13/11/2025
We rush to help people who are being harmed, but when someone warns us that we may be harming our horse, we attack the messenger or ignore it. Why?
Suffering in silence.
What I see regularly is division between viewpoints.
A – People who cannot see that what they’re doing is harming their horse’s welfare. They are often incredulous at the suggestion that a horse could be suffering in silence.
B – People who do recognise the harm, at least somewhere inside, but reason to themselves that it is acceptable – that the horse “likes it,” that it “has to do it,” or that it suits their own needs. Eg. I am hearing you tell me I should not ride him because he is showing discomfort, but I have a lesson booked.
I am not here to hurt anyone’s feelings, but if I ruffle a few feathers with the following statement, that is okay:
WHETHER THROUGH WILFUL OR IGNORANT ACTIONS, BOTH ARE FORMS OF ABUSE.
What strikes me is this: in the human world, people are usually ready to step in at the first sign of abuse. Friends, family, even strangers will offer support, guidance, or protection.
But in the equestrian world, when someone raises concerns about a horse’s welfare, the reaction is often very different. The focus shifts from the horse’s experience to defending the status quo or questioning the person pointing out the harm.
It’s as if the discomfort of hearing the truth becomes more threatening than the suffering of the horse itself.
When we speak about “suffering in silence,” it’s not just a poetic phrase. It’s a lived reality for beings who cannot express what is happening to them in words, or who have learned that speaking up brings no relief – sometimes only more pressure or confusion.
Silence becomes a survival strategy.
In the human world, people who experience abuse often stay silent too. Sometimes because they are afraid. Sometimes because they have been told that speaking out will change nothing, or that it is their fault, they are the abuser, or that they should be grateful it is “not worse.”
Over time, silence becomes a way to cope.
Horses learn the same pattern. They stop resisting because resistance brings pressure, confusion, or punishment.
Their eyes dull, their energy withdraws, their bodies brace. To outsiders, they may look calm or well behaved. But silence is not peace.
Stillness is not comfort.
Abuse also creates unintentional abusers. A person who was shouted at, criticised, or controlled in their own learning may repeat those same behaviours with horses.
The culture of “make him do it,” “don’t let him win,” and “show him who’s boss” becomes so normal that it feels impossible to question it.
Yet every time we push through the signs of discomfort in a horse, we repeat the same story of fear and disconnection that so many of us know ourselves.
Compassionate equestrianism begins when we stop repeating that story.
It is not just about technique; it is about relationship – with our horses, with each other, and with ourselves.
It asks us to listen with curiosity instead of defensiveness, to be brave enough to change when we see that something causes harm.
A horse that resists, that refuses, that struggles, is not misbehaving. He is communicating.
When we learn to listen rather than correct, we give the horse back his voice – and we rediscover our own capacity for empathy and patience.
Choosing compassion may mean slowing down, stepping back, or letting go of goals that serve our pride more than our partnership.
That can be hard, especially in a world that measures success in ribbons, likes, and obedience. But real progress comes from understanding, not control.
Most people who harm horses don’t intend to. They do it because they were taught to, or because they haven’t yet seen another way. But once we recognise that what we are doing might cause pain or stress, we have a choice.
We can defend the old ways, or we can be humble enough to change.
Breaking the cycle starts with listening – to the horse who cannot speak, and to the parts of ourselves that learned to stay quiet.
When we stop silencing them, we stop silencing us. Trust replaces fear; understanding replaces control.
So when you see a quiet, compliant horse, ask yourself: is this peace, or is this silence?
And when you feel uncomfortable or uncertain about what you are doing, remember: discomfort isn’t failure. It’s the doorway to growth.
We cannot rewrite the past, but we can choose differently now. Let’s be the ones who listen – for the horses who cannot speak, and for every living being who has ever suffered in silence.
How can you choose differently for your horse today?
