When Instinct and Instruction Pull in Different Directions
There is a particular kind of tension that appears in the warm-up ring when a trainer says, “Keep going,” while every part of you is whispering, “Something is not right.” It can happen before dressage, at the start of a jumping round, or halfway through a cross-country course when the plan in your head no longer matches the horse underneath you.
A good trainer brings experience, perspective, and a view of the partnership that is difficult to access when your heart is beating too quickly. A rider also brings information that nobody else can fully share: the change in a horse’s rhythm, the hesitation before a fence, the unusual stiffness in a rein, or the feeling that the next step needs to be different.
Learning to manage that conflict is not about choosing instinct over instruction every time. It is about understanding what your gut is telling you, deciding whether the feeling is fear or useful information, and communicating clearly enough to make a safe, thoughtful decision. That process has become one of the more important parts of my education as an event rider.
The Feeling Behind The Feeling
“Trust your gut” sounds simple until nerves are involved. Before a horse trial, instinct can be tangled up with anticipation, pressure, tiredness, and old memories. A rider who fell at a combination may feel certain that a new combination is unsafe, even when the horse is balanced and prepared. Another rider may sense a genuine problem but dismiss it as competition anxiety.
The useful question is not whether the feeling is strong. Fear can be very strong, and so can excitement. The more helpful question is whether the feeling contains specific information. Am I worried because the horse is losing impulsion? Did the stride change? Is the horse avoiding contact on one side? Have I noticed this behavior at home as well as at shows?
A vague sense of dread needs time and investigation. A clear observation deserves attention. The distinction is subtle, but it gives a rider something more practical than simply labeling every uncomfortable feeling as nerves.
Advice Is Information, Not A Command
A trainer’s instruction should be treated as part of the decision-making process, not as a command that removes the rider’s responsibility. “Ride forward” might mean that the horse needs more energy to reach a fence confidently. It might also be a shorthand reminder not to let fear create a backward, defensive ride. Understanding the reason behind the advice matters as much as hearing the words.
When the instruction does not make sense in the moment, I try to reduce it to one clear question: what problem is this advice intended to solve? If the answer is “the horse is running out of power,” then adding purposeful energy may help. If the answer is unclear, repeating the instruction louder will not make it more useful.
This is especially important in eventing, where decisions have to be made quickly and a trainer may see only part of the picture. In dressage, the issue might be tension through a movement. In show jumping, it might be a lack of commitment to a related distance. On cross-country, it could be a line, a question, or a change in the horse’s confidence. Advice works best when rider and trainer are solving the same problem.
Pause Before You Override Your Instinct
A pause does not have to be dramatic. It can be one breath before entering the arena, a quiet halt after a refusal, or a decision to circle rather than continue toward a fence that no longer feels appropriate. In that small space, the rider can gather evidence instead of reacting to the first surge of emotion.
I find it useful to scan three things: the horse, the environment, and myself. Is the horse listening and moving normally? Has the footing, weather, course, or crowd changed? Am I tense because the situation is genuinely different, or because I am anticipating a mistake? This quick check can prevent both reckless obedience and unnecessary withdrawal.
Course walks have also taught me that outside perspective can sharpen, rather than replace, personal judgment. Before a demanding cross-country round, walking with someone experienced can reveal options I missed while focusing on the fences. I wrote about that experience in walking with a mentor, because another set of eyes can help separate a real technical concern from a story built by nerves.
| Situation | Possible feeling | Useful check | Sensible response |
|---|---|---|---|
| The horse feels unusually flat | Concern or frustration | Compare the rhythm with the warm-up and recent rides | Rebalance, assess energy, and tell the trainer what feels different |
| A fence suddenly looks enormous | Fear or loss of confidence | Check approach, line, pace, and breathing | Circle or regroup if needed rather than forcing the question |
| The trainer asks for more forward | Confusion or resistance | Identify whether impulsion or speed is the real issue | Ask for a specific feel, such as stronger hind-leg activity without rushing |
| The horse spooks repeatedly | Anxiety or possible environmental concern | Look for pain, footing, objects, or escalating tension | Stop, investigate, and adjust the plan with the trainer |
| The rider wants to continue after a refusal | Determination or embarrassment | Consider safety, confidence, and the reason for the refusal | Rebuild calmly only if horse and rider are both settled |
How To Speak Up Without Creating A Standoff
It is possible to disagree with a trainer respectfully and still remain coachable. The most productive language is concrete. “He feels different in his left shoulder,” gives a trainer something to assess. “I just don’t like it,” communicates discomfort but leaves the other person guessing about its source.
