Why I Step Away From Social Media During Event Season
Event season asks for a particular kind of attention. It begins before the horse trailer leaves the driveway, continues through every transition between phases, and often follows me home in the form of tired legs, muddy boots, and a mind still replaying one fence. There is always something to prepare, remember, repair, pack, or learn.
Social media can make that already-full season feel even louder. During a horse trial, my phone offers an endless stream of other riders’ warm-ups, polished photographs, training updates, scores, opinions, and announcements. Some of it is useful and encouraging. Some of it quietly pulls me away from my own horse and into a running comparison with people whose circumstances I cannot see.
For me, stepping back is less about rejecting the online equestrian community and more about protecting the partnership in front of me. A break gives me space to notice what my horse is telling me, process my own nerves, and experience the competition without turning every moment into content.
The noise arrives before the first phase
Eventing already contains plenty of information. There are dressage times, cross-country maps, show-jumping orders, weather forecasts, ground conditions, steward briefings, tack checks, and last-minute changes. My brain is sorting through all of that while also trying to remain calm enough to ride well.
Social media adds another layer of input. I might open an app to check one message and find myself watching a professional rider’s beautiful preparation routine. A few minutes later, I am looking at someone else’s scores or reading a debate about training methods. None of those things needs my attention at that exact moment, but the constant availability makes it difficult to keep my focus narrow.
A horse does not need a rider who is mentally standing in three different arenas at once. My horse needs me to recognize a change in rhythm, a hesitation near a spooky object, or a moment when my balance is not quite where it should be. The more attention I give to the feed in my hand, the less attention remains for the living animal beside me.
Comparison changes the way a competition feels
Before an event, it is easy to use social media as a measuring stick. I see immaculate plaits, spotless lorries, professional grooming teams, confident captions, and horses that appear perfectly relaxed in every photograph. I know that these images show selected moments, yet my nervous brain can still treat them as complete stories.
That comparison can make an ordinary preparation day feel like evidence that I am falling behind. If another rider has a more polished setup, a higher-level horse, or a longer list of achievements, I can begin to question choices that were sensible for my own circumstances. The result is unnecessary pressure, and pressure rarely improves a complicated sport.
My horse does not know whether another combination has a prettier photo or a larger following. He knows whether I am present, fair, consistent, and clear. When I step away from the scroll, I am better able to judge our progress by useful measures: a more balanced transition, a calmer warm-up, a braver effort, or a ride in which we solved a problem together.
The pause also protects the private parts of competition. Not every nervous thought needs to be announced while I am still feeling it. Not every mistake needs immediate analysis by strangers. Some experiences become more understandable when I allow them to settle before deciding what they mean.
A quieter phone supports better preparation
My social media break is usually practical rather than dramatic. I do not need to make a public announcement or treat it as a permanent rule. I remove the apps from my most convenient screen, silence notifications, and tell the people who genuinely need to reach me how to do so. Messages from family, my trainer, and event officials remain important; random updates do not.
I also decide in advance when I will return to the online world. That might be after the final phase, after the horse is home and settled, or once I have slept properly and written down my own account of the weekend. Having a clear boundary prevents the break from becoming another decision I have to make while tired.
| Online habit during an event | What it can cost me | A more useful replacement |
|---|---|---|
| Checking scores repeatedly | Increased tension and distraction | Reviewing the official results at a planned time |
| Watching other riders’ warm-ups | Comparison and second-guessing | Observing my horse’s breathing, rhythm, and focus |
| Posting live updates | Pressure to perform for an audience | Keeping brief private notes |
| Reading criticism or debate | Emotional drain before riding | Discussing concerns with my trainer |
| Editing photographs between phases | Lost recovery time | Eating, drinking, and mentally resetting |
| Scrolling after a difficult round | Immediate, incomplete judgment | Walking the horse and reflecting later |
This approach leaves room for useful technology without allowing it to dominate the day. I still use my phone for directions, weather, timing, photographs, emergency calls, and practical communication. The aim is not to become unreachable. It is to become selective about what deserves my attention.
The horse trial deserves to be experienced before it is reported
There is a particular pressure in sharing an event as it happens. Once I post a plan, a prediction, or a photograph from the warm-up, I can feel as though I have created a story that the rest of the weekend must follow. A good round becomes something to display immediately, while a difficult moment can feel like a problem that needs explaining before I have processed it.
I would rather let the horse trial happen first. Dressage may reveal a tension I had not noticed at home. Show jumping may require a different ride than I expected. Cross-country may leave me exhilarated, humbled, or both. Those reactions are valuable while they are still fresh, but they do not always become clear in the minutes after dismounting.
