Strong Spirit Stables LLC

08/29/2026

Psych Saturday: Two Roads

This may be the hardest Psych Saturday I have ever written. Not because of the complexity of the ideas or because of personal vulnerability. Rather, because I know that it can be (and will likely be) misinterpreted, misapplied, and/or misused at some time in some way that could lead to real harm. Yet, I feel strongly that avoiding difficult topics and hard conversations doesn’t serve anyone. So here it is, stated as plainly as I know how. My only ask is that your search for and embrace the two non-negotiable conditions I lay out below and keep those in mind as you contemplate what I am sharing.

Two horses come into the barn the same week, and you could say they need the same thing.

Both need to trust a person. Both need to feel safe enough to learn something. If you stopped there, at the level of what they need, you might reach for the same approach with each of them. And with one of them you would be making a serious mistake.

The first is young. Barely started. She has not met much of the world yet. She spooks at the tarp because the tarp is new, not because she has concluded that people bring tarps to hurt her. Nothing much has been written on her. She is not defended. She is unwritten.

With her, the work is what most of us were taught. Be clear. Be predictable. Ask small, and be clear in your ask. Let one good experience sit on top of another until they add up to something she can lean on. It is slow, it is not complicated, and it works.
The second horse has met plenty of the world. What he learned is that closeness is a trap.

He is not unwritten. He is written as if the world were a dangerous place. He is braced before you get there. And here is what took me a long time to understand: you can do everything you did with the young mare, patiently, kindly, for months... and it might simply roll right off him.

Not because he needs more time. Because good experiences cannot get into a system that has already made up its mind. He is not evaluating you. He decided about people before you showed up.

So the second road is not a slower version of the first one. It is a different road.

What it needs, at some point, is an interruption. A pattern that has closed around itself has to be opened before anything new can get in. Something has to happen that the old story does not account for. Usually that means a limit, held clearly, firm enough to interrupt what he is doing and give a scattered system something solid to organize around.

And this is the precise place where the whole thing goes wrong, in barns and in families and in therapy rooms.

"Some horses need firmness" is one of the truer sentences in horsemanship. It is also the favorite sentence of every rough hand who ever ruined an animal. The idea that a creature sometimes needs to be interrupted is the most abusable idea in this work, because it hands you permission and never mentions where permission ends.

So it comes with two conditions, and they are not negotiable.

It must not harm.

And it must resolve to safety.

Both. Not one. The interruption is never the point. It is only ever the first half of a sentence whose ending is: and then we came back, and you were all right.

That second condition is the one that gets dropped. And when it does, you get the counterfeit, which looks nearly identical from the outside and is a completely different thing. Pressure applied, and then... nothing. No return. No softening. No coming back together. Just a creature who got interrupted and left there.

That is not rehabilitation. That is stress with a story attached to it.
The research on children says this about as clearly as anyone could. Hard experience buffered by a relationship, one that reliably carries the child back to safety, is tolerable, and it can even build capacity. The same hard experience without that relationship is toxic. Same stressor. Two completely different outcomes. What changed was not the difficulty. What changed was whether anybody brought them back.

I think about this with people constantly. The difficult conversation that never gets repaired. The consequence handed down and then left to sit. The parent who is very clear about the limit and never quite finds a way back into the room afterward. Every one of those is the first half of a sentence, delivered as though it were the whole thing.

And when you do give the whole sentence, something happens that the gentle road cannot produce.

Because there are two kinds of trust, and they are not the same substance.

One says: I have always been comfortable with you.

The other says: I have been through something hard with you, and you brought me back.

The first is lovely, and it is fragile, because it has never been tested and neither of you knows what you are like when it counts.

The second has been tested. That is what it is made of.
The young mare will get there the easy way, and that is a gift, and I would not trade it.

But the horse who has already decided about people cannot get there that way. He does not need us to be gentler. He needs us to be trustworthy in the hard place, which is a different thing, and a harder one, and it asks considerably more of us than simple kindness does
Bring him back. Every time. That is the whole road.

~ Paul

08/28/2026

Have you ever found yourself standing at a crossroads in life, completely unsure of which way to go?

Like you’re standing at a fork in the road, looking down two different paths, and neither one feels completely clear.
You pray.

You ask God for direction.
You ask Him to close the wrong doors and open the right ones.
You ask Him to make it obvious.
And then you wait.
And wait.
And sometimes, if I’m being completely honest, I find myself asking…

“𝐆𝐨𝐝, 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮?”

“What is the answer?”
“Which way am I supposed to go?”
“Please just show me.”

I’ve been there lately.
I’ve been asking God for clarity, for direction, for some indication that I’m moving toward what He has for me and not simply wandering around trying to figure it all out on my own.

And then today, during a lesson with a client, I heard myself say something I’ve said countless times before:

“𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐨.”

So look where you want to go.
If you want your horse to turn, you have to first look in the direction you want to go.