The same applies to the rider’s state of mind. Saying, “I am becoming too tense to ride this line effectively,” is more useful than forcing a brave expression until the decision becomes unsafe. A trainer may be able to simplify the exercise, change the approach, or give one smaller task that restores a sense of control.
Conversations after the ride matter too. Once the adrenaline has gone, explain what you felt and ask what the trainer observed. Sometimes the horse was perfectly fine and the rider was protecting herself from an old fear. Sometimes the trainer saw the wrong part of the moment and learns something important from the rider’s account. Both possibilities are valuable.
Build A Shared Vocabulary Before Competition
The best time to negotiate how disagreements will be handled is at home, not in the start box. A trainer and rider can decide which words mean “add energy,” “slow the tempo,” “reorganize,” or “stop and reassess.” They can also agree on the circumstances in which safety takes priority over completing the exercise.
This kind of shared vocabulary is especially helpful for riders who become overwhelmed by too many instructions. One short phrase may be enough to bring focus back to the next stride. It also helps the trainer understand whether a rider needs technical information, emotional reassurance, or permission to take a pause.
A written competition plan can support that conversation. The schedule itself is useful for considering travel, warm-up time, lessons, rest, and recovery; I keep those practical details together in my competition schedule so preparation does not become another source of avoidable pressure. Planning cannot remove surprises, but it gives the partnership a calmer framework for handling them.
The Difference Between Coaching And Control
A strong training relationship leaves room for questions. The rider should be able to ask why an exercise is being used, explain a physical or emotional concern, and say when a task feels beyond the current level of preparation. That does not mean every decision will be comfortable or that every opinion will prevail. It means the rider remains an active participant.
Control looks different. It may appear as pressure to continue after repeated refusals, dismissal of pain or unusual behavior, or criticism for expressing a safety concern. A rider can be inexperienced and still notice something important. A horse can be well trained and still have a bad day. Expertise should make room for those realities.
Trust is built when advice is consistent with the horse’s welfare and the rider’s development. Sometimes that means accepting a difficult correction. Sometimes it means changing the plan. The goal is not to create a rider who obeys automatically, but one who can think clearly under pressure and carry out instruction with understanding.
When The Plan Needs To Change
Changing course is not the same as failing. A competition plan may need to shift because the horse is tired, the ground is poor, the weather has changed, or the rider’s concentration has deteriorated. In those moments, finishing the original plan can become less important than preserving confidence and safety.
This can be emotionally difficult at a horse trial. Riders invest money, time, and hope into each entry. There is often a feeling that withdrawing, retiring, or simplifying means all that preparation has been wasted. In reality, making a measured decision is part of preparation. The partnership is learning what it can handle today, not being graded on how closely it follows an old schedule.
The same principle applies in ordinary schooling. If an exercise produces increasing tension, repeating it simply to prove determination may teach the wrong lesson. A better session might involve returning to a familiar movement, finding a relaxed rhythm, and ending with both horse and rider feeling capable. Progress is often protected by knowing when to change the question.
A More Honest Kind Of Confidence
Confidence is sometimes described as the absence of doubt, but that has never matched my experience. The riders I admire still notice uncertainty. They simply know how to examine it without allowing it to make every decision. They can listen to a trainer, listen to the horse, and listen to themselves without treating any single source as infallible.
That balance grows through repetition. After each ride, it helps to record what was felt, what was seen, what advice was given, and what happened after the decision. Patterns become easier to recognize. A rider may discover that a particular thought always appears before a strong performance, or that a certain physical sensation has preceded genuine problems more than once.
The aim is a partnership where communication moves in both directions. The trainer offers knowledge and perspective. The horse offers immediate feedback. The rider gathers those signals and makes the next responsible choice. Sometimes the right decision will be to follow the instruction exactly. Sometimes it will be to ask for clarification, take a breath, or stop.
When your trainer’s advice doesn’t match your gut, give the disagreement enough space to be examined. Name the feeling, look for evidence, communicate in specific terms, and keep safety at the center of the decision. Then carry that lesson into the next schooling session, the next course walk, and the next start box. Your voice belongs in the partnership, so use it thoughtfully and ride with both guidance and awareness.