When I first meet with a potential client, I ask questions. It’s important to me that we’re like-minded in our approach to the sport. I used to start with, “What are your goals?” But more recently I’ve pivoted to, “Why do you ride?” That’s because I’ve noticed that, as riders, we place too much importance on achieving certain competitive milestones and not enough on why (or if) those goals matter.

Growing up in the social media age has had a real effect on young riders, but adults aren’t immune to the pressure to appear perfect and the expectation to be moving up the levels (and posting publicly about it). No one wants to admit it, but we all love the dopamine surge that accompanies a tricolor brag post on Instagram. But as your trainer, I want you to love your horse more.

The most successful riders I know have cared the least about other people’s perceptions of them and the most about the welfare of their horses. These riders do it for the love of the sport and the love of the animal. They are attentive students who always give their best effort whether or not cameras are rolling. We video rounds for critical review, and if those rounds make their way to Instagram or Facebook, that’s icing on the cake. Like many things in life and riding, success is relative. Defining what success means to each client is another important step of the interview process and tells me a lot about who a potential client is.

Creating partnerships between horses and riders is one of the great joys of my career. But for those partnerships to be authentic, genuinely good matches, both parties have to be honest with themselves and each other. Sellers often get a bad rap for their representation of horses, and sometimes it’s justified. But more often than not, I find dishonesty from a buyer to be an equally contributing factor in failed partnerships. And I don’t mean dishonesty in their business dealings with the seller, but with themselves. I meet people all the time who are not honest with themselves about their own ability, their reasons for wanting to buy a horse, what they can really afford, and the program (or lack thereof) that they have in place for a new horse. Perhaps it’s due to lack of experience or poor guidance, but maybe they’ve never asked themselves what their expectations are, and if those expectations are realistic.

Is it the trainer’s job to ask those questions—to demand that a personal inventory take place before moving forward with horse shopping or even just training? The more I do this, the more I feel like my role as trainer blurs into sports psychologist and counselor. I’ve noticed that people look to me to make them “happy,” and I think that sets an unrealistic expectation. One of the first people I worked for early in my career told me that the horses were the easy part; the people are hard. She wasn’t wrong.

I’m a people-pleaser (thanks, early childhood trauma!), and I recognize that in the past, this aspect of my personality made me feel responsible for curating others’ happiness. So, when a client is unhappy, it felt like a personal and professional failure to me. But some people are just unhappy. It doesn’t matter how well I do my job, or how well their horse goes, because their unhappiness has nothing to do with me or the horse.

But how can you tell? How does one discern between a problem that can be solved by a trainer or a problem that is merely a symptom of something well above that trainer’s paygrade? Asking a potential customer about their “why” for being involved with horses can tell me a lot about who they are, if they’re being honest. People are great at lying to other people, but they rarely lie to their animals. And I’m not talking about bad distances, we’ve all told that lie (sorry, horses). I’m referring to how they interact with their horses when no one is watching. Do they view their equine partner as a sentient being who has thoughts, feelings and needs that must met before their own, or is a horse just a proxy for a tennis racket? Actions always speak louder than words.

It is our duty as trainers to teach our clients how to care for their horses (or provide that care in a full-service environment), but clients must inherently empathize with their horses. And this happens at all levels. I have seen horses lovingly cared for and deeply appreciated in the height of luxury as well as in the backyards of people who sacrifice their own basic needs to provide for their animals. Wealth isn’t a great indicator for empathy. I’ll always advocate for people to experience all levels of horse care, because I think it’s important to learn those skills—to know your horse’s body well and, through that experience, bond more closely with them. But that doesn’t mean a client in a full-service environment can’t also connect with their horse on a deeper level and empathize with them.

Why is empathy so important? Why should I care how a customer interacts with their horses behind the scenes, if nothing dangerous or abusive is going on? Because that’s a sneak preview into how they will treat me. A useful litmus test is to observe how a rider reacts to a “bad” round. We all have them. Whether it’s a cheap rail, a missed change or something more dramatic, they happen. The type of rider I strive to be—and the type of rider I want to work with—overrides the feelings of shame and embarrassment that can cloud objective thinking and instead pats their horse and reflects on what went wrong and what corrections need to be made. Because it’s not about what anyone watching thinks, it’s about you and your horse.

If it’s not possible to witness a potential client showing, then ask them about the last time they had a bad round. How someone describes their successes and failures is very telling. Was it their horse’s fault when things didn’t go their way? (Spoiler alert: It’s never the horse’s fault; he’s only working with the information his rider provides.) Or was it their masterful riding when it went well?

As a trainer, problem solving is a crucial part of the gig. And with horses, there’s always problems to be solved. It’s all unicorns and rainbows when things are going well, but more often than not there is a degree of adversity to what we do, and if I’m working with a client who is not empathetic towards me or the horses, that adversity is magnified tenfold and becomes a vicious cycle of negativity. And sometimes that negativity is rooted in deeper things. I’ve known several riders who seemed to base their self-worth on the perceived success of failure of their horses. That is too great a burden for any animal to bear. I’ll say it louder for the people in the back: you are responsible for your own happiness; your horse is not.

Paige Cade has operated her training, competition and sales business, Country Fox Farm Inc in Middleburg, Virginia, since 2015. She specializes in European imports and takes pride in finding her clients the perfect match. Paige has developed young horses through the grand prix and international hunter derby level and enjoys training riders of all ages. Follow her on Instagram (@paigecade) and Facebook.