Category: Ikke-kategoriseret

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It Happened This Weekend!

When you’ve had horses for more than 50 years, there will, of course, be both ups and downs along the way.
Since we moved to Hungary almost seven years ago, we’ve lived in a place where there are no other horses nearby. I do miss having someone to ride with, but that’s something that has come and gone throughout my life.

I now have three horses left:
– one that I rescued from slaughter, who is unfortunately permanently lame,
– an older broodmare who has lost many of her teeth,
– and Maersk, whom I’ve ridden and driven from time to time.

Sadly, Maersk has developed something in his hind legs (shivering), which makes me reluctant to ride him. I have, however, driven him a little — but with a big, clumsy cart that feels unnecessary when you only want to go for a short drive with your horse. He’s also quite a large horse, so finding a sulky that fits him is difficult — you almost end up sliding backward out of it once he’s harnessed!

Many years ago, I bought what’s called a stallion show gig from a dear friend who, sadly, is no longer with us. He had fitted it with brand new shafts, but there was still quite a bit of work left to do. I wanted to bring it here from Sweden, partly because I could see how useful it would be once finished, and partly because of the sentimental value — I had bought it from my friend.

It came along in a container that we stored at a friend’s place a bit away from here, and then we fetched the things little by little with a trailer. It was just Jens and me, and moving all that stuff was exhausting. When we were unloading the gig, we “dropped” it — and one of the wheels broke off. Maybe it was just as well, better that it happened then than while driving! The wheels were actually worm-eaten anyway.

After that, nothing was done with it. Repairing wooden wheels costs a fortune, and hardly anyone does that kind of work anymore. My farrier knew a man who was a specialist, so I contacted him — but when he told me the price for new wooden wheels, it was about the same as buying a new carriage. I couldn’t afford that, so the project had to wait.

After a while, my husband suggested we might check the cost of iron wheels instead, since the woodwork was the expensive part. And sure enough, new iron wheels that fit the gig cost “only” 10,000 SEK, so we went for it — and last summer it was finally done!

Next, I had to dig out my old harnesses, clean and adjust them to fit Maersk. He’s not a small horse, so it took a bit of work to make everything sit right. It’s amazing how much effort goes into just trying to have a bit of fun!

But last Saturday, it finally happened — the first drive!
The weather was beautiful, and I had my husband helping and taking photos. Since it was just a test drive and I needed to adjust things, I thought I could leave the other horses in the paddock. They’re old and tired, I thought…

When we drove out into the field, I suddenly heard squealing and snorting behind me — and my 24-year-old, who is lame in both front legs, came galloping and bucking at full speed past us! Naturally, Maersk got upset, tucked his hindquarters under him, and tensed up completely. But I managed to calm him down, turned the gig around, and drove back across the field.

Then Mercedes came trotting up, tail high in the air, neighing to Maersk as if to say, “Hey there, are you new here? You’re quite handsome!” — and started flirting like a young mare in heat. I could hardly stop laughing — what a bunch of silly old horses!

Maersk got lots of praise for staying calm and collected — good thing I had carrots in my pocket! He stood perfectly still while I unharnessed him, too.

Next time I go driving, I think I’ll leave the oldies in the other paddock! 😉

The Trauma of Losing a Horse

We all know how incredibly hard it is when a horse passes away. It’s even more painful when you are the one who has to make that decision. But something that is rarely talked about is the grief and trauma of having to sell your horse due to various circumstances.

When a horse dies, at least you know where they are. The grief is overwhelming, and we all process it in our own ways. But when you sell your horse, you usually have no idea where they will end up – and there’s always the risk that things won’t turn out the way you hoped.

Some try to solve this by loaning out the horse so they can keep an eye on them. Unfortunately, this doesn’t always work. Suddenly, the loaner might not be able to keep the horse, they might move far away, or their life situation might change – and then you’re left without a stable to put your horse in. The horse ends up moving back and forth, creating disappointment and worry.