Your horse feels where your attention is.
Your body follows your eyes.
And your horse follows you.
And as those words came out of my mouth, I felt that quiet, unmistakable nudge from the Holy Spirit…

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐨𝐨.”

And suddenly, the lesson wasn’t just for my client.
It was for me.
Maybe God hasn’t been silent.
Maybe I’ve just been so focused on trying to figure out the entire road ahead that I’ve forgotten to look at Him.
Maybe I’ve been asking Him to show me the destination when He’s simply asking me to trust Him with the next step.

𝐅𝐢𝐱 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨.

And if you don’t know exactly where that is yet…
Fix your eyes on Him.
Look toward the things you do know.
Toward peace.
Toward obedience.
Toward growth.
Toward love.
Toward the things God has already placed in your heart.
Toward the life He is calling you to live.
And then keep your eyes there.
Because there will always be distractions.

Fear will tell you to look behind you.
Doubt will tell you that you’re not capable.

Other people’s opinions will try to pull your attention in a hundred different directions.

And the enemy would love nothing more than to keep you staring at everything except the One who is leading you.

But God says, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐞.
Trust Me.
I know the way.
You don't have to see the whole road.
You don't have to understand every turn.
You don't have to have the answers today.

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐞.

So maybe this season isn’t about God giving me a map.
Maybe it’s about learning to trust the Guide.
Maybe I don’t need to know exactly where I’m going.
Maybe I just need to know 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐈’𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠.

And today, I’m choosing to fix my eyes forward.
Not because I have it all figured out.
But because I know the One who does.

“𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡.” — 𝐏𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝟏𝟏𝟗:𝟏𝟎𝟓

One step at a time.
One day at a time.
Eyes fixed on Him.
And trusting that when it’s time for the next turn…

𝐇𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

08/27/2026

At a recent clinic I did in Maine, a spectator asked me to sign her copy of the book I wrote called The Principles Of Training.

She asked "Can you write something that will tell me that it's all going to be alright between my horse and I?"

I wrote in her book and handed it to her and said "I wrote the same thing in your book as I write in every book". She opened her book and read

"To (her name),

Enjoy the Journey.

My signature"

She looked at me quizzically, and I said to her "I can't tell you everything is going to be all right between you and your horse. At times things will not be all right, and that's perfectly normal. So when that happens, and it's going to happen, then your attitude about what is happening is more important than what is happening. Understand that it's a Journey, with highs and lows. "

One of my favourite quotes Ive ever read is by music producer Rick Ruben who said "Impatience is merely denying reality". This lady was wanting me to write something in her book to deny reality, but what I wrote was to get her to be ok with whats happening. It's gonna happen anyway...

08/26/2026

It’s so satisfying to see the postural changes in these horses when you compare their before and after pictures.

The top photo is from the day he arrived, and the bottom photo is from today. His back is slowly getting stronger, and you can really start to see the difference in how he is carrying himself. These changes don’t happen overnight. They come from consistency, correct movement, building strength, and giving the body time to heal and reorganize.

Little by little, he’s learning to use his body in a healthier, more balanced way—and watching that transformation happen is one of my favorite parts of this work.

Progress isn’t always dramatic day to day. Sometimes you have to step back and compare where they started to truly appreciate how far they’ve come.

08/26/2026

Black Jack was lending some of his comfort and confidence to his buddy Custer today.

I got them both out and about together to see how Custer would handle the after-work traffic on the gravel road. We made our way through the pine trees, tall grass, and all the sticks and branches along the way—giving him plenty of opportunities to think, navigate, and figure things out for himself.

Sometimes the best preparation isn’t about asking a horse to do more. It’s about giving them the chance to experience more, in a way that allows them to build confidence without feeling like they have to figure it all out alone.

I thought this was a great way to prepare Custer to head home tomorrow. Hopefully, he’ll get to continue his adventures by being ponied along by both his horse mom and his human mom.

And Black Jack? He was the perfect teacher today—quietly lending Custer a little confidence simply by being there and leading the way.

08/25/2026

Who else has been haunted by the horrors??? I know I have! What a great post by Lockie!

Haunted by the Horrors

You are a witness. You have seen things done to horses. Too much pressure, beat-ups, brawls, antagonising horses, forcing them, intentionally scaring them, intimidating them.

When these things are done, they are described with words by the people practising them. Those words often do not match what you are seeing.

"This is for their safety."
(As the horse is dragged dangerously into situations they are not safely prepared to handle yet.)

"This is for their health."
(As the horse's body contorts violently in an attempt to escape what is being done to them, compromising muscle and tendon health in the process.)

"This is for their behaviour."
(As the trainer enters into hand-to-hand combat with the horse, teaching them that fighting is what will be used against them if the human feels threatened.)

We have all witnessed stuff done to horses that haunts us. I have.

If you are like me, you have done your best to face the truth of what you saw. You have done your best to tell yourself the truth about it.

