It doesn't always go to plan - Julia's journey

In the realm of Facebook, a curious soul stumbled upon my equine-centric world. Eager to unravel the enigma of my profession, she popped the question, "What do you do?" Intrigued, I unfolded the tapestry of my equine-guided endeavors.

In the midst of this digital exchange, she unveiled a secret: she knew someone who could benefit from my peculiar expertise. Yet, she hesitated, uncertain of its efficacy. In line with my unwritten rule, I insisted that the person in question must reach out personally.

And lo, they did! Plans were set, and I geared up to visit them, armed with the promise of a transformative session at the next available window of convenience.

As I stepped into their world, I was met with a candid declaration: "I don't think it'll work." Undeterred, I flashed a grin and suggested, "Well, since I've journeyed this far, we might as well share a mug of tea."

Now, let me confess a minor challenge: getting a word in with this individual proved more elusive than a cat chasing its tail. Typically, I adhere to the principle of a 20% talk-to-80% listen ratio, but in this instance, it felt more like 5% me, 95% her!

Amidst the verbal cascade, I strategically wove words that could sidestep her mind and speak directly to her body—the place where riding feelings reside. I tackled the "I can't do this" tirades and the prophetic "I'll be your biggest failure" statements, dancing on the edge of doubt.

This seasoned rider, Julia, had a lifetime of equestrian adventures in her saddlebag—leaping over towering fences, pirouetting in dressage, and even navigating bustling city streets with a pair in tow. Yet, a new horse had cast a shadow of fear upon her riding joy.

In the precious moments when I did manage to interject, I uncovered the intricate layers of her psyche, her herd of horses, and the man by her side.

As our tea grew cold, Julia's desire to conquer the inner fear became apparent. She yearned to reclaim the joy of riding her new horse, appreciating its beauty and spirit.

Leaving her abode, I couldn't shake a twinge of doubt. Did I do enough to coax her back into the saddle? With a somewhat heavy heart, I bid farewell, offering a lifeline: "If you ever need me again, or if you want a referral to someone else, just ask."

Imagine my sheer disbelief a few weeks later when a photograph graced my eyes—Julia, aboard her new horse, grinning ear to ear. The collaborative effort, fueled by her determination and the therapeutic rapport that allowed subtle words to bypass her mind, had worked its magic.

It doesn't always work, this concoction of words, wisdom, and horse sense. Yet, in this instance, a collective effort bore fruit. I stand here not as a solitary savior but as a facilitator of the bits people wish to mend, rekindling their love and confidence in their equine companions. It's not always about riding, but when it is, witnessing the joy return is truly a tale worth sharing.

So yes, it doesn't always work, but when it does, it's a testament to the power of collaboration and the unexpected surprises that unfold in the journey of restoring confidence and love for horses.