — even though, deep down, I knew it would only make things worse. Zorro is faster than me, of course, and my actions didn’t resolve anything. They only showed me how quickly fear can hijack us, turning into aggression, into control, into a cycle neither horse nor human truly wants.
Eventually, the storm passed. I calmed. And then something unexpected happened: Zorro returned. Quiet, sheepish, as if to repair the rupture between us. That moment of reconnection reminded me that even when fear has pulled us apart, both horse and human can find their way back to trust.
What Fear is Really Saying
Fear isn’t the enemy. It’s a message.
It asks us to pause, to notice, to slow down.
In us, fear might show up as:
Shallow breath or a racing heart
Tight shoulders or jaw
A sudden urge to “do something” or “take control”
Anger or blame
In horses, fear might show up as:
A high head and rigid poll
Tight back or planted feet
Sudden flight or freeze
Hard eye, pinned ears, clamped tail
When we recognize fear as a signal — not a shame — we create the possibility of choice. We can pause. We can breathe. We can respond with awareness instead of reactivity.
A 2-Minute Gate Practice
Here’s a small exercise you can try before you step into the stable or field. It takes just two minutes, but it can transform how you and your horse meet each other:
Pause at the gate. Take one slow breath in, and let the out-breath be longer than the in-breath.
Name what you notice. “I feel tightness in my chest.” “I feel a rush of excitement.” “I feel scared.” No fixing — just noticing.
Widen your view. Take in the horizon, the sounds around you, your horse’s posture and energy.
Choose your pace. If your body says “not yet,” wait. If it says “okay,” take a few steps, then pause and observe your horse’s response.
End with appreciation. Thank yourself for noticing. Thank your horse for communicating. Both are part of the partnership.
This isn’t about getting it “right.” It’s about creating safety and awareness, step by step.
Closing Reflection
Fear isn’t something to banish. It’s something to meet. To feel. To learn from. In the horse world — and in life — the real courage is not pretending we’re fearless. It’s allowing ourselves to be honest enough to say, I’m scared, and gentle enough to ask, what is this fear telling me?
For me, fear has become an invitation: to pause, to attune, to trust, to heal.
And every time I’ve followed that path, I’ve found not just deeper connection with my horses, but also a deeper connection with myself.
So I invite you to reflect:
Where does fear show up with your horse?
What happens in your body when it does?
And what might change if you gave yourself permission to listen — instead of pushing it away?
Because when we can honour fear as part of the conversation, both we and our horses can finally exhale.
♡
