We have all been in a trust exercise at some point in our lives. The boss of your latest employment gathers your coworkers, or the RA your freshman year of college gathered your fellow undergrads.  

They talk of how trust is so essential in the functionality of your “team” and whether that is in selling medical supplies, or being a cohesive unit of giggling sorority sisters, trust is key.

Me and Mak—trust. Photo by Amy Bumpaous

You line up in groups of two, stand with your back facing your partners front, and while keeping your eyes closed, you are asked to drop back into their arms. If you trust your teammate, you merely drop safely into a comfortable embrace. But if you do not trust them, you stagger backwards, stepping towards them. And if they don’t trust themselves to catch you, you go crashing into the floor.

I find this exercise, and the outcomes that it induces, so comparable to my riding. If I trust my horse, and he trusts me, we win. We go stride for stride in sync, with cues and aids so seamless that the people surrounding us have no idea why he is suddenly soaring over a fence, or half passing to centerline.

Complete trust. Photo by Amy Bumpaous

Without trust, we lose this cohesiveness. We lose the symmetry. The respect. The response.

This is so apparent to me, and because of that, I put my horses through trust exercises quite often. With Nixon, it is a hack on a loose rein, with my feet out of the stirrups and my mind wandering. I trust Nixon to an extent, although that trust is growing exponentially as he further settles into his routine as a sport horse.  

He has never offered a buck, rear, or spook, and I have begun to realize that the only direction that this horse is going to go is simply forward. It might be at breathtaking, death defying speeds, but the only way with Nixon is forward.

But with Mak, I can take it a few steps even father. I trust this horse with every fiber of my being, because he has never given me a reason not to. I got Mak off of the track at the young age of 4, and even then he was more whoa than go. He was happiest on the buckle, loping along a field.

He never puts a foot wrong. 

He was so quiet, so simple, and so brave that I thought he was actually sedated. And had I not gotten him from a friend, I would have pulled bloodwork to determine exactly that.

With Mak, I know that I can trust him to pack a friend around a cross-country course after they have taken a considerable break from riding. I know that I can teach an up-down lesson, or pop someone over their first vertical. I can put a nervous friend in the middle of a field and have a herd of cattle chase her, because I know that he won’t put a foot wrong. He will compete in the 1.0-meter jumpers one week, and take a 4-year-old for their first ride the next.

Why have I always trusted Mak? Because I know that he trusts me. I have tried so hard to never overface him. To never put a fence in front of him that he cannot jump, or a question that he cannot read.  

I moved him up the levels slower than most, and by the time we were ready to go training level, my friends were exasperated by my nerves—deeming me the most ready person to ever take the leap. And the minute we took that leap, Mak caught me, and guided me along to safety.

I know that all I need to do is take off my stirrups, or take off his bridle, and let myself fall back into his safe embrace. Just like the trust exercises of freshman year, I have to let my guard down to ever realize the true relationship that we have. I have to close my eyes, relax my aids, and pray that he catches me.

Our best dressage schools are usually without stirrups. 

And with Mak, the minute that I do these things, he becomes the best partner to have. Because Mak has never not caught me.

We have now soared over great heights bridleless, including a cross-country school. I have galloped him at his greatest speeds over fields without a saddle. And at the end of the day, my best dressage schools are when I drop my stirrups, relax my body, stop trying so hard, and let him prove his training.

People question this behavior of mine. Every time that I put a picture or video of Mak and I having one of “those days,” I am bombarded with comments of how and why I do this.  

How can I trust a horse to not take advantage of not having a bridle? Why would I let him jump around without a saddle?

What if he takes off? What if he spooks? What if he becomes a crazed rodeo bronc?

It all comes down to one thing—trust.  And a great horse who deserves the trust. It can make or break a relationship. Whether it is between you and your boyfriend, your roommate, or your coworker, trust is key. And without trust you will never grow in that relationship.

So go out there and get on. Push yourself out of your comfort zone. And every once in a while, try one of those trust exercises with your mount. I can almost guarantee that the horse you love will catch you before you fall.

When she is not riding her horses, Carleigh is a racing enthusiast, and helps her boyfriend on his own farm while also enjoying their two Labradors. She doesn’t like to admit it, but she is also an avid needlepointer and a closeted 80-year-old. You can read all of Carleigh’s COTH blogs here and more on her personal blog site, A Yankee In Paris.