Writing later gives me a more honest perspective. I can separate the facts from the emotional weather around them: the halt that went well, the fence where I lost confidence, the recovery after a mistake, and the small improvement that might otherwise disappear beneath the final score. My reflections after competition are part of how I make sense of these layers, which is why I keep candid horse-trial recaps rather than trying to capture everything in real time.
A delayed post can also be kinder. I have time to consider the horse’s effort, the help I received, and the context behind a result. That does not mean softening every truth. It means giving the truth enough room to become useful instead of publishing the first reaction that arrives.
Stepping back makes room for the people around me
Eventing is often described as an individual sport, but no horse and rider reaches the start box alone. Family members drive, groom, hold horses, find lost gloves, carry water, offer food, and keep morale from collapsing when the timetable changes. Trainers offer direction when nerves distort judgment. Friends understand why a ten-minute walk to the lorry can feel like a major emotional journey.
When my phone is constantly in my hand, I can miss the simple conversations that make a competition memorable. I may fail to notice someone helping with a breastplate or overlook the chance to thank the person who stood in the rain for hours. A social media audience can feel large, but it cannot replace the people physically sharing the day.
Being offline also lets me accept support without immediately turning it into a photograph or caption. There is value in a quiet cup of tea, a hand on my shoulder, or a debrief beside the horsebox that belongs only to the people who were there. Those moments become part of the memory without needing to be documented.
The equestrian community online matters to me, especially when it offers encouragement and honest education. A break does not erase that connection. It reminds me that community begins with the people and animals close enough to notice when I need help.
The pause helps me listen to my own nerves
Competition nerves can become louder when I keep looking outward. One rider’s confidence may make me feel underprepared. A bad-news post may increase my worry about safety. A string of perfect results may persuade me that my own goal is too modest. None of those reactions tells me what I actually need.
Without the constant comparison, I can identify the specific shape of my nerves. Am I worried about forgetting the dressage test? Is my horse unsettled by the atmosphere? Am I carrying an old mistake into a new phase? Once the fear has a name, I can usually respond with something practical: rehearse the test, simplify the warm-up, breathe before entering the arena, or ask for help.
I have also learned that nerves are information, not always instructions. Feeling anxious does not automatically mean I am unprepared or incapable. It may simply mean the outcome matters to me. A quieter environment helps me acknowledge that feeling without allowing it to make every decision.
The best reset is often physical. I put the phone away, walk with my horse, check his water, feel his breathing settle, and return to the next small task. Eventing becomes more manageable when I stop trying to experience the whole weekend at once.
A break can be part of a healthier online rhythm
I do not want social media to disappear from my life. It helps me stay connected with riders in other places, discover training ideas, celebrate friends, and share the stories that make this sport meaningful. The problem is not the existence of the feed. It is allowing the feed to set the pace of my attention.
These are the boundaries that work best for me during busy competition periods:
- Turn off nonessential notifications several days before the event.
- Keep practical contacts available while muting general social updates.
- Avoid checking other riders’ scores or preparation immediately before riding.
- Write private notes first and publish reflections only after the weekend has settled.
- Return to social media with a time limit instead of falling straight back into constant checking.
The boundaries may look small, but small changes have a noticeable effect. I sleep better when I am not absorbing new information late at night. I pack more deliberately when I am not interrupting myself every few minutes. I am also less likely to confuse online visibility with actual progress.
There will be weekends when I post a photograph or answer messages during an event. This is not a purity test. The point is to choose rather than react. If sharing feels joyful and does not take me away from my horse, it can have a place. If it creates pressure, I can close the app without apology.
Returning online with something real to say
When I come back after an event, I prefer to bring a considered account rather than a stream of half-formed updates. I can celebrate a personal best without pretending the weekend was flawless. I can discuss disappointment without making it the definition of my horse or myself. I can thank the people who helped and describe what I want to work on next.
That honesty is easier when I have spent time away from public reaction. A score becomes one piece of the weekend rather than the entire meaning of it. A mistake becomes information. A brave effort remains worth celebrating even if the result does not look impressive to someone scrolling quickly past it.
The pause also gives me stories that are not designed for immediate approval: the way my horse recovered after a tense moment, the kindness of a volunteer, the joke shared at the lorry, or the unexpected confidence that appeared halfway around cross-country. These details are often the heart of the experience.
During event season, I am choosing to let the horse, the ride, and the people beside me occupy the foreground. The online audience can wait. When I return, I want to share from a place of perspective, gratitude, and truth rather than exhaustion and comparison.
If you are following along with my eventing season, you can find the stories when they are ready on Mania in the Middle. Until then, I will be at the yard, in the saddle, or beside the horsebox—paying attention to the moments that cannot be recreated once they have passed.