Collective Horsemanship (Michael Benner)

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Collective Horsemanship (Michael Benner) “Seek first to understand, then to be understood.” — Stephen R. Covey We currently conduct Monthly trips to North Raleigh.

Fully qualified professional services that utilities the principles commonly referred to as Natural Horsemanship. Offering Starting, Restarting through an effective foundation program, Problem Solving, Clinic/Workshops, and public demos. Conveniently located in Siler City to service Chapel Hill, Raleigh, Charlotte, Greensboro, Sanford, and Southern Pines.

"Why I Write"I think in pictures made of letters—words, cherished moments frozen in time.But growing up with dyslexia, i...
10/07/2025

"Why I Write"

I think in pictures made of letters—
words, cherished moments frozen in time.
But growing up with dyslexia, in a world before the ease of modern tools,
meant most of my thoughts stayed trapped,
unspoken, half-formed, flickering like shadows on a wall.

That changed in the last decade.
Suddenly, what stirred inside me—
the thoughts, the feelings, the quiet insights—
could finally find their way to the page.
Still, I didn’t yet know how to honor them,
how to give full breath to what lived deep in my mind.

A friendship lit the path.
It gave me the courage to seek what I needed—
writing courses in poetry, fiction, and self-expression—
to unlearn the stiff, technical voice
that had served me well in my career
but left my soul untranslated.

I began to share my writing, quietly,
with a few I trusted.
And like any of us—no matter the age—
I found confidence blooms best
when watered by the trust of others.

Now, I write to quiet the dance in my head,
to give shape to the chaos,
to name the unnamed things.
These words aren’t meant for just one person,
but if they touch someone, anyone—
then they’ve done their work.

Because no matter where we are in life,
we carry the same storms and longings:
a fear we won’t be understood,
a dream we might be,
and a need to belong to something real.

Sometimes, I write for someone specific—
a friend, a love,
someone who stirred something worth keeping.
And when I do, I tell them.
I call. I say it out loud.
Because I don’t hide what I feel.
I try to live with the windows open,
so there’s no gray, no guessing—
only truth, spoken plainly.

-Mcihael Benner

A sample from my book that is nearing completion. “We Talk Like Horsemen, But Do We Live Like One?”We horse folks sure k...
08/07/2025

A sample from my book that is nearing completion.

“We Talk Like Horsemen, But Do We Live Like One?”

We horse folks sure know how to talk a good game.
Calm this. Regulate that. “Notice the brace,” “help the nervous system,” “stay present,” “offer release.”

We string those words together like beads on a marketing rope halter.

We’re often better at preaching self-regulation to a horse than we are at practicing it in our own life.

We say, “Horses need clear communication.”
Then go three weeks without telling a friend how we’re really doing, or what they said hurt, or raised concern.
We teach students how to notice subtle shifts in a horse's emotion.
But miss the rising edge in our partner’s voice—or worse—pretend we didn’t hear it.

We help a horse come down from fear, but let our own fear rule us quietly every day.
Fear of being judged. Fear of looking foolish. Fear of not being the expert.
Fear of being vulnerable in a world that often values performance over presence.

Here’s the truth I’ve come to wrestle with:

🔹 Most of us are the horse we claim we’re helping.

Some of us are the ones rearing up—striking out with sarcasm, defensiveness, control.
Some of us are the ones spooking and bolting—burning bridges, quitting relationships, leaving texts unread.
And some of us go “behind the bit”—we shut down, go along to get along, smile when we’re dying inside.

The neuroscience behind it is simple.
When we perceive a threat (even a social one like rejection), our limbic brain kicks in.
The amygdala fires off, bypassing the thinking brain.
Suddenly, we’re not communicating—we’re surviving.
Just like a horse bracing at the feel of a rope, we brace at the tone of a voice.
Or a look. Or a silence that feels loaded.

In psychology, this is called neuroception—the subconscious scanning of safety or danger.
The same process we honor in a horse’s body, we ignore in our own.

We tell ourselves we’re fine.
We bottle it up. We ghost the hard conversation.
Because we think silence keeps us safe.

But horses taught me that silence often screams louder than sound.
That withheld emotion becomes tension.
And that you can’t lead a scared horse if you’re still hiding from your own fear.

So here’s my challenge to us as horsemen—and humans:

If we believe in helping horses regulate,
Let’s learn to co-regulate with the people in our lives too.

If we value communication in the round pen,
Let’s speak up, gently, clearly, even when it’s awkward.

