The Horse I was Afraid of

I turned sixty in 2026.

Sixty!

I remember thinking, How in the world did that happen?

Birthdays have a funny way of making us take inventory of our lives. As I looked ahead to the next chapter, I realized there were a few things that just didn't fit anymore.

One of them was my relationship with horses.

Actually... relationship is probably too generous.

I was terrified of them.

Not cautious.

Not uncomfortable.

Terrified.

Which is a little awkward when you're an animal communicator.

People assume that because I love animals, I must naturally feel at ease around all of them.

Snakes?

Love them.

Rats?

Have you ever really looked into their eyes? They're some of the sweetest little souls you'll ever meet.

Horses?

Absolutely not.

No thank you.

You all have fun.

I'll be over here.

It never made sense to me.

How could someone who felt such a deep connection with animals be so afraid of horses?

So I made a decision.

My sixtieth year was going to be the year I stopped running from whatever this was.

Then life started leaving me little breadcrumbs.

First, I learned that 2026 was the Chinese Year of the Horse.

"Huh..."

Then I discovered that 1966—the year I was born—was the Year of the Fire Horse.

"Well...that's interesting."

Then a friend reminded me that because I was born in December, I'm a Sagittarius.

Half human.

Half...

Horse.

At that point, I started laughing.

Spirit was getting a little obvious.

Then I found a retreat in Costa Rica at a horse sanctuary.

I signed up.

There was just one small problem.

I was still terrified of horses.

Before I left, I had a quiet intuitive feeling.

I knew two things about the horse I'd be working with.

He would be black.

And he would be the biggest horse there.

I remember thinking...

"Please let me be wrong."

I wasn't.

His name was Galán.

He was a magnificent black Friesian.

And yes...

He was enormous.

Exactly the horse I had hoped not to meet.

Over the next several days, something remarkable began to happen.

The horses slowly taught me that they weren't asking me to be fearless.

They were asking me to be present.

Then came one unforgettable afternoon.

It was raining.

I was lying on the ground beside Galán, connecting with him energetically.

Suddenly I heard him say,

"You are a horse."

I laughed.

"Galán...have you looked at me? I'm pretty sure I'm not a horse."

He wasn't amused.

"You are a Fire Horse."

Still confused, I asked him what he meant.

His answer changed me.

"You aren't afraid of horses."

"You're afraid of yourself."

I lay there in the rain, completely silent.

Then he continued.

"You're afraid of everything within yourself that is horse-like."

"Your strength."

"Your tenderness."

"Your connection to Spirit."

"Your power."

I had spent my entire life believing horses represented something outside of me.

Galán showed me they were reflecting something within me.

That conversation didn't just change the way I felt about horses.

It changed the way I saw myself.

What Galán Taught Me

I went to Costa Rica thinking I needed to overcome my fear of horses.

Galán had other plans.

He didn't teach me how to be less afraid of him.

He taught me to become curious about what I was actually afraid of.

That distinction changed everything.

For most of my life, strength had looked a certain way to me.

Work harder.

Push through.

Figure it out.

Get things done.

Don't be vulnerable.

Keep moving.

But standing beside a horse—or in my case, lying in the rain beside an enormous one—I began to understand another kind of strength.

A horse can be extraordinarily powerful and extraordinarily sensitive at the same time.

One doesn't diminish the other.

Maybe that's what I hadn't understood about myself.

I had spent years learning how to be strong.

I was only beginning to learn that tenderness could be part of that strength.

So could intuition.

Sensitivity.

Vulnerability.

Connection.

Stillness.

Maybe I wasn't afraid of becoming powerful.

Maybe I was afraid of discovering that power didn't have to look the way I'd always believed it did.

And Galán wasn't asking me to conquer any of it.

He was asking me to recognize it.

That's one of the things animals continually teach me.

They don't always show us something we need to become.

Sometimes they reflect something that's been inside us all along.

Today, I love horses.

Not because I conquered my fear.

Not because I forced myself to become comfortable around them.

And certainly not because I became fearless.

I love them because I finally stopped running long enough to listen.

And when I did, one extraordinary horse introduced me to a part of myself I hadn't yet learned how to love.

Sometimes the greatest gift an animal gives us isn't comfort.

Sometimes they lovingly introduce us to ourselves.

You May Be Wondering...

What if I'm afraid of an animal?

I don't believe fear is something we should judge—or something we necessarily need to push through.

Fear can contain information.

Sometimes the safest and most compassionate thing to do is simply respect it, particularly with an animal we don't know.

But we can also become curious about it.

What am I actually afraid of?

What does this animal represent to me?

What happens inside my body when I'm near them?

What story have I been carrying about them?

You may discover that the fear is simply fear.

Or, as happened with Galán and me, you may discover something underneath it that you never expected.

I thought I went to Costa Rica to change my relationship with horses.

A horse changed my relationship with myself.

May you see the world through the eyes of love, remembering that we are all part of one living, sacred whole.