Big Feelings

When You and The Horse Feels Big Feelings (And You Don’t Know What to Do With Them)

You ever watch a horse come apart at the seams and feel your own nervous system hitch a ride?

Yeah. Me too.

Eyes wide. Head sky high. Breath like a freight train. The kind of presence that stops time and makes you hyper-aware of every muscle fiber in your own body.

There’s a primal beauty to it—until you’re the one, horse brush in hand, That is grooming an atom bomb.

Then it feels like you’ve been handed a live wire and no one gave you instructions.

We say we love horses. But let’s be honest—people often love the idea of horses.

The tidy, curated, Disneyfied version. The one that stands stock-still while we project our feelings onto them, sob into their manes and tell our stories into their eyes, and ask for healing we haven't learned how to offer ourselves.

But horses feel. Horses react. Horses don't “take care of you” or act as babysitters.

They express. They mirror.

That’s where most people hit a wall. Not because the horse is dangerous or broken or “too much”—but because we don’t know what to do with raw emotion—especially not when it’s embodied, coiling and 1200 pounds.

Some may call them “sensitive,” but often what we’re actually saying is: I don’t feel safe when the horse shows me their truth.

Which... wow. Isn’t that familiar?

As someone with a nervous system that’s been dragged behind the trauma bus more than once, I recognize the scramble. The urgent, clenched need to fix it, stop it, sedate it, control it.

Some don’t want a horse in front of them—instead, they want a therapist, a weighted blanket, a Xanax.

But that’s not the contract.

The horse never agreed to be our emotional support unicorn. And they sure as hell didn’t sign up to be spiritually and emotionally lobotomized for our comfort.

What they did offer, though, was honesty.

Authenticity.  

Real-time feedback.  

And a chance to grow into someone who can stand next to a tornado and not flinch.

Because that’s what emotional competence really looks like. It’s not avoiding conflict. It’s not over-managing. It’s not layering supplements, gadgets, and buzzwords over the top of a creature who’s just exhibiting evolutionary necessities that keeps them safe. It's inherent. It's important.  

A solid path is presence.  

It’s skill.  

It’s a deep breath and the quiet, grounded energy of “I’ve got you, buddy, because I've got me. Let’s move through this together.”

This is where I get fierce:  

We’ve got to stop making horse’s expression a problem to be solved.

The horse isn’t a bad teacher if it's reading the room in a way that causes havoc while gearing up to bolt in the presence of something they don't understand.   

And nobody is the bad guy for needing help building tools to meet emotion with grace instead of fear.

But you do need tools.

Because fear—yours or theirs—isn’t fixed with “good vibes”, granola and wishful thinking. It’s met with real leadership. Not dominance. Not control. Just support.

And that’s learned. It’s practiced. It’s earned. You don’t show up to the barn enlightened. You grow into the version of yourself who can hold steady in the storm.

And when you do—when you stop fearing the horse’s feelings because you trust your own ability to navigate them—that’s when everything shifts.

You stop seeing their reaction as a threat, and start seeing it as an invitation.

To connect.  

To collaborate.  

To listen.

Pause.  

Get curious.  

And remember why you started this whole journey.

It was for something real.

Let them.

Let you, too.

And if you’re ready to begin your own journey—starting with your fears, your patterns, your nervous system—join us.

Cat Snapp offers one-on-one mentoring and seasonal workshops designed to help humans grow the emotional skillset that horses can help them find. This isn’t performance-focused. It’s relationship-deepening. It’s for those ready to lead themselves with clarity, This experience is for people who are ready to reconnect—with their body, their breath, their intuition, and their truth. The horse is your guide, not your solution. You are the medicine that has horses to help it along.

Reach out.

Let’s walk it together.  

You don’t have to own a horse or know anything about them to start this journey.

You don’t need boots or breeches or years of experience.

You just need a willingness to show up—to meet the truth inside you, the same way the horse will.

Because horses don’t heal us by magic.  

They heal us by mirroring who we are—honestly, kindly, and without apology.

If you’re ready to stop searching for something outside of yourself to fix what’s inside, and you’re brave enough to learn what the horse is really here to show you—let’s begin.

You’re not here to escape your story.  

You’re here to rewrite it.