In this powerful opinion piece, Lauren Abbott challenges the Hunter/Jumper industry’s obsession with USEF controversy, fame, and ribbons. Through raw honesty and personal loss, she reminds equestrians that true horsemanship isn’t about politics or sanctioned events—it’s about healing, resilience, and the sacred bond between horse and human.
I don’t need scientific evidence to tell me that horses heal. I’ve lived it. I’ve walked it. I’ve stood in the mud, face down, spirit broken, and a horse was the one who helped me find my way back to the light.
I’m not an equestrian for sport, glory, or fame. Somewhere along the line, some riders get lost chasing that—chasing ribbons, chasing likes, chasing the validation of being known by people who don’t actually know them. That’s not me. I am an equestrian because horses have poured into my soul. They have given me something real, something that no amount of social influence or spotlight could ever replicate.
Over the last eight years, I’ve probably spent the equivalent of three years, 1,095 days, inside hospital rooms, ERs, and waiting areas. My mother fought for her life for nine months after a brainstem stroke. She didn't see sunshine for nine months. I fought right alongside her. When she asked me to let her go, I told her no, and when she couldn’t fight, I fought for her. I still fight for her.
When my brother told me he had brain cancer and wouldn’t treat it, I told him I would drive him, help him, and make sure he wasn’t in pain. When my father got lost on the way to my house, a drive he had made countless times, I waited eight months for a neuropsychiatrist to confirm what I already knew: dementia, soon to be Alzheimer’s.
I planned my brother’s funeral eleven days after my first and only child was born. He chose to leave this world on his own terms, not wanting to spend his final days, months, or years trapped in the pain of brain cancer. I planned my father’s funeral, just weeks after laying my heart horse of twenty years to rest. Four days before that, a career opportunity that could have changed everything for my family was suddenly withdrawn because “the timing was wrong.” Yes, caring for and losing sick parents is unimaginably hard but that’s part of life’s fragile design. Having that door close so abruptly was a painful reminder that I have no control over the weight God places on my shoulders. Yet it was also a moment of clarity. The path I thought I wanted wasn’t meant for me, and in hindsight, losing it was not punishment, it was protection.
I am no stranger to illness or death or disappointments. When I receive bad news, I don’t crumble; I put on armor and move forward. When the darkness looms, I strike a match. Because somewhere along my 42 years, horses taught me this simple truth: when you fall, get back on.
So no, I don’t spend my nights worrying about what USEF is doing, or whether the rated show world is fed up. Do I love this sport? Absolutely. But I think we’re missing what really matters. It isn’t about what happens inside the show ring; it’s about what happens behind it. It’s about the quiet, unseen moments between horse and human that no judge, no ribbon, and no social post could ever capture.
Horses have lifted me from the mud, steadied me, and looked me in the eyes as if to say, You are stronger than you think. They leveled my emotions, taught me resilience, and showed me how to walk with confidence among lions.
I pass by my horse’s grave every day. And I’ve realized he wasn’t significant because he was flashy, strong, or powerful. He was significant because he kept me alive. He carried my heartbreak when I couldn’t. He absorbed my grief, my loss, my anger, and my despair. He carried it so I didn’t have to.
So when I hear people arguing about sanctioned events or the politics of our sport, I can’t help but shake my head. Don’t like it? Don’t go. There are a hundred other ways to connect with your horse that don’t involve a ribbon or a scorecard. If that's not ideal for you then here is some news: you are not a horse person!
Maybe that sounds harsh. But if that feels foreign to you, maybe it’s because you haven’t yet seen what horses can truly do. Because when you’ve walked through life’s darkest storms with a horse at your side, you stop caring about the noise.
Horses are not props for our ambitions. They are not stepping stones to fame or followers. They are sacred teachers, healers, and partners. Having one in your life is not a status symbol; it’s a privilege.
And if you’re lucky, you’ll learn that the truest success doesn’t come from being known. It comes from being whole, and for me, that wholeness has always come on the back of a horse.
