They’re just horses. They’re not made of sugar. Look how they kick each other in the paddock. They stand around and eat all day—they can handle a bit of pressure.

This is how it’s always been done. This is what that horseman teaches—it’s natural horsemanship, he’s got tons of followers. It works for people. They win competitions like this. Their horse looks worse than yours and still competes. He’ll get used to it. You just can’t let him win.

I try to have compassion for people who think this way. I don’t agree—but I understand. I didn’t see it once either. I didn’t get it. It worked for me too—and really well.

The horse resists? You push harder. If you’re skilled, no one watching even notices you used force. And the best part? You don’t notice either. You think you were being gentle. Because you didn’t hit. You didn’t kick. You don’t wear spurs or side reins.

Not even a bit. And still—it can be too much.

Too much for whom? Not for the spectators. Not for the judges. Not for your followers. Not even for you. But for the horse? A thousand times over the line.

What happened to us? Why do we behave this way—and why don’t we see it?

Just look at our lives. Look at your shoes. Do your shoes have the shape of a foot—or has your foot shaped itself to the shoe? You’ve been crammed into tight shoes your whole life, destroying your feet. And you buy them yourself. Something so basic—what literally carries us through life—and we’re already failing there. Thank you for the lesson, my beloved barefoot shoes.

We can’t feel ourselves. We live in bubbles of illusion and fear, blindly navigating around our traumas. Stay in control. Hold on. Don’t let go. When it hurts—add pressure. As long as the body keeps going.

We can’t handle ourselves— so we compensate by controlling others. And horses? They’re the perfect target. Every time they give in or obey, it feeds our ego: Someone finally listens to me. Finally takes me seriously.

But at what cost?

It’s time to wake up. To face this. To shatter the paradigms modern horsemanship is built on— especially the one that says: If a horse expresses an opinion, it means the rider is incompetent.

Seriously!? Are you out of your mind!? A horse has to obey—always! Why else do we have them? To graze in the paddock all day? So if he says no, I just let him stand there? What if he says no every time I come to him? So now I’m supposed to teach him to resist me? He’ll never want to do anything again. Hysterical girls treating horses like dolls.

So much fear around a horse’s NO.

Can someone please show me the divine decree that states horses were created so people could entertain themselves by riding their backs? That they’re here for us and our ideas. To serve us, to obey us, to submit. A certified copy will do, thanks.

I don’t understand why it’s considered standard that a horse is not allowed to say no.

As long as they agree and comply—we’re fine. But the moment they disagree? Punishment. Fine-tuned training strategies. New gear and tricks. NO simply isn’t an acceptable answer.

In the horse world we know, a horse’s NO means: The rider failed. The rider is weak, inexperienced, has no respect.

Trainers compete to offer courses in “communication” with horses— but the goal is always the same: To teach the horse that resistance will not be tolerated.

This is where we’ve ended up, proud rulers of the earth—polishing strategies to erase the last living thing inside horses: Their own opinion.

Why can’t a horse say NO to work? Why can’t he show fear or insecurity? Why can’t he express pain or discomfort?

Because then our illusion of control collapses like a house of cards. The horse’s NO is rejection. Rejection of our ego. Rejection of our effort ("I pay for you, and you say no?!"), of our affection ("I love you, and you won’t come to me?!"), of our certainty ("If even you don’t listen—then who will?!").

Yes, there are situations in human management where a horse must obey. Respect our space, cooperate for safety, load into a trailer, stand for the farrier, accept treatment. Some even carry riders to help their owners make a living. In those cases, yes—the room for a horse’s opinion is limited. But with good upbringing and proper care, it can still be bearable for the horse.

Much more often though, we find ourselves in situations where the horse can be safely allowed to express himself. To speak. To say NO—even if it hurts our ego. To refuse a saddle or a bridle. To refuse work.

Because when we recover from the shock of “the horse isn’t doing what I want,” we finally have space to ask why. And change that.

A horse’s NO isn’t manipulation or a tactic. It’s pure information about how he feels. If we’re able to listen, we’ll discover what needs to change and improve. What hurts, what feels wrong, why he doesn’t want to be with us.

We’ll change the training. We’ll change ourselves. For the better.

A horse’s NO isn’t a defeat—it’s an invitation. It might mean we ride less for a while, but it opens a whole new universe—one where horses are heard. One where we experience true cooperation with a horse who wants to, not one who simply has no choice.

Yes, I’m aware this strategy isn’t compatible with modern equestrian industry. Here’s a secret— neither are horses. And neither am I.

K.