The Ride Between the Words

When I was in my early 20s, I had the same aspirations as many young riders today: to be the best I could be, to ride at Kentucky, to represent my country at the Olympics. Spoiler alert, none of that happened. And in a way, I’m glad it didn’t. The failures and frustration I experienced throughout my riding career shaped everything I do now, both personally and professionally. They’re a big part of why I find myself thinking about the complexity of this sport more than ever, especially the parts that don’t show up on a results sheet.

Now, as a Sport and Performance Psychology consultant, my job is to help riders feel more confident, manage their emotions, and perform under pressure. But a huge part of that process has nothing to do with me. It comes down to the technical and tactical feedback riders are getting every day from their trainers, skilled professionals who are also doing their best to communicate clearly and help their riders succeed in a fast-paced, often chaotic environment. And sometimes things don’t land the way they’re intended to.

I want to take you back to a moment I’ve reflected on a lot from when I was riding. At the time, I had competed successfully through Training level. I wasn’t inexperienced, and I certainly didn’t get there without understanding how to ride a horse forward. But in one lesson, my trainer kept yelling, “KICK, KICK.” Finally, I pulled into the center, stopped my horse, and said, “I must not know how to kick, because I swear I’m kicking.”

Looking back, that moment had very little to do with my actual ability. It had everything to do with perception. I felt like I was giving 100%, and somehow it wasn’t showing up at all. My trainer was asking for more, and I genuinely didn’t know how to give it. That experience stuck with me because it highlights something we don’t talk about enough: The perception system is messy. Trainers are trying to communicate. Riders are trying to execute. And sometimes, it just doesn’t come together.

From a sport psychology perspective, there’s another layer to this. Two riders can hear the exact same instruction and walk away with completely different experiences.

“Keep your leg on.”
“Sit up.”
“Just ride forward.”

Simple. Clear. Direct.

But it’s not just about what’s being said, it’s about what’s heard. As riders, we don’t receive coaching as neutral information. We filter it through our confidence, our past experiences, our emotional state, and the pressure we’re feeling in that moment. Which means coaching is never just coaching. It’s interpretation. And that’s where frustration starts, not because anyone is doing anything wrong, but because everyone is operating from a different internal starting point.

Take something as simple as “keep your leg on.” A high-confidence rider hears that as a reminder to stay connected and supportive. They make a small adjustment, the horse responds, and things improve. A lower-confidence rider may hear something completely different: I’m not doing enough. I’m messing this up. They overcorrect, get tense, grip, and the horse tightens in response, confirming their belief that something is wrong.
The same thing happens with “sit up.”One rider hears a quick fix and moves on. Another hears it as confirmation that their position is bad and visible to everyone. Their focus shifts inward, their feel disappears, and mistakes start to stack.

How about “be more aggressive.” For one rider, that means riding with more intent and commitment. For another, it lands as I’m not good enough as I am. Hesitation increases, timing gets worse, and confidence drops further. Same coach. Same words. Very different rides.

And there’s another layer to this that matters beyond the rider’s confidence: the horse. In a sport that is increasingly under public scrutiny for horse welfare, the way riders interpret instructions in the moment can have real consequences. When someone hears “be more aggressive,” that might translate into riding with more conviction and clarity. But it can also be interpreted as stronger aids, sharper corrections, or pushing a horse past the point where communication stays fair and effective.

Usually, that isn’t because the rider is careless or cruel. More often, it comes from panic, self-doubt, and the desperate feeling of needing to prove you’re doing enough. What started as a coaching cue can unintentionally turn into tension, conflict, or over-riding. That’s part of why these conversations about perception matter so much right now. Horsemanship isn’t just about what the coach says or what the rider intends. It’s about how those words translate into decisions in real time, with another living athlete in the partnership.

So who’s at fault? Honestly? No one. Coaches are communicating quickly, often under pressure, trying to help in real time. Riders are processing that information while managing nerves, expectations, and a 1,000-pound animal. Of course there’s going to be some miscommunication. The goal isn’t perfect communication. It’s better understanding, on both sides.

For riders, that often starts with getting curious about your own interpretations. Ask yourself: What was actually said, and what did I make it mean? If something isn’t clear, ask. “When you say ‘more aggressive,’ what does that look like for this horse?” Turning broad feedback into something specific and actionable gives you something you can actually execute, rather than something you feel like you’re failing to live up to. It’s also worth paying attention to your own patterns. If you tend to assume you’re wrong, that lens will shape everything you hear. That doesn’t mean you need to immediately change trainers, but it does mean communication needs to become more collaborative.

For coaches, small adjustments can go a long way in bridging the gap. Specific feedback will almost always land better than general feedback. “Squeeze your calf in the corner” gives a rider something clear to do, while “ride better” leaves too much room for interpretation. It’s also important to recognize that the same words won’t land the same way for every rider. The key is to watch the response, not just the result. Confusion, tension, or shutdown aren’t signs of defiance, they’re signals that something isn’t connecting. And perhaps most importantly, create space outside of the ring for these conversations. The best understanding rarely happens in the middle of a lesson.

The Takeaway

Confidence shapes perception.

Perception shapes action.

Action shapes results.

When we understand that chain, we can start to interrupt it in meaningful ways.

Not by blaming coaches.

Not by blaming riders.

But by getting better at meeting each other in the middle, in the space between what’s said, and what’s heard.