Forgiveness, Change, and the Courage to Do Better

Horses forgive us for an extraordinary amount.

They forgive imperfect timing, unclear cues, moments of frustration, and the countless mistakes we make while learning. Especially early in our education, many of us owe our progress to horses who were generous enough to keep trying while we figured things out.

But forgiveness shouldn't be mistaken for permission.

The fact that a horse tolerates our mistakes doesn't necessarily mean what we're doing is fair, effective, or even understood. Forgiveness gives us room to learn—but what we do with that room matters.

What Forgiving Horses Teach Us

“For some, the period of forgiveness for the myriad ways humans mistreat them lasts their entire life. For others, that window is much smaller—only a few weeks or months, or maybe even only a few minutes—before they say no to unfair pressure. I have seen trainers who forever make excuses for their own poor work and lack of knowledge by blaming the horse’s character. These are the trainers who only find ‘success’ with horses who have a lifetime of forgiveness to offer, because they can’t train those who have a smaller window of forgiveness without hitting roadblocks.” Chapter 11, Finding Purpose

I've worked with horses on both ends of that spectrum.

There are horses who seem to have an almost endless capacity to forgive. They'll tolerate our unclear aids and imperfect timing and continue trying to find the answer we're looking for. Looking back, I can see how much I relied on horses like these while I was learning. They carried me through periods of ignorance and inexperience, and I owe them more than I could ever repay.

Then there are the horses whose window of forgiveness is much smaller.

Those horses can be easy to label as difficult, resistant, stubborn, or complicated. But often, they're simply less willing to tolerate confusion or unfairness.

And that can make them extraordinary teachers.

They force us to become more precise. They expose holes in our understanding that a more forgiving horse might quietly work around. They make it harder to blame the horse when what we really need to do is examine ourselves.

That's where forgiveness begins to ask something of us in return.

If a horse forgives a mistake and we simply repeat it, we haven't learned very much. Forgiveness isn't a license to continue behaving the same way. It's an opportunity to recognize what happened, take responsibility for our part in it, and try again with greater awareness.

And doing that requires change.

When Growth Gets Uncomfortable

“Though cathartic and at times incredibly therapeutic, The 3 Doors Academy was not therapy in any traditional sense. The lessons in that two-and-a-half years of my life were some of the most intense and uncomfortable I had ever experienced. It was a different kind of discomfort than I was used to: the kind that comes from looking at yourself and your long-standing habits in a way you have never done before; the kind that comes from befriending yourself and all of your idiosyncrasies in a way you didn’t know was possible; the kind that comes from sitting in your shit rather than trying to avoid it, run past it, or escape from it.” Chapter 18, Finding Purpose

Change rarely begins with comfort.

It's much easier to keep doing what we've always done, particularly when it has worked well enough in the past. It's harder to look honestly at our habits and acknowledge that something about our approach needs to change.

My time in The 3 Doors Academy taught me a different kind of discomfort. It wasn't about physically pushing myself harder. It was about becoming willing to look directly at myself—the habits, patterns, reactions, and stories I had accumulated—and stop trying to move around the pieces I didn't particularly want to examine.

Horses ask us to do this too.

A horse who isn't responding the way we expect gives us a choice. We can decide the horse is the problem and continue doing more of the same, or we can become curious about our own contribution to the conversation.

Maybe our timing needs to change.

Maybe the question isn't clear.

Maybe our expectations aren't appropriate for this particular horse.

Maybe something that worked beautifully with ten other horses simply doesn't work with the one standing in front of us.

Admitting that can be uncomfortable, especially when we have experience behind us. But experience should give us more tools with which to question ourselves, not more reasons to assume we're right.

Forgiveness Is an Invitation

This is where forgiveness and change become deeply connected.

When a horse gives us another chance, they're giving us an opportunity to answer differently.

That doesn't mean we need to punish ourselves for every mistake. In fact, self-forgiveness matters too. None of us can become better horsepeople if we're so consumed by what we got wrong that we're afraid to try again.

But forgiving ourselves isn't the same as excusing ourselves.

We can acknowledge that we did the best we could with what we knew at the time while also recognizing that, now that we know more, we're responsible for doing something differently.

That's growth.

The same is true in our relationship with the horse. Their willingness to try again is a gift, but our responsibility is to make sure we're worthy of that willingness. To listen more carefully. To refine our timing. To question our assumptions. To notice when we're repeating a pattern simply because it's familiar.

Sometimes the horses with the smallest window of forgiveness teach us this most clearly. They don't allow us to hide behind what has always worked. They demand that we become better listeners, better observers, and more honest participants in the relationship.

The Courage to Try Differently

Change almost always creates some resistance at first.

We like familiarity. So do horses. There is comfort in knowing what comes next, even when the familiar pattern isn't particularly useful anymore. But growth requires us to tolerate the awkward space between recognizing that something needs to change and becoming comfortable with the new way of doing it.

That might mean changing how you use an aid. Rethinking a training goal. Asking less. Listening longer. Seeking help. Or admitting that an approach you were once deeply committed to no longer aligns with what you now understand.

There is courage in that.

Horsemanship doesn't require us to get everything right. It asks us to pay attention to what happens when we don't. Our horses will forgive many of our mistakes. We need to forgive ourselves for them, too.

But perhaps the best way to honor that forgiveness is to let it change us.

So the next time your horse gives you another chance, ask yourself: Am I simply grateful that they forgave the mistake—or am I willing to change something because of what it taught me?