If we say softness matters,
Then let’s be soft enough to say,
“I’m scared,”
“I’m angry,”
“I need help,”
“I don’t know.”

Because at the end of the day, we don’t just train horses.
We train our nervous systems—through every choice we make.

Let’s make ones that match the wisdom we claim to live by.
And not just talk like horsemen.
But live like one.

As a teenager studying martial arts and meditation, I became fascinated with breathing techniques, how they shaped our p...
20/06/2025

As a teenager studying martial arts and meditation, I became fascinated with breathing techniques, how they shaped our posture, affected free movement, and even changed the way we showed up in the world.

That fascination never left me.

Now, decades later, I still catch myself holding my breath, especially when I'm on a horse or trying to get something “right.” But here’s the truth, collapsed breath collapses everything else with it.

When your breath gets shallow or locked, your ribcage folds in, your shoulders round, your spine stiffens, and your hips tighten. And whether you're standing on the ground or sitting in the saddle, your horse feels that. They feel the tension before you ever touch a rein or shift your weight. Your whole body stops flowing, like a stuck gate that creaks and groans instead of swinging freely.

On the ground, that collapsed breath makes your energy small and hesitant. Mounted, it throws off your balance, shortens your centerline, and disconnects your aids. You start moving against the horse, instead of with them.

And funny enough, horses notice a deep, open breath. They watch your chest expand. They feel your body settle. That’s when curiosity shows up. That’s when connection becomes possible.

Breath isn’t just oxygen, it’s your presence. Don’t collapse it. Let it carry you.

Get ready to acquire your copy. Written by a good friend.
08/06/2025

Get ready to acquire your copy. Written by a good friend.

08/06/2025

We will be announcing a Book Giveaway for The Book of Neuropoetry by Dr. Stephen Peters in the coming days! Like us and follow us to be notified of the giveaway when we announce!

Ever head out on a ride with that little voice in your head already whispering, “This probably won’t go well…”?Yeah. Me ...
08/06/2025

Ever head out on a ride with that little voice in your head already whispering, “This probably won’t go well…”?
Yeah. Me too.

Whether I’m training in the arena or just hitting the trail, I’ve learned to watch out for one sneaky little mindset: Planning to fail. Or what I call 'planning not to succeed.'

It’s that thing where you say you're gonna work through something with your horse, but deep down you’ve already decided to give up if it doesn’t go smooth in the first 3 minutes. Or you pack extra snacks and excuses instead of clarity and time. You ride out “just to see” how far you get—when you already know, you plan on turning back at the first squirrel, shadow, or snort.

It’s not that quitting is bad. Sometimes stopping is the smart move.
But planning to quit before you’ve even started?
That ain't softness, that’s self-sabotage disguised as realism.

Horses feel it, too.
If we show up half-hearted, they show up half-trusting.
If our energy says, “I’m here until this gets uncomfortable,”
their body says, “Then I better stay braced, just in case you bail.”

But when we plan to succeed—even if that success is just one step forward with try and clarity—we start building something solid. Something the horse can lean into.

So I try to check myself before I ride:
Am I planning to try?
Or am I planning my exit strategy in advance?

Big difference.

And sometimes I still quit early. That’s okay, too. But I try to do it with honesty and softness, not with disappointment and shame.

That way, the next time I show up, the horse doesn’t have to wonder which version of me is coming.
B&J photography

“On the Bit” or Just On the BS?I hear it all the time,“He’s on the bit,”“She’s behind the bit,”“Needs more in front of t...
05/06/2025

“On the Bit” or Just On the BS?

I hear it all the time,
“He’s on the bit,”
“She’s behind the bit,”
“Needs more in front of the vertical,”
Sounds fancy, doesn’t it?

Folks toss around these phrases like they’re gospel, makes them sound like they’ve read the classics, watched a few YouTube videos, maybe been to a clinic or two. But when you strip away the jargon and really look, what does it actually mean?

Let me tell you,
It means nothing if the horse isn’t involved in the conversation.

I don’t care if the horse is behind, in front, on, over, or orbiting the bit like a dang planet, if the horse is bracing, checked out, or compensating for dysfunction in its own frame, then we aren’t riding together. We’re just managing tension.

Some think “on the bit” means the hands are working well. When things are not working, many say the hands are too tight, or too loose, or too soft, or too heavy. But here’s the thing...

The hands don’t mean much if the seat isn’t listening,
And the seat doesn’t matter much if the rider isn’t riding with the horse’s mind, not just its back.