Between selling and loaning, I would probably choose to sell to someone who can truly take care of the horse. But how can you be sure? You can’t be 100% certain. You can check out the buyer, talk to people who know them, and try to get a sense of whether they are responsible horse owners. You can include a buy-back clause in the contract, but unfortunately, it doesn’t always hold up in a legal dispute. And even if the horse does come back – where will I be in my life then? Will I have the time, space, and money to take them back?

Over the years, I have owned many horses and also traded them. The ones I bought and sold quickly were easier to let go of. But my “own” horses – the ones that had truly touched my heart – have sometimes been painfully hard to part with. I can tell you, it doesn’t get easier with age. They become almost like your children.

Sometimes, however, you still have to make the difficult decision when you can no longer give them the care they need. The only way to avoid this kind of trauma is to think carefully before buying a horse. Will I still have the time and money in five or ten years? Or am I buying just for fun, while I can?

Always think of the horse’s well-being. It’s not good for them to change owners often or be moved from stable to stable. A horse leaves its mark on your soul – and I truly hope you never have to experience this kind of trauma.

Beware of “Free” Horses!

If you spend a lot of time online, chances are you’ve come across various scams. Sometimes, when I have the time, I actually enjoy playing along just to see how far they’ll go—before I expose them. Unfortunately, they rarely give up; they simply move on to the next potential victim.

I’ve been contacted many times by people claiming I should manage their inheritance or something similar, but this scam was a new one for me.

Recently, I was contacted by a man who claimed to be from “Dallas.” He had a website that looked fairly convincing at first glance—but with very few followers, which immediately raised a red flag.

He offered me a horse for free, saying he just wanted it to have a good home. That’s something people do now and then, so I told him I live in Hungary—figuring that would be enough to put him off. But no, apparently Hungary was just “a few hours away,” and it was “no problem at all.” That’s when I knew it was a scam, but I played along to see where he was going with it.

He said that the reason he didn’t want to rehome the horse in the U.S. was because it was free, and he didn’t trust people there to give it a good home. He sensed my suspicion and pretended to call me via Messenger. When I answered, he didn’t show up, but instead sent me a screenshot showing a black screen, claiming there was something wrong with his Messenger app. I told him he could send me a voice message if there was something he wanted to say—but again, Messenger was “malfunctioning.” Oddly enough, he had no trouble writing messages and sending pictures…

I asked for more details about the horse. He said it was a 12-year-old gelding, 155 cm tall, kind and ridden, and that she didn’t bite or kick.

That’s when I asked, “Are you sure you’re from Dallas?”

He said yes.

And that’s when I called him out.

I said, “I’m 100% sure a man from Dallas would never refer to a gelding as she.”

He tried to cover his mistake by saying the horse behaved more like a mare. Then he asked if I was using Google Translate. “No,” I replied, “but you are.”

Then I told him exactly what I thought of people like him—scammers who try to profit from people’s love for animals. But he didn’t give up. He insisted he would never do such a thing and that he knew the horse would be safe with me. That’s when I ended the conversation.

If you’ve never experienced something like this before, you might think, “Well, what’s the harm in accepting a free horse?” But that’s exactly what they want you to believe.

I promise you—if I had said yes, the horse would have mysteriously gotten “stuck” somewhere during transport. Then he would’ve asked me for just a little money to help get the horse to me. And of course, it would be such a shame if the horse didn’t make it to my amazing place… and the money? Well, that would be paid back as soon as the horse arrived.

But the horse doesn’t exist. He doesn’t own it. And you’ll never see your money again.

There are organized groups out there scamming people in every possible way. Sadly, many of these scams are connected to networks in places like Nigeria, where they make millions preying on kindhearted, trusting people—often taking their last money.

They say never look a gift horse in the mouth—but I say: look at the owner. Be careful. Don’t let your emotions lead the way. It could cost you dearly.

This was the picture of the horse.

“Is It Enough?” – Dreams, Reality, and the Art of Horse Shopping with Closed Eyes

I once had an acquaintance. He was 35, lived alone, worked hard, and was a decent guy. But let’s just say he wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt. More like a tired IT guy from the early 2000s who forgot what a razor looks like. He had a steady, honest job, rented a small apartment, and had more IKEA furniture than personality.

