As I rolled over on Christmas morning and opened my eyes, my poster of Jazz on my bedroom wall came into focus. This morning, like every morning since mid-September, I started talking to her, quietly, in my head.

Our morning chats have become something of a ritual—a way to stay connected to the horse who was my soul, my partner, and my purpose.

But this morning, this Christmas morning, something felt different. There was a subtle shift in the tone of the conversation.

“Get up,” she seemed to say. “Get up and go forward, into your beautiful life.”

Jazzy knew me better than anyone. She knew how hard some mornings have been—how the weight of grief has sometimes kept me captive in bed. How my anxiety can make it hard to focus on even breathing some mornings.

She also knew how I’d relied on my lifelong rituals of morning exercise to push me forward, even when I desperately wanted to roll over, keep my eyes tightly closed against the day, and pretend to still be sleeping.

But today, somehow, felt different.

The spark of joy and flame of hope that had seemed so long extinguished inside me flickered. And caught.

This morning, I sprang out of bed with excitement. Not the childlike excitement of past Christmases, but the quiet joy of looking forward.

I live alone now, with my dogs and cat. For what feels like the first time in my life. It’s not, of course, but it feels like it. After the first flush of freedom, I’ve come to understand how much I used to lean into my extroverted nature to cope with loneliness.

This time has been different. I’ve needed solitude—to sit with my grief, to mourn the pieces of my lost life, and especially, to honour the depth of my loss for Jazz.

Yes, I’ve always managed to get up eventually and get on with my day. But it’s often felt like chewing through something vaguely unpleasant yet necessary.

Today was different.

One of the most profound gifts of this season has been the arrival of Cheri, my new horse. She’s a beautiful liver chestnut mare who has brought light back into my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

Cheri has become more than a horse—she’s a healer, a spark of hope, and a reminder that new beginnings are always possible. She’s taught me that it’s okay to let joy seep back in, even as I carry the weight of loss.

Her gentle eyes and willing spirit have given me something to look forward to each day—a reason to get up and go to the stables with a heart that feels just a little lighter.

This year has been a tapestry of grief and gratitude, loss and love, pain and growth.

I’ve mourned deeply for Jazz, for the life we shared, and for the dreams that changed when she left. But alongside that grief, I’ve found new relationships, deepened friendships, and experienced incredible growth in my work.

Forging Ahead has reached milestones I once only dreamed of. The connection I feel with my clients and this community has been a source of strength and purpose, even on my hardest days.

And through it all, I’ve learned to let go of the things that no longer serve me, to honour the past without being defined by it, and to step into a life that feels freer and more authentic than ever before.

As I reflect on this year, I’m filled with gratitude—not just for where I am but for the lessons learned along the way.

Grief is a universal experience, yet it’s deeply personal. It’s something I’ve walked through this year, and I know so many of you have walked through it too.

This is why I’m planning to develop a course on grieving and dealing with difficult times. If you have been involved with horses for any length of time, you will know and understand what I'm talking about. Whether your loss have involved an actual horse or pony, whether that has been due to death or sale, whether it has to do with hopes and dreams you had for your riding, that have had to be adjusted, or changed entirely, due to any number of reasons, if you have had difficult seasons in your riding career, been bullied at your yard, or have had to deal with anything that has made you feel overwhelmed, even for a moment, this course is going to soothe your soul and help you make sense of your loss.

I will be releasing it in the final quarter of 2025 in the Forging Ahead Academy, and you can access it by joining the Forging Ahead Academy. I'm currently running a special - you can sign up for a hugely discounted price.

But I’d love to hear from you first. What has grief taught you? What tools or support have helped you through difficult times?

This Christmas morning, as I spoke to Jazz and felt her encouragement to move forward, I was reminded of the strength and resilience we all carry.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your story. Share your thoughts in the comments or reach out to me directly. Together, we can honour the lessons of grief, celebrate the beauty of healing, and look forward to the light ahead.

Warmly,

Linda