Saturday, Feb. 15, 2025

The Horse-Girl Transformation: How Horses Empowered My Daughter 

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I often blog about my oldest daughter, but I also have an 8-year-old who’s smack in the “middle-child” zone in our circus of five. From a young age, she was absolutely terrified of anything unfamiliar and, full disclosure, her anxiety made her extremely challenging to parent. I didn’t know it at the time, but all it took was stepping out of her way and letting the horses work their magic. She has transformed into a whole different kid.

It was far from love at first sight, though. For a long time, I tried my darndest to get her hooked. I paid for lessons, carting her back and forth to train with patient instructors. I pushed. I bribed with brownies and sundaes. But no matter how well her lessons went, her brain erased the positivity, replacing it thoughts of hard falls and swift runaways. If the schoolie she was riding tripped or stopped to itch, panic ensued. Eventually, I gave up. Forcing her to embrace my passion wasn’t working; her fears wouldn’t wane if I continued to push. 

When we purchased our dream farm two years ago, I didn’t have visions of this daughter becoming horse-obsessed. My teen was already horse-crazy, and one of my littles was mesmerized by the Devon Horse Show, but this kid, she wasn’t going to be my horse girl. She did a mean cartwheel, so maybe she was my gymnastics, flippy girl instead.

It took blogger Jamie Sindell’s middle daughter so long to get comfortable enough to pet the family pony that Sindell gave up on her becoming a horse girl. But then the magic happened. Photos Courtesy Of Jamie Sindell

In hindsight, giving up on her being horsey freed me from being “that” mom, the pushy mom. The mom who lives vicariously through her kid, pinning her tricolors-at-Pony-Finals dreams on her offspring. But even without my intervention, it was impossible for her to ignore the pull of the horses munching grass beside our backyard barn. 

Occasionally, we would trek down to the barn to do chores together, hand in hand.

“Do you want to pet the pony?” I would ask, just in case. 

In response, I’d get a vigorous, head-shaking, frowny, “NO.”

My child’s feelings about school were like her negative feelings about horses. “How was school?” I would query, shoving a snack into her hands. 

“Horrible. I had an awful day,” she’d respond, tears leaking down her cheeks. All those hours of holding it together at her desk left her broken by the end of the day. Just like it was with the horses, all the good was swallowed whole by the bad energy. 

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As months passed on our farm, my kid grew more interested in our aged pony. I tried to stay true to the shift in my parenting. I knew horses had worked magic in my life during the darkest of times. I wanted this for her so badly too. But I needed to let my daughter choose. 

I continued to facilitate, spending time down at the barn when she was so inclined, even if it was just to tidy the hay loft. And one day, after sweeping the feed room, my kiddo mustered up her inner strength to place her hand on our sweet pony’s face. Eventually, she came to stroke her muzzle without getting the shakes. It was as if a locked door had finally swung open; she’d made it to the other side. She was on her way being a horse girl.

Over the course of many months, she learned to brush, feed peppermints and lead. When her nerves crept in, I repeated, “Horse girls don’t give up. You’re a horse girl. You got this!” And she would step through the next locked door, victorious. When her body still froze with fear, she parroted me, “Horse girls don’t give up, right mom?” Our mantra. 

Within that first year living on the farm, I witnessed her timidity shrinking and her happinesses growing. And as time passed, the stars aligned in her brain. She learned to push through her anxious thoughts because she wanted to spend more time with the horses. She wanted to ride!

Sindell’s daughter learned to push through her anxious thoughts because she wanted to spend more time with the horses, and that newfound confidence transferred to her life outside of horses as well.

Eventually, walking turned to ground poles and to jumping position and to trotting. 

“I don’t like trotting, it’s too bouncy. It hurts my tummy,” she complained at first. 

“You’re a horse girl now! You can do anything.” I’d shout from the sidelines, a middle-aged cheerleader, and she’d resume her erratic posting.

We continued to do the horses her way, and slowly but surely, she turned another corner. She had fallen for the exhilaration she felt in the saddle and for these magical creatures. Her newfound ability to face what she once thought she could never overcome changed her makeup. She went from an “I can’t handle this” girl to an “I got this” girl. I witnessed a miracle.

Now, she was the one nagging me to teach her the correct diagonals and let her tack up all by herself. Daily, she leapt off the bus, rushed inside to plea, “Mom, can I ride today? Pleasssse.”  Full-on horse kid mode. When I didn’t have time, I got the stink eye. Careful what you wish for, horse mom.

I knew she was ready to handle lessons with another trainer. She took the trainer’s criticism instead of crumpling into herself. She listened intently. Pressing her heels down hard, ramrod-straightening her back. She wanted to ride well, whatever it took. Over school breaks she begged to attend horse camps and returned bursting with excitement at all the horses and horse girls she met. She relished this new sense of community. Horse showing was next on her list of the challenges she wanted to tackle. 

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At her first show, I was a wreck. I didn’t know the true extent of her ferocity. I still remembered her as the old girl, the pre-horse girl. Would she crash and burn and toss the horses aside forever? But the kid was a pro. She remained composed, navigating a ring stuffed full of 20-plus ambitious walk-trotters. And though the announcer never called her for a ribbon, she didn’t crumble. 

Sindell’s daughter was all grit as she tackled her first horse show at Wyndsor Farm (Pa.) aboard borrowed pony Mickey.

Standing by that ring, it dawned on me: The uncertain daughter I once knew had vanished. In her place was a kid with grit and confidence. It was everything I had dreamed for her and then some.

Recently, my kid had her first fall, which in the past would have been a deal-breaker. Instead, when the lesson pony left a tad bit long, she slithered off his neck, slapped her palm to her head, and giggled, “Eek, that was embarrassing. I better try that again.” Just wow. 

This horse-borne confidence has seeped into all aspects of her life. The horses have flung the door wide open, offering her access to all the beautiful moments she was missing out on due to fear. Roller coasters? Check. Making new friends? Check. Stink bugs? Not so much, but she will get there. 

Amazingly, as her confidence in the saddle flourished, her bad days at school dwindled. Instead of coming home, slamming her backpack down and collapsing in tears, she started reporting she had a good day. If a friend is catty, it is no longer doomsday. Horse-girl mentality. 

The other day my daughter turned to me with a serious face, “Mom, I did one walk-trot show. I think I should canter and jump at my next one. I also want to gallop.” 

“Slow your roll, girl,” I chuckled. But I was thrilled by her tenacity. Thrilled that she’s glowing from within, charged with horse magic. And truly, I can’t wait to see her at full gallop for the first time, because I know that feeling and want it for her too. It’s as close as anyone can get to feeling invincible. She will get there.

Because she’s now part of this extraordinary group. A horse girl. A girl ready to take on the world and accomplish amazing things. She can handle anything, anywhere. 


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 3 to 14. She and her family reside at Wish List Farm, where her horse-crazy girls play with their small pony, Cupcake, and her son and husband play with the tractor.

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