09/01/2026
Yesterday I had a beautifully profound experience that touched my soul.
It reminded me, in the clearest possible way, why we must never underestimate a horse.
Until a horse is given true safety, space, and choice, we may never know who they are, or what they carry, or what they are capable of offering. So much of a horse’s brilliance remains hidden simply because they have never been allowed to be more than managed, trained, or tolerated.
Nicola’s horse Stormy is a deeply sensitive mare. I have spoken about her here before. She has pronounced sensory sensitivities, delicate skin, a low threshold for pain, and a very small window of tolerance. Connection is not easy for her. Touch is something she chooses carefully, and only on her terms. Even with Nicola, she has only recently begun initiating contact, and always briefly.
Stormy is not a horse who seeks interaction. She is a horse who protects herself.
Which is why what happened yesterday mattered so much.
A client came to spend time with the herd for a soul coaching session, one of the services I personally offer. She said she felt this calling to come and heal with the horses. We were not asking anything of the horses. We were simply sitting among them, talking quietly. At one point, Stormy walked over, paused, and offered a very clear suggestion for a treatment my client needed. Then she turned and walked away again. (a treatment very much aligned with an illness she has.)
I laughed and said, “Well… that’s unusual.”
But in truth, it was entirely Stormy. She came in, communicated what needed to be said, and left.
For context, I work as an animal communicator, and the horses are always invited, never expected, to participate in sessions. If they choose to step in with guidance or support, we listen. They are free to walk away at any time. Their choice is always honoured.
We continued our conversation while the horses grazed. After a while, we stood up and moved closer to the herd. Stormy left the spot where she had been grazing and came to stand beside us. She settled, resting with one hind leg cocked, eyes soft and closing.
And very clearly, I heard from her, “I want to help with healing.”
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