One day, I asked him why he didn’t have a girlfriend.
His answer?
“Well,” he said, “I have standards.”
The woman he wanted had to be beautiful – like, model-beautiful – wealthy, well-dressed, classy… you get the picture.
I nodded slowly, politely, while thinking: “Mate… have you looked in a mirror lately?”

And that, dear reader, is exactly how many people are when buying a horse.

We dream big. We imagine ourselves as champions. The horse we want? Oh, nothing too complicated – just beautiful, flawless, easy to ride, talented, three Olympic-quality gaits, amazing pedigree… and we’ve got a budget of, let’s say, 5,000 euros.
Oh, and we forgot one thing:
We may not actually have the skills to train the horse.
And by the way, everything after the purchase will cost a fortune too.

Don’t get me wrong – dreaming is wonderful. But somewhere along the way, we need to pause and ask:
“Is this really enough?”
And I don’t just mean the money. I mean time, knowledge, support, patience – and yes, a bit of honesty.

Too many people buy horses with their eyes. Not their brains. Not their current ability.
They see a shiny, muscled 4-year-old and picture themselves galloping across flower-filled meadows while the birds sing and crowds cheer.

Reality?
Mud.
Chewed halters.
Training sessions where things go sideways. Literally.

And you know what? That’s totally okay – as long as you’re honest with yourself from the beginning.

So before you fall head-over-heels for that glossy, big-eyed unicorn with a price tag that feels like a steal – ask yourself:
👉 Do I really have what it takes to develop this horse?
👉 Can I afford not just the horse, but the training, equipment, vet bills, and surprises?
👉 And most importantly – am I buying a horse that matches my current level, or just my fantasy?

You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be a bit more like horses themselves – grounded, aware, and honest about where you are.

So next time you scroll through horse ads, dreaming big – don’t forget to look in the mirror too. And ask yourself:
“Is it enough?”

(And if the answer is no – that’s not a failure. It just means you’re human. And maybe, just maybe, the best thing you can do is become the kind of person the horse of your dreams would want to be with.)

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The Suspicious Dane and the Military Storage

When I bought my farm in Mörrum, the barns were already rented out to the military, who stored some kind of equipment there. The farm had been vacant for a while, so the military had hired a neighbor to “keep an eye on things” — making sure nothing was stolen or suspicious.

When I moved in, I really hoped they would continue renting the barns. I needed the extra income, and I certainly didn’t have any use for those 600 square meters. But they were hesitant… because I was Danish.

I thought it was ridiculous and wondered if they actually believed I was a spy. What interest would a young Danish girl have in stealing from their storage?

Eventually, they agreed to continue renting — on the condition that the neighbor would keep watching over the barns.
That was a decision I came to regret.
The neighbor showed up at all hours, sneaking around the buildings. Many times, I was in the stable when he suddenly appeared, creeping in the dark, giving me quite a scare.

One time, I had a good friend over who often helped me with stable renovations. We were joking around, laughing at something, when suddenly… there he was, just standing there watching us.

That was the last straw.
I told the military they either had to tell him to stop — or move out. They chose to dismiss him, since by then, they had apparently realized I wasn’t a threat after all.

My parents and I often joked about burying a bent pipe in the yard, pointing it at the barns to make it look like a submarine periscope sticking out of the ground — just to see if the military would show up in full force.
It was right around the time a Russian submarine had been spotted outside Karlskrona, and the newspapers were full of stories about it.

When the military finally moved out a few years later, I was dying to know what they had been storing. I’d imagined weapons, cannons, or explosives — judging by how protective they had been.
But no… it turned out to be old bicycles and tents. Stuff nobody wanted!

But the “keep an eye on that wild Dane” attitude didn’t end there.
My house was right next to the main road, so everyone passing by could see who came and went. I had a big house and often had friends over, which certainly didn’t go unnoticed.

One Saturday night, I was hosting a party. A few cars were parked in the yard when suddenly, around 9 PM, someone knocked on the door.
One of the guests peeked out and looked terrified: “It’s the police!”

