The hardest part of horses isn’t the long hours or the financial sacrifices — it’s the heartbreak. The way you can pour years of your life, your love, and your effort into them, only to be left waiting for answers that may never come.
For the past five years, Fiona and I have been on a rollercoaster of highs and lows. Our first show season together feels like a lifetime ago now. Since then, it’s been injuries, setbacks, rehabs, and the kind of resilience you only discover when walking away isn’t an option. She’s complicated, opinionated, and not the kind of horse everyone would stick with — but she’s mine. And for me, she’s worth every bit of it.
Right now, we’re in another chapter of uncertainty. She’s lame again, with no visible injury to explain it. The last time I rode her was three months ago at a horse show where she stopped at every fence — her way of telling me something wasn’t right. I’ve been back on the ground with her ever since, hoping each day for even the smallest sign of improvement.
I’m bringing in a new vet now in hopes of finding some answers, but it comes with the question I’ve been avoiding: how far do I go? At what point do I stop chasing solutions and start considering a different future? Even typing that feels like admitting something I don’t want to face. The idea of retiring her before we ever really had our chance together destroys me. I want so badly for this to be another chapter in our comeback story, not the ending.
If you’ve ever loved a horse through uncertainty, you know this feeling. The ache of not knowing, the constant pull between hope and heartbreak, the endless “what ifs.” And yet, despite it all, I can’t bring myself to give up. So here we are. In the waiting, the wondering, and the hoping. Hoping for answers and for healing.
I feel this deep within my soul. Living in constant fear every time you walk up to the barn “will she be better today?”. My heart is with you while you (and frankly me too) navigate this and I hope we both find answers for our red headed mares🩷