They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results—and honestly, I’m convinced that applies to showing horses more than just about anything else.
I’ve been in the show ring for over twenty years now. That’s two decades of early mornings, fly spray battles, hurry up and wait, and trying not to cry in public when things go sideways. Since I’ve “always” been around, at least in the eyes of the show crowd, people often assume I’ve had a ton of success. And yes, I’ve had some really amazing moments—those magical classes where everything just clicks, the ribbon gets pinned, and for a second you feel like you actually know what you’re doing.
But if I’m being honest? The tough rides and the near-misses tend to stick with me more than the wins.
There have been years where I felt like I couldn’t buy a ribbon in a big class, and then years where I seemed to be floating through the ribbons like I was riding some kind of unicorn. And looking back, I still can’t pinpoint what made one season magical and the next one messy. Maybe it was the horses, maybe it was me, maybe Mercury was in retrograde. Who knows?
What I do know is—I stuck with it. And that’s saying something.
For me (and hopefully for anyone out there reading this), showing horses was never about chasing ribbons and victory passes—though, don’t get me wrong, I’ll never say no to a champion garland. It’s about the journey. The process. The daily grind of working with an animal you love, building that partnership ride by ride, one 20-meter circle at a time.
Take Chrome today, for example. He’s heading to a show at the end of the week, so today’s ride was all about getting the basics tuned up. Nothing flashy—just transitions to help him get round and supple, with a little shoulder-fore and shoulder-in thrown in for good measure. Those movements are still fairly new to him, but he’s really starting to understand them, and it’s so satisfying to feel the pieces coming together.
We were nearing the end of the ride—just some conditioning trot work to wrap things up—when he suddenly decided that one corner of the arena was not it. I mean, we’d been working steadily, he’d been soft and lovely… and then, BOOM: resistance. Not spooky, not explosive—just decided, “Nah, I don’t feel like carrying myself here.”
And only in that one corner. Every other one? Totally fine. Horses, am I right?
So, I regrouped. We went back and worked through it. I asked for more roundness, a bit more engagement, and gave him time to process and settle. It probably added five minutes to my ride—no big disaster, just one of those tiny training detours that pop up unexpectedly.
But here’s the thing: a few years ago, that moment might have thrown me off. I might’ve gotten frustrated or rushed through it. Now, I see those little hiccups as part of the bigger picture. They’re opportunities, not setbacks.
That shift in mindset—knowing the horse underneath me, responding to him in that moment—is where my real growth began. It’s not about perfection. No ride is ever perfect. There’s always a little bobble, a misstep, or a moment of miscommunication. But knowing your horse—really knowing them—gives you the confidence to ride through it, to adjust, and to show up as the best partner you can be.
And that’s what changed the game for me in the show ring. Not the fancy clothes, not the perfect turnout, not even the years of experience. It was the relationship. The connection. The trust.
I wish I could say I figured all of this out early on, but I didn’t. It took time, and a lot of trial and error. But eventually, I got there. And I’m a better horsewoman for it.
The success in the ring? That’s just the cherry on top.
WOA Matador+/
Silhouette Arabians 