We weren’t playing loud music, and the neighbors lived far away, so I wondered what was going on.

Outside stood three policemen. I recognized one of them from before.

“Well,” he said, “we’ve been talking about you making those arm protectors for us, and since we were passing by, I thought…”

“No,” I said, “you didn’t think at all. You just want some coffee, don’t you?”

“Well… that would be nice,” they replied.

So I invited them in, and we ended up having a wonderful evening together.
But I couldn’t help but laugh to myself — I knew exactly what the neighbor would think:

“Oh, look at that Dane! She threw a wild party, and the police stayed the whole night. I wonder how many got arrested?”

Yes… I’ve had a lot of fun in my life!

My Time as a Saddler

I’ve always had a strong will and never really believed in limitations — even when people kept telling me, “You can’t make money from horses. They’re just a hobby and they cost money.”
But in my logical mind, I figured that someone must be making money from horses. After all, the people who make tack and equipment must earn something — otherwise, who would supply feed and gear? There were also riding schools, I thought, making money from their students.

Creativity has always been one of my strong sides. As a child, I had the chance to attend evening classes at a youth school, where you could sign up for different courses — completely free of charge. I wanted to attend all of them, but I had to choose, and I ended up picking ceramics and leatherwork.
It didn’t take long before I wanted to try making a bridle. They let me — as long as I paid for the materials myself, since they were expensive.
I loved it! And that’s when I realized I could actually become a saddler.

As I’ve told before, it was good connections that helped me get an apprenticeship with a saddler in Copenhagen, where I could learn the trade. It was exciting — and the feeling of being able to create such beautiful things, especially for horses, was amazing.
The saddler I worked with made, among other things, pony harnesses, which were hard to find back then. These were real harnesses in miniature size — not just a simple breast collar and bridle with blinkers and an emblem.

With that experience, I thought I could start my own saddlery — because that’s exactly what I wanted.

It’s not easy to start a business before people know who you are and what kind of work you do. I got all sorts of odd jobs — farmers came with their old harnesses, patched together with wire and baling twine.
I didn’t know what to charge — I didn’t want to be too cheap, but I also wanted people to come back.
Building trust takes time, but I did good work, and over time, it paid off.

I learned to make things you couldn’t buy at Börjes — like very small halters or very large ones. Cheap products are always made in standard sizes, so it was a big advantage to be able to make a halter fitted to each horse. I also made sure to use high-quality materials, so the products would last.

I also made other things — fine rifle slings for hunters, which became quite popular. I made equipment for the fire brigade and arm guards for the police when they trained dogs.

Building trust among farmers had another side too.
I remember once when someone knocked on the door. I went out to open it, and there stood a man with a harness. He looked right past me, as if he was searching for someone inside, and asked if he could speak to the saddler.
With a little smile, I said, “That’s me.”
He stared at me for a long moment and said, “Well… I wasn’t expecting that.”
But I got to repair his harness — and in the end, he was actually satisfied with the result.

I never managed to make a full living from saddlery. I always needed some extra income.
I rented out boxes and my barn, ran evening courses for ABF, bought young horses to break in, worked part-time at a hotel, and even picked strawberries.
Still, I enjoyed it — because I could decide over my own time and work from home. And I met lots of lovely people along the way.

When I started dealing horses, I stopped working as a saddler. But I’ve still had great use for the skills — whether fitting tack or doing repairs.
I still have my tools and quite a bit of leather left, even though I haven’t touched them for years.

And now the time has come again — I need to make Maersk’s harness bigger so it fits him.
And I realized… I’m actually looking forward to picking up a stitching awl again.

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🇬🇧 With SWB in Poland – Part 2

We truly felt like the richest people in the country while we were there. Everything was so affordable, and even though I was poor back in Sweden, I could afford quite a lot in Poland.

You could see the difference when we stopped for coffee or a snack somewhere. People would gather around the bus just to look at it. They had never seen a bus like that before. We were told not to give anything to them, as it could cause problems.
But one person ignored those rules – Walter Persson. No one knows how he managed it, but somehow he got Polish children to sing in Swedish just to get some candy. It was both tragic and funny – but the kids were thrilled with the candy, and Walter was certainly generous!

