The equestrian world is full of people who love what they do—and who are quietly drowning in it.

Trainers. Grooms. Farriers. Veterinarians. Riders. Writers. Barn managers. Therapists. Many of us live in the space where passion meets pressure, and the result is often burnout that looks like devotion from the outside. The very people who are keeping this industry going are often barely surviving it.

I don’t think it’s because we’re doing something wrong. I think it’s because we’ve been taught to survive by doing more—more lessons, more shows, more hustle, more hours, more content. We wear exhaustion like a badge of honor. And we fear that if we slow down, we’ll fall behind.

But what if the problem isn’t that we’re not doing enough?

What if the problem is that we’re doing too much?

The Productivity Paradox

There’s a concept in psychology known as the productivity paradox. It describes the phenomenon where the more we try to do, the less effective we become. Working more hours doesn’t always mean getting more done—and in fact, it often leads to doing less of what really matters and doing it less well.

Sound familiar?

In the horse world, it’s common to work six or seven days a week, for 10 or 12 hours a day. We say yes to every opportunity because we’re afraid there won’t be another one. We squeeze in one more ride, one more clinic, one more show, one more client. We push ourselves and our teams to the edge, and then over it, because the work never ends.

But constant over-extension doesn’t make us better. It makes us brittle. And it makes the entire foundation of our industry unstable.

A System On The Brink

Talk to anyone who works in horses long enough, and the stories start to overlap:

• The vet who hasn’t had a day off in months and whose mental health is slipping.
• The farrier whose body is breaking down, with no health insurance and no plan for retirement.
• The trainer with a full barn and a wait list, who is nonetheless living paycheck to paycheck.
• The young professional with no time to rest, no margin for error, and no idea how to make it all sustainable.

And it’s not just “out there”—it’s us. My wife Cecily and I run East West Training Stables, and we’ve tried everything we can think of to make this business work.

We’ve taken on more horses, even when our schedules were already maxed out. We’ve said yes to the horses and clients that we knew would be emotionally and logistically draining, because we needed the income. We’ve gone into massive debt just trying to keep the business afloat—not to grow, not to thrive, but just to survive.

There are months where we look at our books and think: If that horse leaves, we can’t pay the mortgage. If this client doesn’t pay on time, we can’t make payroll. And the next horse in training? Sometimes we have no idea where it’s coming from.

We constantly undercharge because we want to be accessible. We try to treat every horse like it’s the only one that matters, even when we’re too tired to eat dinner. We’ve struggled to find good workers, and when we do, we can’t afford to pay them what they truly deserve. The margins are razor-thin. The pressure is chronic. And the love that got us into this business in the first place sometimes feels buried under all the weight we’re carrying.

Subtraction Thinking

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about a different approach—one that doesn’t come naturally in this industry.

Subtraction thinking is the idea that instead of asking what more we can do, we ask what we can remove. Instead of doubling down on effort, we pause and consider what needs to be let go.

What if the answer isn’t to do more—but to do less, better?

Fewer horses, trained with more time, attention and patience. Fewer shows, chosen intentionally for the horse’s benefit instead of the people’s egos. Fewer clients, but deeper, healthier relationships. Fewer hours worked, but with clearer boundaries and better rest.

This isn’t laziness. This is trust. Trust in our program. Trust in our process. Trust in the idea that sustainability is success.

One of the biggest shifts Cecily and I have made is to take on fewer horses and riders at a time. Saying no to volume meant saying yes to quality—of life, of energy, of the focus we bring to each horse. Turning down work can be hard when you know how tight margins can be. But the result has been transformative. We’re clearer, calmer and more effective. The barn feels better. And we end more days feeling like we’ve done right by the horses—and ourselves.

Sticking to this kind of change means letting go of the fear that rest equals failure. It means trusting that the horses will tell their own stories if we’re patient enough to listen. It means believing that if we take care of our mental health and our relationships, we’ll have more to give—more wisdom, more empathy, more longevity.

Redefining Success

The traditional markers of success in our sport—blue ribbons, five-star finishes, full barns, name recognition—don’t tell the whole story. What’s the point of “making it” if it costs you your mental health, your marriage, your love of the horse?

What if we defined success differently?

What if we saw a professional who takes a rest day as someone who’s responsible, not lazy? What if we admired a trainer who works fewer horses but develops them slowly, thoughtfully, and with joy? What if we celebrated business models that prioritize sustainability over volume?

We talk a lot about improving welfare for horses. Maybe it’s time we started talking about welfare for horse people, too.

A Quiet Revolution

I don’t have all the answers. Some days I still wonder if we can keep going. But I do know this: More effort isn’t always the answer. Sometimes it’s less.

Less pressure. Less perfectionism. Less comparison.

And more: More clarity. More care. More courage to make a change.

We all got into this world because we love horses. That love deserves to be protected—not driven into the ground. If we want this industry to survive, we must stop trying to outrun collapse and start building a version of success that we can live inside of.

The equestrian industry needs a quiet revolution—not of speed or strength, but of subtraction. A movement toward doing less, more intentionally. Toward building lives and businesses that we can actually live inside of. Toward redefining what it means to be a professional horseperson.

Because the truth is, if we keep working ourselves into the ground, we won’t be here to build anything lasting. The horses need us well. And we need each other.

Let’s subtract the lie that burnout is the price of excellence—and start building something better.

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Matt Brown is a five-star event rider, coach and lifelong student of the horse. A former Nations Cup team member and U.S. Olympic alternate, he runs East West Training Stables with his wife Cecily. Together, they strive to create a training environment that’s as kind as it is effective—and that leaves room for both humans and horses to grow.