There is a quiet moment in riding that often goes unnoticed.

It lives in the space between transitions. In the breath before a fence. In the few strides where nothing much seems to be happening at all.

And yet, that space is often where everything changes.

As equestrians, we are conditioned to keep moving forward. Improve the score. Fix the problem. Build the strength. Set the next goal. There is always another lesson, another competition, another area where we believe we should be doing more.

At this time of year especially, the pressure can feel subtle but persistent. New year. New plans. New expectations.

But the days after Christmas offer us something different, if we’re willing to listen.

They offer us a pause.

When doing more stops working

Many riders come to me feeling stuck, frustrated, or oddly flat. They’re working hard, yet progress feels elusive. Often, they assume the answer is more effort: more schooling, more analysis, more pressure on themselves.

But both experience and research tell us something important – sustainable growth does not happen under constant strain.

Learning, whether physical or psychological, requires periods of integration. Neuroscience shows that new skills and insights are consolidated not just during effort, but during rest. This is when the brain makes sense of what has already been learned.

In other words, if you never pause, you never fully absorb.

This applies just as much to riding as it does to life.

Horses notice what we ignore

Horses are exquisitely sensitive to what we carry inside us. Not just our aids, but our pace. Our tension. Our urgency.

When we rush, they rush. When we brace, they brace. When we are mentally somewhere else, they feel it.

How often have you tried to push a horse forward, only to feel resistance build beneath you? And how often has that resistance softened the moment you exhaled, waited, and allowed the horse to find their balance?

This is not accidental.

The horse responds not only to what we ask, but to how we are being when we ask it.

The pause gives the horse time to process. It also gives us information. Without it, we are often riding over the top of what the horse is trying to tell us.

The equestrian power of the pause

Think about the moments in riding where stillness matters most:

• The moment between transitions, where balance reorganises.

• The pause before a fence, where rhythm and confidence are either established or lost.

• Allowing a horse to settle instead of driving them forward when they are anxious.

These are not passive moments. They are active listening.

They require confidence, patience, and trust – not just in the horse, but in ourselves.

Yet many riders feel deeply uncomfortable here. Stillness can feel like stagnation. Pausing can feel like falling behind. Waiting can trigger fear that we are not doing enough.

This discomfort is rarely about riding alone.

What the pause brings up

When we stop pushing, we start noticing.

We notice fatigue we’ve been ignoring. Doubts we’ve been outrunning. Lessons we haven’t fully digested yet.

This is why the pause can feel unsettling. It removes distraction.

Psychological research shows that high achievers often struggle most with rest. Their identity is tied to progress, productivity, and improvement. Stillness can feel threatening, as though it might expose inadequacy or loss of momentum.

But avoiding the pause doesn’t remove these fears – it simply postpones them.

And horses, once again, tend to reflect this back to us.

A horse that won’t settle, won’t stand, won’t wait, is sometimes mirroring a rider who doesn’t know how to pause internally either.

This week is not for new goals

The space between Christmas and New Year holds a unique energy. Time feels softer. The usual structures loosen. There is less urgency – if we allow it.

This is not the week to force clarity or set ambitious targets.

Instead, consider using it to notice:

• What did this past year teach you about yourself as a rider?

• Where did things become easier than you expected?

• Where did you learn something the hard way?

• What are you still integrating?

Reflection without judgement is a skill. It requires kindness and honesty in equal measure.

You don’t need answers yet. You only need awareness.

Riding from listening, not pushing

When you next ride, experiment with the pause.

Notice what happens if you wait an extra stride before a transition. If you soften your body before adding leg. If you allow the horse to organise themselves rather than micromanaging every step.

Pay attention not just to the horse, but to your own internal state.

Are you breathing? Are you rushing? Are you allowing the moment to unfold, or trying to control the outcome?

These small moments of awareness are where confidence begins to rebuild.

Not the brittle confidence that relies on everything going perfectly – but the grounded confidence that comes from being present.

Progress doesn’t always look like movement

One of the greatest misconceptions in both sport and life is that progress must be visible, measurable, and immediate.

Some of the most important shifts happen quietly.

In the pause where you choose patience over pressure. In the moment you listen instead of react. In the decision to rest rather than push through.

These are not steps backwards. They are the space where something new can take root.

Carrying this forward

If you find it difficult to slow down, to trust the pause, or to listen to what comes up when you stop striving, this is not a personal failing. It is a learned pattern – and like all patterns, it can be changed.

Mental skills coaching helps riders develop the confidence to pause without fear, to reflect without judgement, and to move forward from a place of clarity rather than urgency.

If this resonates, you are warmly invited to explore Forging Ahead Mental Skills Coaching and book your free introductory session, or to join the Academy for ongoing support as you develop these skills.

For now, allow yourself the space between.

You may find that progress is already happening there.