“It’s embarrassing. At my age, I should be jumping at least 3’.”

My daughter has said things like this repeatedly over the past few years, no matter how hard I pushed back. 

I’ve explained that the size of the fences does not equate to who she is as a rider. A bigger fence doesn’t reflect her horsemanship, work ethic or ability to ride a wide variety of horses. I’ve reminded her that financial limitations have influenced her horse journey. She hasn’t had a consistent horse or a robust show schedule. These realities are not “bad,” they just are. Though she has the ability and drive to be showing at 3’, it’s not what the cards have dealt for now.

I’ve also stressed that the skills she has acquired will help achieve her aspirations of landing a working student position and riding in college. How big she’s jumped isn’t relevant. 

I am teaching my kid to look at the bright side. I am showing up for her.

“You learn the same lessons regardless of the size of the course you jump,” I tell her repeatedly. “I am proud of you, no matter how high you jump,” 

While I say that over and over, it can be hard for her to absorb because of the reels she’s watching on social media. She sees friends doing the junior hunters and watches influencers her age competing in grand prix classes. She scrolls through so much “big jump” chatter and emphasis on vanity.

I try to counterbalance that by emphasizing horsemanship and learning. And, I think my words are finally resonating, despite the social media influence. 

The words of her trainer are sinking in as well. Unlike some other pros, her trainer does not measure her clients’ goals in feet or meters. Instead, her trainer focuses on good riding, solid fundamentals and understanding the horse. 

I have seen my daughter change. I’m noticing maturity in her thinking.

I’m hearing less of this talk about how “big she jumped” when she calls or texts me after her lessons. I use those conversations to continue to boost her up and direct her, and to remind her that she’s always learning and growing, even if it’s over poles on the ground or through flat work.

Lately, the after-lesson reports are mostly positive and indicative of her work ethic. But she’s still hard on herself, borderline derogatory at times. The thoughts of who she “should” be, come creeping back in: “I missed some distances, even though the jumps were tiny. I’m just not good at it.”

I do my best to reframe her self-talk: “It’s not that you aren’t good at it. Maybe it just doesn’t come easily all the time. The more you work at it, the better your eye will get.” 

Unlike our conversations over short shorts or staying up too late on a school night, my daughter listens when it comes to horses. She respects and values my take on her riding. 

I’m also noticing how our conversations about how she’s grown and continues to grow, whatever the jump height, impact her thinking. Currently, she has a short-term lease on a new horse. The pair are still forging their partnership. Her trainer entered her in the 2’3” division for their first show together and—proud mom alert—all our talks about height seemingly sank in. 

“She told me me this is my first show with him, and it was best to do the 2’3”. I think it’s a good plan,” she told me. My heart was full because, eureka, she understood: The height of the jump is inconsequential. She hadn’t shown in about six months, and a positive experience for both her and her horse trumped height.

But … her lesson prior to the show went a little differently than anticipated. She longed for a confidence boost the day before the show, but when she called after that lesson, her frazzled tone revealed something was off. “Mom, it didn’t go well. It wasn’t good. I’m really worried about tomorrow. What if it goes badly?” Hearing her so downtrodden was tough. But I reminded her that one difficult lesson isn’t the sinking Titanic. 

I also didn’t want to rush headfirst into fix-it mode, because how would she learn to tackle hard things if I didn’t let her do some of the figuring out? After she spilled her fears, I asked her: “Do you still want to show?”

“Yes. I do,” she replied.

“That’s my girl. You’ve got this.”

I knew she could handle the show, even if it wasn’t stellar. And the added benefit? She was jumping smaller jumps. It was all good.

The morning of the show, while I shuffled my younger girls around to swim lessons, I thought of my daughter in the ring, but I used my mom superpowers to refrain from bugging my husband with incessant texts asking how it was going. 

When my husband and I finally touched base with a garbled phone call I could hardly decipher amidst splashing children, he said, “She won the hack! She rode so well out there, so confidently.” He expressed the joy it brought him to watch her in the ring and see her maturity and poise. 

An hour later, my husband texted to say my daughter was champion. It wasn’t a huge division, it wasn’t huge jumps, but this was still huge. Huge for my daughter. She had overcome her trepidations from her tricky lesson, her fixation on height, her self-doubt, and had gone to the show to do her best. She had grown. 

When I called to congratulate her, she shared, “My first course was horrible. It was so bad. But then I got better.” She went on, “I won the next round and got a third, too. I just couldn’t believe I was champion.”

I explained to her this was impressive. Instead of dwelling on thoughts like, “It’s embarrassing to do 2’3”, ” or letting anger take over for the mistakes she made in her first round, she dug deep. She overcame. Her belief in herself blossoming.

“I don’t want to hear you say you rode horribly,” I said. “I want to hear you say, ‘I had things I needed to work on; areas for improvement.’ ” I added, “I am so very proud of you.”

She listened, hesitated, then said something that made my eyes well up: “I’m so proud of you too. You’re a great mom.” My heart doubled in size. 

Even if social media was filing her head with images of who she thought she should be, my parenting mattered. She then rushed me off the phone to spend the rest of the afternoon helping and supporting her friends. 

At the end of the day, for me as a mom, it’s not about a “good” lesson or show. It’s not about the stack of ribbons. It’s most certainly not about big jumps. It’s about the values that matter—about instilling perseverance, confidence, and encouraging growth. About raising not just a better rider, but a better person.

Trainers play a significant role in this messaging too, in what they choose to prioritize with their juniors. Imagine if the pressure to move up took a backseat to teaching solid fundamentals, true horsemanship, and, above all, shaping better people. That’s the kind of world I want my kid to ride in.

And in that kind of world, I see my daughter not just becoming a more skilled rider, but a stronger young woman—one who knows that success isn’t measured in inches, but in heart.

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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.