“Sit balanced in the saddle!”

I’ve heard those words more times than I can count. Early in my riding journey, they used to frustrate me. Balanced? I’m trying! I’d mutter under my breath while my horse flicked an ear back at me as if to say, Try harder.

But there was one particular ride—years ago—that reshaped how I understood balance entirely.

It was a warm, dusty afternoon. I’d arrived at the yard feeling frazzled after a week of juggling clients, family needs, and an inbox that felt like a tide rising faster than I could bail it out. I told myself that a ride would clear my head. Instead, from the moment my foot touched the stirrup, everything felt… off.

My horse, always sensitive to me and my mood, was tight in her back. I felt rigid in my body. I couldn’t find my seat. My shoulders were up around my ears. I rode one crooked circle after another, becoming increasingly annoyed with myself.

After a particularly wobbly transition, I halted, dropped my reins, and just sat there. I remember saying something inane to my dressage coach that made her laugh and made me want to cry. I could feel my breath sitting high in my chest. My horse blew out a deep sigh—the kind that makes you feel seen in a way only a horse can manage.

That’s when it hit me:

I was expecting my body to give me the balance I hadn’t given my life.

Balance in riding isn’t simply about equal weight in the stirrups. It’s about mental clarity. Emotional steadiness. A willingness to be present. And as I sat there, dust settling around us, I realised that I was asking for physical balance when mentally and emotionally, I was leaning so far to one side that I might as well have been dangling off my horse’s shoulder.

So, I took a long shuddering breath. And then another. My horse softened first. Then my seat. Then my mind.

The rest of the ride wasn’t perfect, but it was different. It was honest. And that small shift reminded me that balance always begins long before we swing a leg over the saddle.

In life, the signs of becoming “unbalanced” are subtle at first: snapping at loved ones, losing patience with our horses, forgetting small tasks, feeling overwhelmed by things that normally feel manageable. Eventually, the wobble becomes a lurch—just like a crooked circle that gets more obvious with every lap.

What I learned that day is something I now share with riders all over the world:

Your balance in the arena reflects the balance in your life.

You can’t grit your way into steadiness. You must invite it.

Since then, I’ve built tiny rituals into my day—nothing dramatic, just gentle, grounding practices that remind me to come back to centre. A few minutes of quiet breathing before I ride. Pausing between tasks. Asking myself simple questions like, What do I need right now? Where am I leaning too far? What would balance feel like in this moment?

Some days, balance looks graceful. Other days, it looks like regrouping halfway through a canter transition and laughing at yourself. Horses keep us humble that way.

But the truth remains: when we seek balance with intention—on the horse and off—we ride straighter, breathe deeper, and move through life with a steadier mind.

And I’d love to hear your story.

When did an “unbalanced” moment—whether in the saddle or in life—teach you something important?

If you’d like to explore how mental skills coaching can help you create more balance, ease, and confidence in your riding and daily life, I invite you to book a free exploration call with me:

👉 https://forgingahead.co.za/schedule-an-appointment

You can also join the Forging Ahead Academy, my monthly membership for equestrians building mental strength at their own pace:

👉 https://forgingahead.co.za/academy

Or begin with my free 7-day Facing Down Fear challenge, a gentle introduction to managing anxiety and rebuilding inner steadiness:

👉 https://forgingahead.co.za/facingdownfear

Whenever you're ready, I’m here to help you find your centre—both in the arena and beyond.