That’s something we had in common. Even though I didn’t have much money, I felt that even 10 kronor was a lot for the Polish people, so I always gave a tip.
Many of those on the trip wanted their exact change back – and I didn’t like that. The Polish people were so friendly and did everything they could to make us feel welcome, so why not show a little appreciation? Everything was so cheap anyway.

Being generous and thoughtful really paid off, as Walter and I found out one evening after dinner at a hotel. It was late, and the staff said that after a certain hour they wouldn’t serve anymore.
Walter asked, “But can’t we buy just a little champagne?”
Sure enough – he and I were the only ones served, because we had tipped the waiters. We toasted each other and agreed: there is justice in the world!

It was an unforgettable trip – and I was tired for 14 days afterward, that’s how intense it was!
I met so many amazing people (even if they were a bit older 😉), and our bus driver got us home safe and sound – full credit to him.

The journey itself was amazing – but it didn’t end there. I gained some valuable connections, and I even have a funny little story about that.

Shortly after we returned home, there was an event at Flyinge. I don’t remember exactly what it was, but it was crowded. The big indoor arena was fairly new, and there was going to be a show.
At one end of the arena, there’s a walkway where you can cross from one side to the other. I was crossing there, looking down into the packed arena, when suddenly I heard someone shout:
“But look – it’s the saddlemaker!”
Everyone turned their heads to me as Gunnar Henriksson came rushing over and gave me a big bear hug!
It was great to see him again – and later, he even helped me with a ton of paperwork when I was preparing to present my stallion in Denmark.

Another great contact from that trip was Inge Wilhelmsson. When we were hosting a breeding evaluation at our farm, I contacted him and asked if he would come as a judge for our Palomino evaluation.
He agreed – and I was proud to advertise that we had an international judge at our event.

I also ran into Walter Persson at Falsterbo, where he was one of the organizers. I was there selling gear from my saddlery, and we had a party before the event kicked off.

And I’m still in touch with Gullvi Borsits – she’s just as lively and lovely as ever, even though she’s now passed the age of 80.

As I always say: It’s all about connections – you never know when you might need them!

With SWB in Poland!

You sometimes see jokes on Facebook about how boarding schools didn’t exist when we were kids, so there’s no proof of the mischief we got up to back then.
Hmm… I actually had a camera and used it quite a bit, even though developing photos was expensive. But I thought it was worth it—and I really don’t regret that today. So yes, we could definitely be cheeky even without mobile phones to film everything!

The story I’m about to share involves some big names in the equestrian world at the time. Sadly, many of them are no longer with us, but I hope their children and grandchildren can have a good laugh and not feel embarrassed—because we sure knew how to have fun back then.
I can’t remember everyone’s names, but I still see their faces and hear their laughter. That’s what made this trip one of the most memorable of my life.

I remember when Gullvi Borsits asked me if I wanted to join a trip to look at horses. She organized several tours with SWB and put an incredible amount of time and effort into them. I didn’t hesitate—I really wanted to go! But could I afford it?
I was living alone on my farm in Mörrum and didn’t earn much as a saddler. Gullvi convinced me it wouldn’t be too expensive—at the time, Poland was incredibly cheap.

I arranged for people to stay at my place while I was gone—after all, I had dogs, cats, chickens, and horses to look after. I had no idea who else was joining the trip, other than they were from SWB, so it could have been anyone!
I drove to Gullvi’s, where the bus was set to pass by in Vinslöv, and we were among the first to board. I was relieved that Lollo was coming too—I knew her a little, and we were about the same age. That felt like a huge advantage, especially as we watched the rest of the group board.
Lollo and I exchanged looks—we were both a bit disappointed. We agreed the local retirement home must have burned down, with all the old folks who showed up. “Pensioners’ trip,” I thought, sighing. Oh well, we were going to look at horses—how bad could it be?

Let me tell you—it turned out to be amazing!
Those “pensioners” had no filters. They were simply too old to care what others thought. They took turns grabbing the mic to talk about their studs, stallions, and all sorts of wonderful horsey topics.
And when they ran out of stories? They started telling dirty jokes—we were crying with laughter.

