"Let your faith be bigger than your fear"

I spent the day before the show prepping Dakota- her mane, her tack, everything. Everything except our relationship. We were taking steps backwards in our rides together. Every practice session became filled with frustration on both ends. The day of the show, there is always a "schooling" before the show actually begins. This is really a practice time in the ring with your trainer and any other horses that are planning to show with their riders. At the time, I had a little girl leasing from me who was also going to be showing Dakota. During my schooling, I couldn't seem to get Dakota's trot under control. Not the sitting trot, not the extended trot, just the regular ole trot. Even with voice commands like "trot" and "walk" instead of clicking noises, she was clearly agitated and anxious and so was I. The more frustrated and anxious I would get, she would take it all in and give it right back to me. She was being a true mare. Once the show began, my trainer pulled me right before my first class from the show because Dakota didn't seem like her mind was in the right place. Neither was mine. I was so focused on just participating- I wasn't even thinking about my safety, let alone hers. I was devastated. I didn't care if I got a ribbon for last place with zebra print that said "World's worst rider". I just wanted to participate. As the judge started giving commands like, "All riders please trot", she started asking the riders in my age appropriate class to perform commands that Dakota and I hadn't even had time to practice or learn. At that moment, I was extremely grateful my trainer had made that decision, regardless of my disappointment.

The day after the show, I took the first step to move beyond my disappointment. I set a new goal- I would compete in a show in February or March, not two weeks away. Not even a month away. I needed to overcome my fear, and part of doing so was having faith in Dakota's natural instincts. My next lesson, I worked on just being comfortable in other rings, walking her around the grounds, letting her graze. In fact, I began talking and singing to her everywhere we went. It was like a scene out of Seabiscuit. I set dates with other riders at the barn so I could get saddle time on days that family members or my wonderful man couldn't make it out to the barn. I began putting in the time with her, getting comfortable with her. And everything began to change. It didn't involve shredded wheat (okay, maybe a little) and it didn't involve letting her do whatever she wanted. It involved me learning that I can be firm and loving at the same time. It involved me taking risks that I never imagined- having faith and allowing it to be bigger than my fear.