Finding Joy Again — Even If It Looks Different Now

For a long time, I thought I’d never feel joy in the saddle again.

Not real joy — not the kind that bubbles up and takes your breath away. The kind I used to feel when I was out on the trail in open field or laughing with friends while working cattle, Cole beneath me like a heartbeat I could trust.

After everything — the heartbreak, the surgery, the self-doubt, the guilt —

riding started to feel more like work. A place where I constantly measured how far I had fallen from the rider I used to be. A place where joy was replaced with pressure, expectation, and silent comparisons.

But healing has a funny way of sneaking in, quietly, without asking for permission.

It began in small moments.

A deep breath in the saddle that didn’t come with self-judgment.

A ride where my body and horse moved in rhythm — even for just a few strides.

A laugh shared with a student during a lesson.

A quiet moment brushing a horse, with no rush, no timeline, no agenda.

At first, I didn't recognize it.

It didn’t look like the wild, carefree joy of my younger days.

It looked… slower. Softer.

Quieter, but deeper.

And I realized: this is what joy looks like now.

It’s not about chasing adrenaline anymore. It’s about presence. Gratitude. Connection.

It’s about feeling the sun on my back in the arena and being thankful I’m here at all.

It’s watching a timid student find their courage and thinking, “This is what Cole taught me to do.” It’s accepting that a 20-minute ride with my daughter is just as fulfilling as any show day used to be.

The joy is different now, because I am different now.

It’s not laced with pressure or perfection. It’s not earned through performance. It simply is —

because I’m here, I’m healing, and I never gave up.

I think we forget sometimes that joy doesn’t have to roar.

Sometimes, it hums softly in the background.

Sometimes, it shows up in muddy boots, in quiet rides, in post-ride snacks shared with your horse.

And sometimes, joy is just knowing you didn’t quit when it would have been easier to walk away.

So if you’re in a place where riding feels different —

where you're still finding your way back — I want to remind you:

Joy can return.

Not as it once was, but as something wiser, richer, and more rooted in who you’ve become.

Let it find you in the small things. Let it look different. Let it grow slowly.

Because even if your riding journey has changed — you’re still worthy of joy.

And joy rides beautifully, too.