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Four years ago, I took a fall off Dolly that changed far more than my riding plans. I broke my tibia plateau and tore my meniscus. If you're wondering what that means, imagine breaking the top of your shin bone and shoving it into your knee. It's a bit like breaking your leg and your knee at the same time. Apparently, if you're going to get injured, my inner overachiever believes in doing it thoroughly. (For anyone wondering, yes, it's cool to land on your feet when you fall.

Horses know the difference between control and trust immediately. Humans often don’t. Especially those of us who learned early that safety depended on being hyperaware, overprepared, agreeable, or endlessly accommodating. When you grow up in chaos, you become very good at managing environments. Reading people. Anticipating reactions. Staying one step ahead of discomfort. That kind of awareness can look like strength from the outside. But internally, it’s exhausting. And event

There was a version of my life that looked very successful on paper. Degrees. A long corporate career. Work with companies people recognize. A life that made sense from the outside. And yet, somewhere along the way, I realized something I couldn’t unsee: I was living a life that looked right… but didn’t feel like mine. Long before that realization, I had already learned how to survive. I grew up in an environment where safety wasn’t a given. Where love and unpredictability li