Horses have always been my refuge. The barn is where I leave the noise of the world at the gate, clean tack, and focus on the simple, steady rhythm of hooves. Showing fills me with purpose in a way nothing else does. Lately, though, that refuge has felt less sheltered. American politics—filtered, amplified, and everywhere—has been seeping into the one place I thought I could keep separate: the horse show community.
A community made of many hearts (and many views)
The horse world gathers people from every corner: different ages, backgrounds, professions, and yes, different political beliefs. That variety is part of the sport’s beauty. We borrow supplies from each other, trade tips about feed, and cheer loudly for our friends in the ring. But shared passion for horses doesn’t erase the fact that we sometimes see the world very differently. Conversations in the barn, comments at shows, and viewpoints held by people I respect have begun to feel harder to reconcile with my own values.
Social media makes the distance feel wider
If anything has widened the gap, it’s social media. Seeing someone I showed with on a Friday repost a viral post or share a thread that feels attacking or dismissive on the following Monday can be jarring. A few years ago I might have shrugged and kept riding; now a steady stream of polarizing posts wears at me. Social platforms compress arguments, reward outrage, and make disagreements feel like constant background noise. It’s easy to feel like every scroll is a reminder of how different we are—and that wears on a person, especially when that person shows up to the same warm-up ring each weekend.
Boundaries are not betrayal
I’ve had to learn a hard but important lesson: protecting my mental space doesn’t mean abandoning people. Unfollowing or unfriending someone on social media can be an honest, healthy choice. It’s not always about censoring differing opinions; often it’s about choosing to not let someone’s feed derail my ability to enjoy what I love. When I mute or unfollow, I still smile and clap at their rides; I still borrow a bit or hand over a horse treat. I’m simply removing the constant friction that makes it harder for me to be present and kind.
The struggle is getting harder—week by week
I won’t sugarcoat it: this has been getting tougher. What used to be an occasional prick of discomfort now arrives more frequently. Every week there feels like another post, another argument, another reminder that the people I admire at the shows may hold ideas that feel foreign or even hurtful to me. Some days, I’m exhausted by it. I find myself pausing before replying to messages, dreading the next scroll, wondering if the community I love can be the same place I once relied on for calm. There are honest moments when I’m not sure how much longer I can stick it out.
Holding both grief and gratitude
Still, it’s possible to hold grief and gratitude at the same time. I’m grieving the loss of the uncomplicated horse show life I once had—the days when politics never entered the warm-up. I’m also deeply grateful for the friends, teachers, and horses that have shaped me. That tension is real: I want to honor my own boundaries and values while also honoring the connections that have helped me grow as a rider and a person.
Practical ways I try to keep showing meaningful
- I limit what I see. Unfollow, mute, or quiet notifications. It’s basic, but it works.
- I set conversation boundaries—politics doesn’t have to be a topic at the show.
- I choose my in-person allies: the folks who focus on horses first and respect differing views second.
- I remind myself that leaving the sport isn’t the only option; sometimes what I need is to change how I participate.
Why I’m still here (for now)
I show because it fills a hole nothing else will. The discipline, the shared rituals, the tiny improvements you celebrate after months of work: those things are powerful. I stay because I’ve seen how this community can be generous and kind, and because I want to believe that our shared love of horses can be a place of bridge-building. But I’m honest with myself: staying doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate everything forever. There’s a difference between endurance and self-abandonment.
A quiet hope
Maybe the most hopeful thing I can hold onto is this: a barn aisle where people with different views can still stand side by side and clap for each other’s rides is a small, stubborn act of unity. It won’t fix everything. It won’t heal all divisions. But when I can look across a warm-up ring and see someone I disagree with laugh at a shared joke or offer a hand with a loose girth, it reminds me there’s still room for common ground.
If you’re feeling this, too: you’re not alone. It’s okay to protect your peace, to make choices that keep you riding without losing yourself. And it’s okay to be honest about the fact that some weeks are harder than others. We show because we love horses. Protecting that love sometimes means changing how we show up so that, when we are in the ring, we can be fully present for what matters most.
Silhouette Arabians 