GiGi’s Story

I grew up around horses in competitive environments where control was taught as a skill. Bits, spurs, training aids, performance. I didn’t know another way. I was a child learning what I was shown.

Years later, Gigi came into my life. She was small, gentle, and resistant in ways I didn’t yet understand. When I first brought her home, I assumed I should ride her the way I had always been taught. I used familiar tack. I followed familiar routines.

She hated it.

She didn’t want a saddle on her back. She didn’t want anything on her face. She didn’t want to be ridden in circles. At first, I was told she was stubborn. That I needed to persist. That this was just how horses learned.

But something in me paused.

Instead of forcing her through it, I stopped. I began grooming her, walking with her, playing with her in the arena, teaching her simple games and tricks. I let her move freely in the pasture with other horses where she had already had all the exercise she needed.

When I stopped asking her to perform, she softened.

She followed me without a halter. She chose to be near me. She allowed connection without restraint. There was no force, no equipment, just trust.

Later, Gigi would let me sit quietly on her back without tack, not to ride, but to be close. To rest. To listen. To care for her body.

She taught me that a relationship between horse and human does not require control.

She taught me that resistance is often communication.

When Gigi became gravely ill near the end of her life, a veterinarian performed an internal examination and asked me a question I will never forget.

“Has she ever had a broken pelvis?”

I didn’t know her history before she came to me, but the veterinarian explained that her body showed signs of long-held trauma. Jagged ossification. Evidence of pain she had likely lived with for years.

In that moment, everything became clear.

Gigi hadn’t been difficult. She had been hurting.

I am deeply grateful that I listened when I did. That I took her out of the riding industry. That I let her become what she was meant to be — a teacher. A gentle presence. A horse who offered safety to children and connection without force.

Gigi changed the way I understand horses, and she changed the way I understand leadership.

Her silhouette represents that turning point for me — choosing care over control, listening over tradition, and honoring consent as essential to true partnership.

Gigi was a rescue, and through her story, she continues to protect others.