E.G. It was not done for their health, it was done so the horse could be used more by people. It was not done for the horse's behavioural benefit, it was done because the trainer feels, deep down, insecure about a horse's size and power and teaches horses to fear people so they can be "safe", feel more in control around horses, or more powerful in their disempowered lives. It was not done for their safety, it was done reflexively because if the trainer actually tried to educate a horse how to be safe without using violence, they might have to reevaluate their whole life, their whole world. Marriages could crumble. Job security could be lost. There is too much at stake within violence, so violence is used and the result is called safety.

I know these mechanisms. I see straight through them, because I was taught them to the point of professional competency- then have been given hundreds of opportunities to perpetuate them, but didn't.

Today, I try to call a thing a thing. Violence is not safety, health and good boundaries. It just isn't. Nobody will change my mind about that.

But when we have witnessed these things and chosen to walk away, we often find ourselves in an equally difficult place.

A Reflexive Rejection.

We feel like we have made different choices, but sometimes what we have actually made is a rebuttal, a rejection of what we witnessed, and then made the result of that rebuttal our entire personality.

We actually didn't make a difference choice. We rebounded into an opposing opposite extreme, so that we could heal. We have not yet reached the point where we are actually free to choose, because we remain haunted by what we saw and experienced.

E.G. We witnessed riding done in an abusive manner. So we "chose" to stop riding, when deep down we wish we still could, and dream of riding in a way that benefits the horse.

We punish OURSELVES for what we saw OTHERS do to horses.

We didn't do those things, they did. Yet we punish ourselves because we struggle to hold others accountable, are scared to do so, or because it would be dangerous for us to call it out, so we internalise it.

We take the violence we were taught to use with horses, internalise it, become internally conflicted, and wonder why our horses feel braced and stuck around us.

I do not know who needs to hear this today, but please stop punishing yourself for what you saw others do.

And if you were one of those people doing those things to horses, and you have stopped, forgive yourself. The Guilt Olympics doesn't innovate horsemanship. It keeps your talents locked away in a jail of shame, unable to contribute towards future developments that could actually benefit horses.

When you punish yourself for what you witnessed, or what you did, you create a deep lack of trust in yourself. You become worried that one day that punishment might jump outside your body and onto your horse.

So you form a complex self-identity that "controls" the punishment your body holds and has not let go of yet.

"I do not think I can ride in a way that actually benefits the horse."
"I do not think horses should be ridden."
"All training is fundamentally exploitative."
"Wild horse populations are the epitome of welfare and all domestic horses are compromised by domesticity."

These reflexive rebuttals can sound logical and feel ethical. And for some people, they may be sincerely held conclusions. But what I have found is that sometimes they can also become a complex identity mechanism that gives someone permission to never again face what haunts them about horsemanship.

What they witnessed, or did, now fuels a deep sense of dread, shame and hopelessness that has collapsed into an identity that allows them to feel, once again, in control.

And yet, the horses are in the middle of all this. Experiencing directly the vast array of human conflict, internal and external. Open and ready to try stuff again.

The longer I do this work, the more I believe that the horses are the most sane and logical creatures amongst all this human drama.

The human drama, though I study it and try to understand it, is ultimately so boring to me compared to the task I feel driven to accomplish.

And that is to face training, horsemanship and equitation again.

And give it an edit.

Redact the violence. Withdraw the bu****it. Refine the parts of it that are true, whole and good.

And then teach it.

Relentlessly.

08/24/2026

The basics are not basic anymore. Go deeper. Do better. Seek more softness.

Headed home from a clinic in Maine this weekend at Chelsea Canedy Horsemanship and Performance at Unexpected Farm.

I had an amazing time, such great participants and their horse, and a great group of curious and open minded spectators.

There were some great changes in horses, but probably none more than the horses professional trainers who were in the clinic. These people train horses all day every day, and are really good at what they do.

So what did I do to have the professionals horses be even better ?

The hard stuff?

No.

The technical stuff?

No.

It was the basics.

It was about being a little more particular about the basics. Not picky. Not pedantic. Just more particular.

Then when then they started doing the bigger stuff, it was better without even working on it.

If that confuses you, think about it this way. Think about going to walk somewhere. If you alter your direction 5 degrees at the start, 10 feet later you’d think you were still on the same path. But 10 miles later you are somewhere completely different than you would be if you hadn’t made that small adjustment.

As the dance saying says “beginning dancers tend to take intermediate lessons, intermediate dancers tend to take advanced lessons, but advanced take beginning lessons”.

Thanks to Chelsea Canedy for all us to use your beautiful facility for the weekend !

08/23/2026

Pressure can ask the question—but the release is what teaches the horse the answer.

A horse doesn’t learn because we held longer, pulled harder, or made the pressure bigger. He learns when he finds the right response and we recognize it quickly enough to give him something back.

That release tells him, “Yes. That’s what I was looking for.”

The better our timing gets, the clearer we become. And when a horse understands where the release is, he starts searching for the answer instead of simply trying to escape the pressure.

Good horsemanship isn’t just knowing when to ask.
It’s knowing when to give.

— Nate Eicher | Eicher Ranch
:::