Sometimes it’s not even about the rider,
More often than not, it’s the horse. A horse who doesn’t yet have understanding of its own body. Who’s been taught to “perform” without knowing how to organize itself. So it compensates, hollow here, dropped shoulder there, hind legs trailing behind like they got lost somewhere back at the mounting block.

I’m not saying this to blame, I’m saying it to see it.

Classical horsemanship, real classical work, isn’t about shape or outline. It’s about connection, clarity, balance. The conversation between bodies. And when that’s missing, all you’ve got is a frame that looks nice and feels terrible.

So the next time someone tells you a horse is “_____ the bit,”
look deeper,
Watch the whole horse,
Feel what’s under you,
And ask yourself, not if the horse looks correct,
but if they feel free.

That’s the difference between riding a frame,
and riding the horse.

03/06/2025
18/05/2025

NOLS

“Classical Horsemanship” is one of those terms that’s been used so much, by so many people, it’s taken on a kind of blur...
14/05/2025

“Classical Horsemanship” is one of those terms that’s been used so much, by so many people, it’s taken on a kind of blurry halo. Some folks point straight to dressage, especially the kind rooted in centuries-old European cavalry traditions. Others use it to describe a more philosophical or even spiritual connection to the horse. So where’s the truth? Somewhere in between, but it’s not always where the marketing likes to shine the spotlight.

Historically, classical horsemanship did evolve alongside the development of dressage, but not necessarily the competitive dressage you see in today’s shows. It came out of a need for the horse to be balanced, collected, and prepared for battle. The movements like piaffe, passage, and pirouette weren’t about blue ribbons, they were about survival, agility, and responsiveness in the chaos of war. But even back then, it wasn’t just about the horse doing tricks, it was about developing the whole horse, mind and body, and creating a responsive, light, and willing partner.

But here’s the twist, true classical horsemanship doesn’t begin with dressage movements, it begins with awareness. Awareness of the horse’s nature, of the rider’s own body, of the environment, timing, balance, and feel. You could argue that classical horsemanship, at its root, is about liberating the natural movement of the horse, not restricting or reshaping it to fit human ideals.

And it’s not just about mounted work either. The groundwork matters just as much, maybe more, because if we can’t understand the horse from the ground, we’re probably faking something in the saddle.

So in my view, classical horsemanship is less about mastering ancient methods and more about honoring ancient principles. Timing, balance, lightness, patience, trust. It’s not about how much we can make the horse do, it’s about how softly we can ask, and how freely they can respond.

And if I’m being honest, there are some days where I feel more “classical” just sitting in a field, watching a horse graze and noticing what I didn’t see before, than in any saddle.

Let’s talk about the shoulder-in, not just a fancy dressage move or a way to impress your riding instructor, but one of ...
30/04/2025

Let’s talk about the shoulder-in, not just a fancy dressage move or a way to impress your riding instructor, but one of the most useful, functional positions you can teach a horse, no matter what saddle you’re sitting in.

In dressage, shoulder-in is this beautiful, bent, three-track movement where the horse brings its shoulders off the rail while the hindquarters stay straight. It builds balance, softness, and coordination. Sounds high-brow, I know, but let’s translate.

In Western riding, you might not hear “shoulder-in” much, but you do feel it. Every time you ask that horse to move its shoulders out of the way, maybe to set up for a rollback, fix a lead, or work a gate, you’re doing a version of it. The horse yields the shoulders, keeps the hips steady, and moves in balance. That’s shoulder-in in a cowboy hat.

But here’s where it gets real interesting for folks like me who train for more than ribbons. Shoulder-in is also a foundational body position for mounted defense.

Yep, battlefield body coordination.

Think about it. When a horse can move its shoulders independently of its hips and stay soft in the bend, you’ve got maneuverability. In defensive riding, like crowd navigation, tight quarters, or reacting to a threat on the flank, you need to be able to shift your horse's shoulders quickly without compromising your seat or stability. That little shoulder-in? That’s your training wheel for tactical turns, position holds, and creating space under pressure.

The horse learns to carry weight on the inside hind, free up the outside shoulder, and stay mentally connected. You stay centered with a better line of sight and command. That’s the setup for everything from evasion to crowd redirection to protecting your six.

So yeah, teach the shoulder-in. Call it what you want. Doesn’t matter if you’re wearing spurs or spandex. It’s not about style. It’s about preparedness, safety, and building a horse that can respond to what the moment demands.

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