Should my daughters horse show?  

I’ve contemplated this a lot. Especially when prices are skyrocketing, and even local showing is unattainable for many. But it’s not just the expense that concerns me, it’s the emotional toll. I’ve already ridden the highs and lows of show life with my 15-year-old. The self-imposed pressure, the comparison to others. And though my eldest is hooked, did I really want to sign up for that again with my younger daughters? Is it good for their self-esteem or detrimental?

When my 8-year-old begged to show like her big sister, I put her off as long as I could. This fall, I gave in, suiting her up in garters and bright bows. And though she enjoyed it, after paying the bills and coping with the mental fatigue, I was on the fence. Passion for horse life doesn’t have to include passion for horse shows, right?

She kept pleading though, “Can I show again, Mom? Please!” Until I couldn’t ignore it. So, this past weekend, I relented and took her to her third show to ride in the adorably named “shortest stirrup” division. And I’m so thankful I stood ringside, because that’s where it hit me: There’s real value in that ring.

Showing isn’t about teaching kids to win. It’s not about perfect photos or social media bragging rights. It’s about the wisdom my second-grader soaked up in a single morning.

I watched my daughter live out the proudest moment of her 8-year-old life. And somewhere between her happiness and my goosebumps, I knew: If she wants this (and we can make it work), I want her to show.

From our first bleary eyed moments at the show, my kiddo learned composure. The schooling ring was a tangle of ponies zigzagging everywhere—a mom’s worst nightmare. Wind whipping. Ponies fresh. Crowd chaotic. My daughter looked up at me, voice trembling, eyes teary, “There are so many people in there.” Her trainer and I reassured her and then ushered her saintly pony off into the commotion.  

I held my breath, bracing for disaster, but instead of having a head-on collision, she adapted. She assessed the ring, trotted thoughtfully through the crowd, and stayed calm. After cantering the crossrails, she came out confident and prepared, rather than overwhelmed by the whirlwind of ponies. This life skill goes far beyond the show ring. 

As the morning progressed, I watched her tune out the chaos of the show grounds: loose horses, blaring speakers, shouting trainers. She zeroed in on what mattered. She listened intently to her trainer’s guidance. She heard the announcer say, “Trot, please,” in her flat class. She stayed focused on her pony and her job. Thumbs up, heels down, back flat. In the noisy, chaotic world beyond the show grounds, learning to filter out distractions and remain focused is a skill I want for her.

Horse showing also demands a vulnerability most people avoid. I want my child to learn that taking risks pays off, even at the risk of failure. To understand that putting ourselves out there is how we grow. As I watched from the rail, I realized my daughter hardly noticed the crowd. She wasn’t there for them or their judgement. She had one person to prove something to: herself. And that day, she did it. She was buzzing with pride from cantering two lines in a row. Vulnerability paid off. What an awesome takeaway for adulthood. 

And learning to face her fears in the ring? My kid did that too. In her over fences class, the first pony to go took off at a full gallop, dumping his little rider. My daughter said exactly what I expected: “I can’t do this today. I’m too scared,” lip quivering. But after some reassuring words and encouragement, she completed her course, cantering and all. And she exited the ring grinning. It was spectacular to witness. She DID IT! Her self-worth swelled. My heart swelled. The ribbons? Irrelevant. It was all about her pride.

And as powerful as it was to watch her ride, it was just as meaningful to watch her watch. Seeing other kids show—their nerves, bobbles and comebacks—taught her just as much as riding herself. She asked a lot of questions: Why did one rider skip her circle? Why did another trot instead of canter? We talked through nerves, mistakes and learning. All good stuff! She gasped when a pony refused and the rider tumbled off, then watched in awe as the girl got back on for her next class. Horse shows feed the fire of resilience. And resilience is contagious. I want my girl to catch that bug.

And without a doubt, she caught the bug, because she pointed excitedly at the kids in the next division up, short stirrup: “I want to do that next. I think I can canter around twice.” 

She set a goal. She’s learning how to dream and how to build the confidence to chase her dreams, at only 8 years old. That self-esteem boost is worth the check I gave the trainer and the show office right there.

Because for hours, waiting for her bigger sister to show, my kid ran up to our friends, cheeks flushed with excitement and wind burn, shouting: “I was champion!” And I kept repeating, “There’s so much more to be proud of.” But still, I let her celebrate, my heart incredibly full. It wasn’t gloating. It was pure, unadulterated pride and confidence. How precious and rare. And though I encouraged her to take out her braids and change out of her show clothes, she replied with a hard NO. That was her suit of victory until she traded it for pajamas and a bedtime story.

There’s also the bigger stuff I want my kid to learn that horse showing will teach her down the road. Life’s not always fair. Sometimes you do your best and still don’t win a ribbon the way you hoped. But you don’t tie your worth to a judge’s card. You ride because you love it. That’s a lesson I’m desperate for her to learn growing up in a world of superficial likes, followers and desperation for approval. It’s about how she feels on the inside, and no one can rip that away from her. 

Absolutely, horse life is invaluable with or without showing. But this weekend reminded me that horse shows aren’t wasted money on braiding and shipping. They’re an investment in raising brave, capable kids. Kids who know how to handle pressure, how to set goals, how to tune out the noise. Who aren’t afraid to try, even when they’re scared. Kids who are proud. That’s what I saw ringside. And it’s why I’ll keep showing up, extra-large coffee in hand, cheering for my girls.

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.