Horses Offer Healing

One of the many things I deeply appreciate about the work I do is creating space where both horses and people can find healing.

At a recent clinic, I was working with a horse who carried a lot of anxiety. In the round pen, he often seemed frantic, disconnected, and more interested in finding a way out than showing up and being present. Before I even entered the pen, I noticed his breathing change and his body tighten with tension.

I began simply—asking for the most basic responses he already knew well. But instead of being with me, he either overreacted to small requests or looked away, searching for an escape. I knew he understood what was being asked, so I waited with patience, giving him opportunities to try. We worked quietly on fundamentals: yielding the hindquarters, picking up his feet, lowering his head, moving sideways.

As he was become more and more grounded and with me, I approached the center of the pen and asked him to lift a foot, something shifted. He began to connect. He became more present. Then I noticed something unusual—his penis began to leak, a sign of a significant internal release for him.

I stood with him calmly, rubbing his neck, knowing I didn’t want to turn him loose and add to his anxiety. Instead, I slipped his halter off but kept it draped loosely around his neck. Immediately, his eyes softened, and he began to release—yawning, deep breaths, letting go of some tension. I repeated take the halter off-and-on, his responses became less dramatic, as if he was finding more balance within himself. When he settled a little more, I ended the session.

That afternoon, we ended the clinic sitting around to reflect on the day. One of the auditors, who was new to our community, felt deeply moved by this horse’s experience. With tears streaming down her face, she bravely shared stories of her own life—of anxiety, fear, and trauma she had carried silently for years. She said watching the horse in the morning session work through his thoughts of escaping, the fear he showed and then slowly release reminded her of her own journey.

Through this horse, she found words for her pain and allowed herself to be vulnerable. The group listened, held space, and supported her as she began to release some of what she had long suppressed.

It was a beautiful reminder of why I do this work. As horses unravel and return to themselves, they open a mirror for us to do the same. Healing is not always about fixing—it’s about being present, being patient, and offering space for transformation. Sometimes, the horse teaches us. Sometimes, we learn together.

That day, both horse and human took steps toward healing—and we were all honored to witness it.