The first day was spent on the bus and ferry. I was glad I brought seasickness pills, because the waves were intense.
When we arrived at the first hotel, we had a lovely dinner together. Then someone suggested we introduce ourselves one by one.
Panic hit me. I was shy back then (it fades with age!), and I spent the whole time trying to figure out what I’d say. I didn’t hear half of the others’ introductions. There were around 50 of us.
When it was my turn, I managed to stammer out that I was a saddler from Mörrum and had a yellow stallion by Gullvi’s Pegasus.

After dinner, we headed to the bar. I rushed to get a drink to calm my nerves.
Then a man came over and started talking to me.
“Oh, so you live in Blekinge?” he asked.
“Well… yes,” I admitted.
“How’s…”—I can’t remember the name—but he referred to one of the stallion keepers in Blekinge at the time.
I said I didn’t know him well, but it was a shame he had the wrong stallion.
“What do you mean?” the man asked.
“Well,” I said, “maybe there’s nothing wrong with the stallion, but he doesn’t match the mares in Blekinge. His foals have no movement, no charisma, they’re pony-sized and all solid brown.”

The man looked at me, puzzled, and said,
“Well, we sent him another stallion, but he didn’t want it. He asked for Neapel back—he could handle that one!”
I couldn’t breathe—we sent? Who was this guy?
Turned out, it was Gunnar Henriksson, one of the big bosses at Flyinge back then.
He looked at me and realized I was terrified I’d said too much.
“That’s good to know,” he said. “No one else dares tell us things like that. Thank you!”

We became great friends after that and talked a lot about horses during the rest of the trip.

Then it was time to find our rooms. Our guide was very kind and offered to carry our bags. I was walking along with mine and said, “That’s kind of you.”
I handed him my suitcase—and it dropped like a rock to the floor. He looked at me in shock:
“What are you carrying… machine guns?!”
I was strong back then and hadn’t really noticed how heavy it was. I may have also smuggled a bottle or two of vodka onboard during the ferry ride…

We had a wonderful bus—new and well-equipped. But Poland’s roads weren’t quite as modern, so we spent long hours traveling.
The poor bus driver struggled to find some of the places—GPS didn’t exist yet, and many of the stud farms were deep in the countryside.
At one point, we almost had to turn around because the trees grew so close over the road that our big bus could barely get through. But we made it!

We got to visit some amazing stud farms, and the people working there went out of their way to give us a great experience. They showed off their stallions, harnessed horses, and performed driving demonstrations for us.
Unfortunately, some visits were delayed, and we arrived after dark, making it hard to take photos. Still, I got a few!

The Polish hosts were incredibly kind, and everyone wanted to serve us their best dish—schnitzel. I love schnitzel, but after eating it four days in a row, I was starting to dream of crispbread.

The worst part was when we had been on the road all day and were nearly at the Russian border. We arrived at 10 p.m. instead of 6, and they served schnitzel that had been sitting in grease for four hours. I couldn’t eat it.
But no worries—I had backup supplies (aka vodka) in my suitcase. One little shot on an empty stomach had quite the effect. Suddenly, I wasn’t shy anymore!
I started singing and got the others to join in. There were a few Polish guests in the restaurant—they each got a shot too and soon started singing Polish songs.
The room came alive, and all our tiredness vanished.

But where there’s income, there are expenses—and I needed a toilet. No one knew where it was, so I went into the hallway where a stern-looking babushka was sitting. I asked in English, and she said something in Polish.
I thanked her and went down the stairs, right, then left—and found the bathroom.
While sitting there, I realized that a shot of vodka really does help—suddenly I had no trouble understanding Polish!

One of the days we visited a racetrack where Arabians were racing—fast ones! You were allowed to bet, but only small amounts.
I placed the maximum allowed on a beautiful Arabian that I liked and felt like a millionaire. The betting limit was about 10 zloty.
My horse won, and I made around 70 zloty—I just wished we’d been allowed to bet more!

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Karma!

