Behind the Scenes: A Day in the Life of an Equine Assisted Coach

When people think about equine-assisted coaching, they usually just picture the beautiful scene with the horses and the clients. What they don't always see is everything that leads up to those moments.

The day often starts with the horses. Before any clients arrive, there is time spent checking the herd, walking the property, looking at the weather, making sure the space is safe, and simply noticing how everyone is doing that morning. Horses don't show up the same way every day, and neither do we.

Some mornings a horse might be curious and social. Another may want more space. One may be completely content standing at the other end of the pasture. The point is not to change anything about their behavior, but to simply notice it. That just becomes part of the routine and the work.

There is horse care, of course. Water, feed, gates, footing, equipment, and all the very practical things that come with having horses involved in your work. There are also the little things that nobody sees: moving something that could become a safety issue, checking a latch, watching a horse walk because something about their movement caught your eye, or standing at the fence for a few extra minutes because the herd feels a little different that morning.

Then there is the coach. Before a client ever arrives, I want to know where I am too. Maybe I am feeling clear and grounded. Maybe I had a difficult morning. Maybe I am a little tired. Maybe something in my own life is taking up more space in my head than usual.

Being aware of that doesn't mean I have to be perfectly regulated or have everything figured out before I can work. It means I need to know what belongs to me so I do not unknowingly bring it into someone else's experience.

That kind of self-awareness is something I have come to see as part of the responsibility of this work.

When the client arrives, we always begin with conversation. Sometimes we walk. Sometimes a client needs a little time to settle into the space before anything else happens. There can be nerves, especially for someone who has not spent much time around horses. There can also be excitement, curiosity, uncertainty, or no clear idea at all of what they want from the time together. One of the most important things you learn is to not to rush anything.

A lot can happen in those first few minutes just by listening. Eventually the horses may become part of the interaction, but even that is not something I think of as, "Now the horse comes in." The horses have been part of the environment all along.

A client may notice one horse watching from a distance. Another horse may approach. One may walk away. A horse may stay focused on grazing and seem completely uninterested in either of us.

All of it is allowed.

There is something freeing about not needing the horse to behave a certain way in order for the time together to be meaningful. We don't need a horse to approach the client. We don't need the horse to create a dramatic moment. We don't need to turn every movement into a message. Sometimes a client simply notices something about themselves because of what is happening around them.

Maybe they become aware that they are trying hard to get the horse to come closer. Maybe they notice how quickly they feel rejected when the horse walks away. Maybe they realize they are more comfortable watching from a distance than stepping forward.

And sometimes the conversation has very little to do with what the horse is doing.

That's okay too. The horse isn't there to perform, or behave in a manner that we desire.

There are quiet stretches in this work that would probably look like nothing from the outside. A client may stand near a horse for several minutes without saying much. We may sit together and talk while the herd moves around us. There may be long pauses.

I have learned that those are actually some of the most beautiful and profound moments.

Silence can give people room to hear themselves. It can also give the horse room to simply be a horse.

Not every part of the day is deep or emotional either. Sometimes there is laughter. Sometimes a horse does something completely ordinary that breaks the tension. Sometimes you are in the middle of a meaningful conversation and suddenly everyone is swatting flies. That is real life with you're working with horses.

The deeper work and the ordinary moments exist right beside each other.

After a client leaves, I usually take a few minutes before moving on. Sometimes something from the session is still on my mind. Maybe I’m thinking about a moment I could have handled differently, or something I noticed from the horse that I want to remember. Other times, I may write my notes, check on the horses, and get ready for whatever is next.

And whatever is next isn't always very glamorous. Another client might be coming. A horse might need something. The weather may change. There are water buckets, emails, things to put away, things to fix, and days when the horses completely rearrange what I thought I was going to get done.

I think that is one of the reasons I love this work. It is very real. You can have a conversation with someone that stays with you, and then five minutes later you are cleaning something up or checking a water trough.

For me, being an equine-assisted coach is not just the time spent with a client. It is also caring for the horses, being responsible for the space, continuing to learn, and paying attention to how I am showing up in the work.

No two days are exactly the same, and I wouldn't have it any other way.