I’d never seen one before.
They moved strange. Loud. Sudden.
They smelled different. Their eyes locked on mine, and my whole body lit up with tension.
I didn’t know what you expected from me.
Stand still? Chase it? Dodge? Drive?
Every time I tried something, I looked to you.
And the first time, I got it wrong.
I spooked. Moved too fast. Lost track of the cow—and myself.
But you didn’t get after me. You didn’t act like I should already know.
You let me watch. Let me breathe. You let me ask questions without punishing me for not having answers.
So I tried again.
And little by little, I stopped reacting—and started thinking.
I learned that I could shape where the cow moved.
I learned to step into pressure—not away from it.
I began to grow up.
Not because you demanded it, but because you invited it.
You met me where I was emotionally—not where you wished I’d be.
You gave me time to understand the cow before expecting me to control it.
And that’s why I now walk into the herd steady, not stiff.
I don’t fake confidence. I don’t just act brave—I feel it.
You let me mature instead of masking fear with obedience.
And because of that, I trust you. And I trust myself.
Leadership Principle:
Confidence that’s rushed is fragile. Confidence that’s nurtured is unshakable.
Meet your horse where they are—not where your ambition wishes they were—and you’ll raise a partner, not a performer.