In my latest blog post, I wrote about how it feels when people watch you from the stands while you ride. After publishing it, I received a message from someone who told me something quite upsetting: at their riding school, people sometimes stood on the sidelines and filmed riders—only to share the clips in a group chat where they mocked them.

I replied that people should be careful about how they behave—because there’s something called karma.

That made me think back to my school years. It’s not really about horses, but we all go through things in life that shape us into who we are.

I was bullied in school—from third to sixth grade. Three of the class “leaders” chose me as an easy target, for various reasons. I wore glasses, I loved horses, and I lived in a “nice” house with a garden.

Their names were Linda, Lone, and Marianne. I wished I could be like them—fearless, outspoken, confident. They seemed like they could do whatever they wanted. I was bullied for everything. If I got a new dress that I was proud of, it was called ugly and outdated. One time I brought a small stuffed animal to school—they took it and used it as a ball until it broke. I was shy and didn’t say much.

This went on until sixth grade. Then a new girl joined the class—she also loved horses, and I knew her from the riding school. I took care of her, and we became best friends. We still are, after a lifetime of ups and downs.

What did I learn from all this?
That I never want to treat anyone the way I was treated. I know what it feels like, how deeply lonely it can be. That’s why I’ve always tried to be kind, to listen, and to be there for others.

Later in life, I began to understand why those three girls targeted me. My mother always told me it was because they were jealous. I didn’t get that as a child—what could they possibly be jealous of?

But over the years, it started to make sense. One of the girls had a lisp, another had dyslexia, and the third came from a troubled home. Back then, it was common to invite your whole class for birthday cake at home—but none of them ever had a party. You can probably guess why.

Sometimes, attacking others is the only defense someone feels they have. But here’s the truth: people who are doing well, who feel good about themselves and their lives, have no desire to hurt others.

So if you are the one being bullied—try to remember that the bully often doesn’t feel good inside. They need to bring others down to feel in control.

And when the person being bullied stops reacting, it often takes the fun out of it for the bully. If they can’t get a reaction, they can’t feel powerful.

I hope this helps someone out there—maybe someone being bullied, maybe someone who is bullying—to really understand what’s going on, to see themselves through other people’s eyes, and to choose a better way.

Being Watched While Riding – What Does It Do to You?

You’re riding in the arena, maybe outside on a track. Around you, there are other riders – or people just standing by, watching. Suddenly, that familiar feeling creeps in:
“Are they watching me? Can they see I’m sitting crooked? Are they judging how I ride?”

If this sounds familiar, you’re definitely not alone. Almost every rider has, at some point, felt observed – and judged.

Caring about what others think isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it can be useful. It can help us improve, reflect, and strive to ride better. But the real problem begins when we start interpreting people’s glances or whispers as signs that we’re not good enough. That’s when the thoughts can spiral and become both harsh and completely untrue.

We are often our own worst critics. Two people standing by the fence talking – suddenly we’re sure they’re talking about us. And what we “hear” in our minds is rarely kind.

But… what if it’s not about you at all? What if they’re just discussing what movie to watch tonight? Or how their own riding session went?

In the horse world, there’s also a strong culture of “helpful advice.” Everyone has an opinion about riding, feeding, or handling horses – and it often doesn’t matter whether they’re educated or not. In fact, sometimes it feels like the less someone knows, the more they want to advise you.

Here’s the key: it’s not about what’s being said – it’s about how you receive it.
You can’t control what others think, but you can choose how you respond.
– Listen.
– Reflect.
– Take what’s useful – and let the rest go.

It’s easy to feel frustrated when someone with little knowledge gives you advice that feels off. But frustration rarely helps. It only drains your energy – and can even slow down your growth.

No rider knows it all. Not even after a lifetime with horses. What matters is accepting where you are on your journey, being open to learning, and always putting your horse’s well-being first.

So next time someone offers you advice – ask yourself: Can I use this?
If the answer is no, just smile, say thank you, and move on.

And if someone speaks badly about you – dare to ask why. People who are secure in themselves and confident in their knowledge don’t need to tear others down.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to your horse. That’s more than enough.