Letting Go Versus Giving Up

The Decision to Sell My Horse

The heart wants what the heart wants. And sometimes what it wants is a story that it already decided needs to happen, so much so that it’s assumptive, leaving one not even aware of the made-up story. This way of living with my heart set me up for a huge learning curve last year with my mare Dahlia and our relationship. And it trickled down to my whole world with horses as it forced me to think about what I truly want…

At the beginning of 2023, I was acutely aware that the story I was telling myself about this mare and myself was not happening. And nothing I was doing was changing it to be what I wanted. This caused me to stop and listen a bit to her and my heart–maybe my gut as well. What did she want? Did she want anything close to what I wanted from the horse and human relationship? Surely, she got a vote too. I wanted to be everything she needed and to be a better horsewoman all at the same time. I also had dressage goals, but I knew the way I wanted to get to those was with harmony, not through force or fear. I asked for help finally and had a dressage trainer and a natural horseman enter in tandem to try to help us. This felt like THE solution. Going back to the foundational elements that were missing and working through them. What occurred when we opened that box was just how much I had to learn about myself and what I’d been avoiding.

After some lessons and some work at home, Dahlia went to live at another farm to have some time to work with Ben Stennett, a natural horseman who is a total student of the horse in his philosophy. Here, I had the opportunity to watch him work with her, and I continued to ride her or work with her on the ground with his assistance every time. It was great learning and led to some serious “a-ha moments” for me on horse behavior and psychology. What I realized about myself though, was how quiet I was getting to make sure I didn’t upset either her or myself. I couldn’t get the connection I wanted with her, no matter what we tried. And the more I put myself out there to find it, the more I realized that I was unnerved. And what she didn’t need was a scared person. She needed a confident partner, and I had to assess if I was able to do this for her. Another piece to add to this whole situation is that nothing truly awful ever happened with her. It was just this unsettled feeling I had with her in my gut, low-grade, but frequently present. I couldn’t read her mind and she couldn’t read mine fully, but the story I wasn’t wanting to accept was that I was coming up with a lot of negative scenarios for what she was thinking. To be clear, Dahlia has a spook, and I began to anticipate it before she even noticed something because of past experiences with her. It was becoming less of a learning-to-rise-to-the-occasion place for me and more of an evaluation of what I believed I was capable of and what I wanted to do. Maybe I needed to evaluate less and evolve more, but I was stuck in my head for a long time while she was in training.

I loved her, I knew that. I was all-in as far as my heart went. Never guarded. I hadn’t bought her ever expecting to sell her or not have her, so when these thoughts began to bubble to the surface, honestly, they just felt wrong. Like giving up. But, every time I’d allow myself to consider it without judging myself so harshly for the thoughts, the feelings I experienced were relief and a bit of peace. AND I HATED THIS. I didn’t want this story. I almost wished I hadn’t opened the relationship up to this exposure of my flaws and her intensity, because things were way easier when I just kept it very quiet at home and never rode when it was loud, or if anyone else was around making noise, and never took her anywhere. But I also knew I couldn’t go back to that and continue to grow as a person or as a horsewoman. When I mentioned the inner conundrum to Ben, he gave me a gift: no judgment was conveyed. He said to just take time and decide what was best for me. At the same time my husband, Scott, was saying that I needed to consider if I could feel safe. And that you can’t make yourself feel safe. And he was right. Phineas, my pony, has a spook as well. But I never feel unsafe on him or worried. So, I began to think about the fundamental piece lacking and realized my gut was making this decision more than my mind was ever going to. Sometimes there is a knowing, and I realized I was on an exploration of that knowing but was trying to talk myself out of it.

After this, I had many conversations with my inner circle of confidants about letting go versus giving up. I struggled a lot with this. Feelings that I wasn’t good enough, brave enough, or strong enough to be what she needed always fluttered around. And I landed finally on deciding that you can’t make yourself feel or know those things and that sometimes letting go is okay. Even writing this makes me relive the angst, which is probably why I’ve avoided this topic and blogging in general. But it’s a huge part of my past year and I absorbed so much about life through this experience.

So letting go was the decision and full transparency: I cried many times about this. We arranged for Dahlia to continue to stay at the training facility and that Elizabeth Hart of Elizabeth Hart Dressage, (who is also married to Ben so she already knew Dahlia well) would take her on and find Dahlia’s right next person. I was relieved almost instantly, knowing in my core that Elizabeth would certainly find the right match. I had no idea what that person would be like except that they would accept Dahlia for who she is in the present. Not a fantasized idea of what she could be as the predominant thought—just someone who could offer her what I couldn’t: full acceptance and peace with her at present. And after a few months, a wonderful person flew down to our area and fell in love with this special mare.

The day that I went by the farm to tell her goodbye and groom her one last time felt a bit surreal. She was happy and at peace. She loved her life where she was. She was content being wholly Dahlia, which was beautiful to see. Elizabeth and I laughed about her breaking her halter again as a parting gift to me. (I had this halter repaired 3 times while Dahlia wore it; she definitely has been hard on the halters in her life!) And I took the time to tell her goodbye. It reminded me of the grief of losing Max, except I felt that I was letting her go to truly live her best life versus letting him go to no longer be in pain. Those two horses always had a connection for me because she was the horse I got after I retired Max. A bit heavy I know, but it’s where I was. The next day she headed to another state and a new adventure. We’ve heard a couple of times from her new person, and it’s always exactly what I wanted for Dahlia: appreciation for who she is and a willingness to take the time it takes. She’s living on a beautiful farm being well cared for and enjoying her friends. And she’s loved–you really can’t ask for more.

So, in a way letting go feels like loss, and in a way, it feels like freedom for all involved. But it’s deep, and wide, and I’m sure Dahlia will continue to be one of the most influential teachers of my life. I thank her for all the love and joy she brought me and now I thank her for this hard lesson. I’ve moved on, but I’m still understanding the layers of learning that this extensive lesson has brought me. Because it also helped me realize that while I have goals for myself and with horses, the competitions aren’t the pinnacle of my dreams. The main point is to have a connection with my horse friend that feels safe, harmonious, and willing. The competitions are the icing on that cake, but not what I live for. It was a good reminder of my values. I’m happy to say that my story continues and so does hers. And my heart will always have a piece set aside for my first mare, a beautiful soul who expanded mine.