BY JAMIE SINDELL
For all of you out there who miss doing horses the way you once did, I feel you. You are not alone.
There’s a longing that sneaks up on you sometimes. The kind you may not even acknowledge because it feels silly or selfish, or because you don’t want to sit in it too long. For a lot of us, it’s not just that riding looks different now. Life changed, and we had to change with it.
I’ll be honest. For me, it shows up in small, everyday ways. Like when I sit on my girls’ green pony in our backyard. There are times I wish I were on a beefy warmblood with all the buttons. Instead, I am killing my knees, squeezing into a size 14 saddle, and putting in the work so the small mare is safe for my kids to ride.
I love that my girls are riders. I really do. But I would be lying if I said there aren’t moments where I wish I had the horses to myself the way I used to, when life was simpler. Owning a horse that was all mine. Lessons with my trainer. Hanging in the tack room with barn friends, doing absolutely nothing. Yet, somehow, it was everything.
Because doing horses the way I am now doesn’t look like I thought it would, that shift took some of my passion with it. I think a lot of horse people feel that, even if we don’t always say it out loud or acknowledge it.
When we bought a farm a few years ago, I was elated. My dream come true! I had a vision. Ponies for the kids. Horses in the barn for me and my oldest. A life built around riding the way I had always imagined.
Then reality hit. Money got tight. The kind of tight so many horse people know all too well.
A mortgage to pay. Siding to replace. Kids’ college to save for. Fencing to fix. Hay and straw to buy. Let alone buying or leasing ponies. And for many people, forget the horses. Period. It just costs too darn much.
Time got tighter too.
Schedules to juggle. Responsibilities that didn’t exist when riding was simpler and just for you. Now horses are the thing you try to squeeze in, not the thing you build your life around. Some days, it doesn’t happen at all. Or it’s a rushed hack squeezed in between everything else that needs you.
And even if you do ride, for many of us, it feels different.
When you’re younger, you don’t think twice about getting hurt. You are invincible, right? You don’t sit there on your horse’s back ready to vomit. Or contemplate telling your trainer, “Absolutely Not,” calculating what happens if you fall or how long it will take to recover.
Now, often I think about the risk. I think about who’s my kids’ Uber to and from activities if my knee gets busted, who is bending down to hug them goodnight if my back is out of whack, who is holding everything together if I’m not “okay.” Even a “simple” injury from a fall that isn’t dangerous doesn’t feel so simple anymore. It could be catastrophic for my family and my farm.
That fearless version of me didn’t disappear, but she feels farther away. And that changes how you ride. Not because you love it less, but because you understand more. So maybe you flat more. Maybe you jump smaller. Maybe you quit showing. Maybe what used to feel easy now feels hard. Really hard. Or maybe the fear gets big enough that stepping back feels like the right choice, at least for now.
And then there’s the horse, which changes everything in its own way.
Maybe your horse is older now and can’t do what they once did. Maybe they’re laid up. Or they’re living their best retirement life while you watch them grazing, happy for them and, at the same time, missing what you had. Maybe you had to sell or lease your horse to prioritize other things in your life, like I did when I sold my last horse six years ago because I was having another baby. And maybe you find yourself thinking, “I’ll never afford a horse that nice again.” And maybe, like me, your role shifted completely.
You become the horse show mom or support person. The one cheering at the rail. The one packing the trunk, grabbing snacks, keeping track of numbers, and somehow keeping things running smoothly. You’re the person grabbing fries for friends from the food truck, waiting for your kid’s number to be called, wiping down boots at the in-gate. And you love it. You really do.
But there is a part of you that remembers when you were the one walking into the ring.
The remembering can be hard.
The early mornings schooling in a freshly dragged ring. The perfect braids with your favorite charm. The nerves you push back down. The jolt of adrenaline when you hear you’re up next. The revving of your heart as you headed toward your first jump, followed by the relief when you finished the last oxer. Even if it’s been years, you can still feel it like it’s yesterday.
And maybe that’s the hardest part.
Because now it looks different. It’s watching a live stream. Seeing a photo. Or a memory that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Still missing it in a way that’s hard to verbalize to anyone who hasn’t lived it… especially people who have never loved horses like you have. And not always wanting to share it out loud because you don’t want to sound entitled.
Because horses were never just a hobby for you. They were a part of who you were. Who you are. And losing that fully, or even just losing pieces of it, can hurt more than you expect. Not always in a dramatic way, but in a lingering way that catches you off guard.
But if you really think about it, you can still feel it…
That pull when a horse pricks its ears. The hum of the show ring. The sound of hooves and your horse’s steady breath on a quiet morning. A lazy Sunday trail ride. The way a good trip made everything else fall away.
That part of you did not go anywhere.
It’s still there, even if it looks different now. Even if it shows up less. Even if it lives mostly in memories. Maybe it’s a quiet hack instead of a class. Maybe it’s just standing at the rail, knowing exactly what it feels like to be the one out there. Maybe it’s just driving by a horse peacefully grazing.
And that still counts.
You didn’t lose your horse life. You just grew into a different version of it. And maybe someday, even if it is in some small way, you’ll find your way back to pieces of it again. Or maybe you already have, just not in the way you thought you would.
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 5-16. 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. You can follow her on Instagram @wishlistfarm.
