By JAMIE SINDELL
My husband and I constantly have tough conversations on a loop about the money we spend on my oldest daughter’s riding.
It’s embarrassing to admit these horse “problems” spark my insomnia. After all, we have a comfortable lifestyle. What a luxury to stress over training board! But I believe many horse people can relate to my worries as costs rise and don’t show any signs of waning. What feels tricky about this particular situation is it’s my daughter’s well-being—not my own.
My husband and I finally hit a wall and know something must change. We can’t keep our daughter leasing, in full training, lessoning, and showing without thinking creatively and without embracing change.
Here’s the backstory. Our daughter has been lucky to ride at the same barn for over two years after bouncing around for a while. Her riding and her overall maturity have shifted dramatically during these two years. Under the tutelage of a great trainer and in a solid program, she’s flourished as a young woman and rider. She’s happier and more well-adjusted. If money were no object, say we hit Powerball tomorrow, we’d board at her current barn for the foreseeable future.
It kills me that we don’t have a solution for keeping our daughter at the barn she has grown to love and has become attached to. It’s her family. Her outlet. Her social life. Her everything.
She spends more time at the barn than she does at home, riding the mare we lease for her and hanging around all day when her trainer allows her to help with chores. My brain spins, twirls, then stalls—how can I take this away from her? But also, how can we keep affording it?
Then there’s a related issue. We often can’t keep up with her friends at the barn due to our financial limitations.
When many of barn mates went to WEC Ohio this spring, she lived vicariously through their stories of the ride-through Starbucks and fun dinners out. Recently, a good chunk of the barn showed in Vermont. She begged to attend. And though she didn’t fault us, I know she felt left out.
Truly, I understand I can’t give my daughter everything she wants on a platter. I also get that learning to deal with disappointment is a skill worth fostering, but as a parent it’s tough. Did I do her a disservice by immersing her in this microcosm of the equestrian world? Has it been unfair of me to hook her on the hunters?
Similarly, this summer we had stressful conversations over riding camp. Though initially we told our daughter she could attend, we didn’t contemplate the financial ramifications. She already had one show and a clinic in the month of July, and adding the camp on top of these and full training board didn’t seem rational for our family. When I told her trainer we had changed our minds, my daughter said she understood. However, our kid was saddened, hanging her head and having lost her pep.
I picked her up at the barn the weekend prior, and a few girls said, “see you at camp.” My daughter mumbled, “I can’t go.” Her friends so sweetly, naively, and awkwardly said, “We’ll set up a lemonade stand for you to raise the funds.”
If only it were that easy. I ruminated over the camp decision until the day prior. How uncomfortable would it be for my kid to show up to ride alone while her friends were engaging in fun camp activities together?
In the end, my husband and I changed our minds. She attended camp, and it was a highlight of her summer. Each day she came home exuberant and exhausted. But when does it end? When does it stop?
We’ve already said “no” a lot. We’ve said “no” to the custom sheets, the custom trunk, the fancier tack. She still rides in my saddle that’s too small for her leg and butt. She uses my wood tack trunk, completely scratched and worn on the top. In our situation, the money to buy any of these things seems better spent elsewhere. I explain to my daughter, “everyone has different financial situations and priorities. Just like we don’t want to be judged, we don’t judge others for their choices. We also don’t compare ourselves to them.” Sure, this could be seen as a good teaching moment. However, it’s not easy when you’re immersed in it.
So here we are. Stuck about how to move forward. I sent my daughter’s trainer a heartfelt email conveying our quandary. We’re lucky to have our own little farm with fields for riding, so we’ve talked about the possibility of moving her home. When I saw her trainer at the barn after sending the email, I could barely speak about the future. “It would break my heart for her to move,” I choked out. “She’d leave her network of support. She’d leave you.” I willed myself not to cry.
Her trainer was kind and said, “Your daughter will always be part of the barn family.” We could trailer in, meet them at shows etc. But I know the days of hanging out with her friends and barn-ratting it all day would most likely be limited. “I’ll miss my friends. I’ll miss everything,” my daughter said dejectedly when I proposed the idea. We’d be ripping away her social world.
I watched my daughter ride this week, saw her beaming. I witnessed her interacting with her friends, the barn manager, and her trainer. I saw her loving on her horse. I realize the barn brings out the best in her. The barn has also made her a stronger person.
I am keenly aware that my daughter’s lease ends in September, and we have determined not to renew. Currently, the barn does not offer any half lease options or have any lesson horses that work long term for my daughter. Though we haven’t made any other definitive decisions, what I keep coming back to is that my daughter will cope with whatever comes next. Either a path will present itself, or we will carve one out. Though it may not be ideal, she will still have horses in her life. I’ll be there along the way to support her.
Let’s be real. Change is much easier when you are fleeing something negative or you feel uber ready for it, which isn’t applicable in my daughter’s situation. But unwanted change and the discomfort that accompanies it does not need to be negative. Change teaches us the ways of the real world and resiliency in the face of tough stuff. Change teaches us how to work through loss and grief.
It feels vulnerable to share our story, to open myself up to readers who may criticize my parenting, my values, and/or my horse-related decisions.
But my hope is that there are readers who can relate, and are also struggling to keep doing what they love in a way that makes sense and still fulfills them or their children. Readers who may need to embrace change to make it work.
Jamie Sindell is a passionate equestrian blogger. She has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Arizona and a BS in Animal Science from Cornell University. She has ridden and owned hunters on and off throughout her life. She is a mom of five kids who range from ages 3-14. She and her family reside at Wish List Farm, where her horse-crazy girls play with their ponies. Her son and husband play with the tractor.
