My daughter doesn’t come from generational wealth.

She comes from a big, chaotic, love-filled family with five kids, a small farm, and a passion for horses that runs deeper than our pockets.

She doesn’t have a six-figure horse or show in the top circuits. But she’ll muck stalls until her arms throb. Cobweb for hours. Scrub tack until her hands are bright red. She’ll ride anything with a heartbeat and say thank you for every opportunity. 

She works two jobs on top of helping at our own farm. Doing barn chores and working retail at a tack shop.

Kids like her are ones I hope this industry keeps making space for. Because it’s not always easy to be that kind of kid in the horse world.

Not long ago, she left a barn that was like home. The place where she found not just friends and family, but her courage and her confidence with a trainer who loved her and believed in her for three years.

We left not because we wanted to. We left because staying wasn’t financially feasible. Continuing to lease long term on top of boarding wasn’t sustainable. 

When we talked with her trainer about our situation, we were honest. We explained that we needed to begin looking for a more economical path, most likely moving her home to ride, and perhaps finding a working student-ish position. Something that would let her keep chasing her dreams of showing without the nail-biting financial pressure.

It broke our hearts. But her trainer was incredibly understanding. She gave us time and support. “There is no rush. She can ride here while you explore options.” She let my daughter leave her trunk. She helped us try horses we could bring home. But for months, nothing quite fit. Our budget made horse shopping stressful rather than exciting and full of promise. 

Then, her trainer presented an affordable short-term lease that could hold us over for the winter while we continued to get our ducks in a row. A kind, steady 2’6” horse who turned out to be exactly what she needed.

She was thrilled when we told her, after months of horselessness. 

“Thank you!!! I’m so excited to bond with a horse again,” my kid texted me with celebratory emojis.

She understood this was her last opportunity to board at her current barn. She relished every minute of that lease. She built confidence in herself and her riding, showing three times and winning tricolors at every show with her trainer’s support. But the ribbons weren’t the point. The point was that she giggled again. Made silly jokes. Came back to life. 

And when the lease ended, something shifted. Instead of being consumed by sadness, she was thankful. Thankful for the foundation her trainer had laid for her riding future, for her caring. And thankful for all the memories: Halloweens bobbing for apples, jump-painting parties, heart-to-heart chats in the tack room.

She was finally as ready as she would ever be to say one of the hardest goodbyes of her 15 years. 

So, we moved her tack and her trunk home, and I found her a project pony. She rode in our backyard field while the weather was nice. But even as I helped her ride and rebuild, I knew it wasn’t enough for her. Though she was grateful to ride, her light dimmed again.

Because this girl wants her riding and horsemanship to improve. She wants to learn all the things. This girl doesn’t just love horses. She loves the barn. The teamwork. The sense of purpose.

And kids like her, especially teenage girls fighting the loneliness of school hallways, the pressure of social media—they need a second home. A community.

So, I reached out to a few local trainers, including a young trainer who was always kind and friendly to us. Someone I thought might give a kid who is all heart a shot. And when she said, “Have her come for a lesson. We can talk,” I felt like a giddy child.

Still, we were nervous. My daughter wasn’t done grieving the loss of her last barn, still missing her trainer and her barnmates. On our way to that first lesson, she was quiet in the car. “What if she doesn’t think I’m good enough?” she muttered, barely able to say it aloud.

“She’ll see you,” I told her. “She’ll see you’re a hard worker. She’ll see who you are.”

And she did.

After the lesson, the trainer turned to me and said, “So what are you thinking?”

I was honest. “We have five kids. We’re not a big-budget family. We’re hoping she can work off as much as possible. She wants it so badly. She will work hard.”

She nodded, understanding rather than judging: “I like helping. We’ll figure it out.”

And just like that, someone flung a door wide open when it felt so many doors were locked shut.

Now, my daughter rides with joy again. She tacks up countless horses. Hacks whatever she’s asked with a grin. Stacks saddle pads, still warm from the dryer. Constantly asks, “What else can I help with?” Because she wants to be useful. She’s proud to belong.

Though the expectation set was to work at least four hours over three days per week, spoiler alert, my kid chooses to help nearly every day. Not because the trainer expects it, but because it fills my daughter’s soul. 

“It’s making me better, Mom,” she tells me when she returns home grimy, tired, and fulfilled.

She is also proud and grateful that she travelled with her trainer to HITS-on-the-Hudson (New York) for three weeks to groom. She showed twice as well—truly a dream-come-true for a kid who rarely had the opportunity to show rated, let alone at a big venue.

And I can’t overstate what these kinds of opportunities mean to her. To a kid who sometimes feels invisible. To a kid who’s not sure where she fits or if she’s good enough. Who’s been told by the world that she needs trendy clothes, clearer skin, more followers, more money. 

Being useful at the barn makes her feel beautiful. Complete just as she is. 

There are thousands of kids just like mine all over this country. Kids who are addicted to horse life. Kids with tenacity and grit. Maybe they don’t own horses. Don’t have connections. Aren’t the slickest riders. 

But they’re kids who deserve to be seen.

I get that not everyone can offer a free ride. Not every trainer can take on working students. I truly understand the reality of trainer-life, how hard it can be to pay the bills. How difficult it can be to find the time. But if you can offer opportunities, even just a few, you will change lives. 

Because when you believe in a kid like mine, you’re not just giving her a horse to ride. You’re giving her a reason to believe in herself. You are giving her a future. 

And you may just be changing the future of the sport.

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Jamie Sindell has an MFA in creative writing from the University of Arizona and has ridden and owned hunters on and off throughout her life. She is a mom of five kids, ages 4 to 15. She and her family reside at Wish List Farm, where her horse-crazy girls play with their pony and her son and husband play with the tractor.