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03/09/2025
Warning – this post is on fffire! And long…
Release. That’s my word for 2025. Boy, have I already learned a lot. Everytime I come up from the barn, it feels like another life lesson has been woven into my being.
At first, I thought choosing this word meant letting go—of stress, fear, and control. But my horses are teaching me something deeper: release isn’t just about letting go. It’s about trusting what comes next.
When a horse spooks, they don’t stay stuck. They run, assess, and then release the fear. I used to write endless journal pages, then burn them—releasing my thoughts to the flames. Now, I’m releasing them to social media instead. It’s terrifying. But also, so much better. Because fear loses its power when we stop hiding it.
Horses left to their own devices, and without our intervention, don’t hold onto what doesn’t serve them. They shake off tension, move their feet, and return to grazing. No grudges. No overthinking. Just release.
Sugar, who arrived last September so tense that every movement seemed uncertain, has let go of so much. Instead of learned helplessness, she asks for what she needs. She trusts her instincts again, instead of fear.
Octavia has taught me about pressure, but not in the way I thought. I used to believe, "Too little, and they don’t move. Too much, and they push back." But she’s teaching me that the real shift happens inside first. She’s not responding to pressure—she’s responding to intention.
You can put all the physical and energetic pressure you want toward Octavia, and she will stand there, stoic, waiting for you to be a better human. She’s an energy conserver, never in a hurry to do more than walk. But the other day, I forgot this lesson. I was stressed, carrying too much, leading her up the driveway, and she bolted. She never bolts. But in that moment, she wasn’t responding to my external cues—she was feeling my internal pressure, and she moved. Hard.
It was a clear reminder of what happens when we focus on releasing external pressures but forget to check in with ourselves. The horses feel it. And they remind us.
Benny doesn’t resist the unknown—he meets it with curiosity and calm. If we could all move through life the way he does, we’d be better for it... He doesn’t just release fear—he meets the unknown with curiosity. He trusts, adapts, and moves forward with an open heart. He’s teaching me that the flames in our life aren't always something to fear and extinguish. Sometimes, they're worth exploring and adapting to.
And then there’s Tia. Tia came to me tightly wound and ready to explode. I used to feel like if you said "boop," she’d launch into the ether. She still has her moments, and I respect that she’s wired that way. But she’s learning that she doesn’t have to regulate alone. She used to need time and space to come back to earth, but now, she’s letting relationships ground her. She finds safety in her herd. She finds safety with me. She’s learning that release isn’t just about letting go—it’s also about reaching out.
Horses respond to pressure, but not in the way I thought. And not in the same way. It’s all about which fires we’ve been burned by and which ones nurture us, feed us, and warm us. Some pressure creates resistance. Some creates growth. And some, when we learn how to balance it, builds the kind of trust that allows us to stand in the fire without fear.
Sugar is learning she has a choice and a voice. Octavia is reminding me that my internal pressure matters more than my external cues. Benny is showing me that curiosity is stronger than fear. And Tia—Tia is proving that we don’t have to regulate alone.
We all have something to release.
This year isn’t just about rising from the ashes. It’s about getting smarter about the fire. Learning what to let burn, what to build, and when to simply stand still and breathe.
What are you releasing this year?
