Tanya’s first clinic gathered thirteen of us—each a devoted horse owner, not looking to become professionals, but simply wanting to do better by our horses.
We worked in pairs, two people to one horse, which gave us the gift of time—time to observe, to feel, to move with intention. Some horses were athletes, some seasoned trail companions, others cherished retirees. What united us was the same quiet purpose: to keep them comfortable, to understand them more deeply, and to honor the horse beneath the saddle.
We began with equine anatomy—but not just the textbook version. Tanya showed us how to feel for tight fascia, subtle imbalances, and energetic shifts. At first, the terminology was a little over my head—words like “sacroiliac,” and “fascia” stirred confusion. But instead of pushing me away, it sparked something. I found myself studying anatomy in the quiet hours, scribbling notes, eager to learn more.
That clinic was more than a weekend with horses. It was the first step in my own healing.
When I was a little girl, I thought training horses was my path. I chased it with grit—starting colts, solving problems, putting in the miles. But after breaking my back, something shifted. I no longer have the desire to sit atop a reactive colt, asking them to work through fear or fight. My body can’t afford that kind of risk anymore—and truthfully, neither can my heart.
For many years after the accident, I felt adrift. Like the fire that once drove me had dimmed.
But bodywork brought it back.
Learning how to help horses heal lit something in me I didn’t know was still there. It’s become a true passion—something I now dream of pursuing further. I want to study equine rehabilitation and performance therapy, not to fix what’s broken, but to preserve what’s still whole. To help horses move through life with freedom, comfort, and dignity.
Because the point isn’t to push them until they break.
The point is to protect what’s still whole.
To give them autonomy.
To say this much is okay—and no more when they’ve had enough.
After all, life is for living. And I want to help ensure our horses get to live it well.
🌾 Pasture Reflection
> There’s wisdom in every horse—
if we stop trying to train it out of them.
That weekend, I watched people soften.
I saw horses open up.
And I felt something inside me begin to shift, too.
My journey is just beginning.
But it feels like home.
✨ The Call to Action
Give your horse the gift of autonomy.
Learn to listen to the whisper—
before it becomes a shout.