Part 2: Rachel & Atlas: Rebuilding Trust, Step by Step

“He gave me the confidence to listen to my heart, trust my instincts, and stay true to myself.” - Rachel Keeley

Last week, I shared the first part of my friend Rachel Keeley’s story. A moving reflection on what happens when we let outside voices drown out our intuition.

In Part 1, Rachel described how the pressure to “do more” with her young horse, Atlas, led her to push beyond what felt right. In trying to meet others’ expectations, she overstepped the trust she had so carefully built. It’s a feeling many of us know: that quiet heartbreak when we realise we’ve gone against ourselves, and our horse felt it too..

But this story isn’t about failure. It’s about what comes next: the rebuilding, the forgiveness, and the powerful reminder that our horses often guide us back to the truth we already carry inside.

Enjoy Part 2: Rachel & Atlas — Rebuilding Trust, Step by Step:

"The second time we faced a big misunderstanding, we went only half the distance we’d gone before—just partway through the yard toward the track where we used to walk on those balmy summer days. I had set my sights on reaching a certain point, to show Atlas that it would be okay to walk past a barn filled with stallions. Once past that noisy, clattering section, we’d reach a calm, open space where he could walk and graze.

But again, I ignored my instincts. Feeling pressured to appear as though I was truly training my horse, I pushed him past his threshold. He bolted, desperate to return to the safety of his barn mates. I went against my intuition once more, remembering the words I’d been told—“never let go of the rope.” In that disillusioned determination to prove myself, I held on with all my strength.

In Atlas’s sheer desperation, he kicked out. I fell to the ground but still clung to the rope. This time, people were watching, and I felt even more pressure to show I could handle myself. My leg took the blow; the pain was sharp and debilitating. Still, I stood, holding the rope, and walked as best I could back to the yard, trying not to show weakness.

I let Atlas loose in the barn so he could release his anxiety, while I sat nearby and tried to breathe through the pain. After giving him time to settle, I sat a short distance away and began to cry—not from the pain, but from the realisation that I had gone against my deepest beliefs just to seek approval from others. In doing so, I had lost the trust I had so gently built with this wonderful, sensitive being. I had broken our beautiful and meaningful connection for such a worthless reason.

Why had I sought approval from people who didn’t understand this emotional work?

It hurt so deeply.

Eventually, Atlas’s posture softened. His ears flicked gently back and forth as he listened to me speak quietly, apologising. His gaze softened. We came together, and I held him close. In that moment, I felt he understood -that I had ignored my better judgement, that I hadn’t been my authentic self.

Our coming together felt like forgiveness to a degree, yet I knew we would once again be starting from the very beginning. Slowing down—when slowing down already seemed impossible to outsiders.

After that huge step backwards came many small sessions: quiet time, hanging out, paying even closer attention than ever to Atlas’s comfort and the earliest signs of unease. And then, one day, we had an astounding breakthrough.

Those two incidents engraved in me the importance of authenticity -of trusting my gut and not allowing others to make me feel inadequate, or as though what I’m doing isn’t enough.

I slowly rebuilt the trust I believed I had lost. The process was gentle, patient, and deeply rewarding.

The day I truly knew I was on the right path, we were in the yard. Our sessions then consisted of walking out of the barn, where I gave Atlas the choice to move in whichever direction he wanted—finding interest in different things, making a small circle in his natural direction, and calmly returning inside.

The tranquility of the Lake District is sometimes disrupted by fighter jets flying overhead on their training runs. We’re used to the piercing noise that slices through our peaceful skies, but on this day a low-flying jet roared past. I felt the surge of adrenaline rush through me (and through Atlas!) like an electric shock. He bolted, full of raw energy.

But instead of running away from me to his barn mates, he circled around me and darted to my side. A wave of absolute joy filled my heart; my whole body buzzed with warmth and awe.

Words can’t describe the feeling—my heart bursting with happiness, pride that I’d stayed true to my own judgement, gratitude that Atlas had chosen me as his safe place. In that moment, I had all the reassurance I’d been searching for: confidence in myself and strength to continue following my own morals.

I no longer needed others’ approval—because I had the answer from Atlas.
He chose this way.
He gave me the confidence to listen to my heart, trust my instincts, and stay true to myself."

________________

Rachel’s story reminds us that true connection isn’t about getting it right all the time. It’s about how we repair when things go wrong.

Atlas chose her again, not because she was perfect, but because she returned to presence — to authenticity, honesty, and trust.

May her story be a quiet reminder that your horse doesn’t need you to be flawless. They need you to be real, and to keep showing up - one mindful, heart-led step at a time.

✨ If you missed Part 1 of her story you can read it here: Part 1: Learning to Listen, Against All Odds. and stay tuned for more stories of softness, courage, and connection from the Herd Essence community.

♡

If this story resonates with you — if you’ve ever questioned the old ways, or felt that quiet discomfort in your gut — you’re not alone. There is another way. One that begins with listening. With slowing down. With consent.

And that’s where the real connection begins.