During the summer of 2023, I started every day in a pair of breeches. 

It didn’t matter if it was 90 degrees outside with 100% humidity. It didn’t matter what other tasks had to be completed or what errands had to be run. It didn’t matter if three dozen kids were en route to the barn for summer camp, or if it was a Sunday and the farm would be quiet. The deal I made with myself—after more than two years of very limited saddle time—was that once those breeches were on, I couldn’t take them off until my backside spent some time in the saddle.

Occasionally my ride would happen early in the day. Other times I’d ride after summer camp ended and my toddler went down for a nap, with the baby monitor at full volume and tucked into the thigh pocket of my breeches. Often I rode well after dark, when the temperature was cooler, after my son was tucked in for the night and the barn was quiet. But no matter when I rode, or whether that ride was schooling a lesson horse, working my OTTB, or puttering bareback on the trail that loops our property, the effect was the same: I left the barn feeling a little lighter, a little calmer, a little more peaceful, a little more patient. Every ride brought me back to myself. 

Perhaps some context here would be helpful. I’m 41 years old. I live with my husband and 2-year-old son on a 10-acre property in southwestern Pennsylvania that we’ve been fixing up since we bought it six years ago. We have eight horses and—with incredible colleagues who feel like family—operate an equestrian program geared toward beginning riders: year-round riding lessons, horsemanship clinics, camps and other educational programs. I’m also a high school teacher, so summers off from my “real job,” when I can spend all day at the farm, are precious. 

During the school year, and especially since pregnancy and having my son, there just aren’t enough hours in the day. And no matter where I choose to devote those precious hours, there’s always guilt. If I come home from school and spend the evening digging in the sandbox with my son, I feel guilty when I catch a glimpse of my mare in the field who needs saddle time: Why do you even have a green horse if you’re not going to make the time for her? 

If I leave my son with my husband to sneak in a ride, I rush to get back to my house and my family, feeling guilty for even more time away: You were already away from him nine hours today. He’ll only be this little for so long! 

If I tuck my son in and ride before bed, there’s guilt for missing out on the only child-free time my husband and I could have that day: It’s hard to reconnect if you’re at the barn, Sarah…

And as a barn owner, there’s added guilt there, too, because there’s always something eyeballing from the shadows. You’re riding when there’s tack that needs cleaned? An aisle that needs swept? E-mails that need answered or receipts that need filed? You think you have the time for something as unnecessary, as frivolous, as fun, as riding? 

It feels, sometimes, like there’s no just no way to win. Balance, for us equestrians, seems so out of reach. 

I don’t write this for sympathy. I know my situation is not out of the ordinary. 

Most of us horse owners are alike—though our individual situations may differ greatly—in the fact that it is not easy to own a horse. With increasing costs of everything, whether you board your horse or keep them at home, having horses is a more of a luxury than ever. 

You’re shoveling poop and flinging feed at your boarding stable to reduce your monthly board? I see you. You’re side-hustling to pay vet bills? I see you. You’re a mama of little ones wondering whether you should take a break from horses because you just can’t seem to do it all? I see you.

I see us.

When school started up again in the fall of 2023 and I had to trade my breeches for work clothes, my daily rides disappeared. 

Back to work, autumn found me more irritated with my husband, less patient with my son. My barn time, again, became rushed. I taught lessons after school, threw feed at the horses, then rushed to the house to spend time with my son before bed. Or on nights where I wasn’t instructing, I’d play with my son but spend no time at the barn. Even on weekends, obligations and to-do lists regularly trumped riding time. 

I’ve been burning the candle at both ends and making no time for myself, and I’m just about burnt out.

But last week, during our holiday break from lessons, our barn’s head instructor, barn manager, and I made plans to ride. For fun. One rode one of our best lesson horses for a training ride, the other rode our young Fjord she’s been working with, and I hopped on a horse we’re fostering for a local rescue for his first time under saddle with us. We chatted, we laughed, we rode and watched each other, and it was the nicest two hours I’ve had at the barn since the summertime. 

So my new year’s resolution for me—and for any of you who need to hear this, too—is to put on the breeches. I often regret time not spent in the saddle, but I’ve never regret the rides I did take. 

So here’s to more rides in 2024. Happy New Year!

Sarah K. Susa is the owner of Black Dog Stables just north of Pittsburgh, where she resides with her husband and young son. She has a B.A. in English and Creative Writing from Allegheny College and an M.Ed. from The University of Pennsylvania. She teaches high school English full-time, teaches riding lessons and facilitates educational programs at Black Dog Stables, and has no idea what you mean by the concept of free time.