When Horses Help Us Navigate Grief: A Holiday Reflection Exercise

 The Gift of Adaptable, Horse-Led Healing
I love to create adaptable exercises—tools that work with what you have, where you are, with whoever shows up (human or horse). Recently, I put my own Holiday Reflective Exercise to the test, not with cones, but with my three horses. Each one became a living, breathing station for reflection.

And what emerged was far more than I expected.

My Three Horses, My Three Questions

Belle: What Am I Carrying?
Belle is an older, wise mare. Dependable. Steady. The kind of horse who holds space without asking anything of you.

As I stood with her, I reflected on what I've been carrying into this season: the loss of vehicles during a summer storm.

That might sound minor. But one of those vehicles was my favorite car—the one we bought so my aging mom could get in and out easily. During COVID, when we weren't allowed into the care facility, they'd let me take her for drives. We'd cruise the familiar roads she'd known her whole life. She was born in this area. I grew up here.

That car became a mobile memory keeper. It carried us through her decline, through facility transfers, through the unraveling of her health. She died in the summer of 2021.

We bought the car back from insurance. I still drive it.

My truck was also written off in that storm. It had been good to us, but it was aging—starting to break down, unable to pull our holiday trailer. We took the insurance money and bought something more versatile.

But standing with Belle, I realized: I wasn't grieving vehicles. I was grieving what they represented.

Twix: What Do I Need to Let Go Of?
Twix is my lead mare. She discerns what's happening in the herd and takes action. She doesn't carry what isn't hers.

With her, I moved into the second reflection: What am I carrying that I need to release?

Like my truck, some of the regret and anger I've held about COVID restrictions—about the medical system, about not being able to advocate for my mom the way I wanted—no longer serves me.

I also realized I've been holding onto expectations around family connection. Without a parent to wrap around, there's been a natural distance. Gatherings feel different. Quieter. And I've been grieving that, too.

Standing with Twix, I gave myself permission to let go of what no longer fits—the bitterness, the "what ifs," the old family rhythms that can't return.

Felix: What Do I Want to Bring Into This Season?
Felix is my heart horse. I relate to him because, in the past, I used disconnection and shutting down as a quick fix when things got hard.

But what I've learned through grief work is this: you have to move through the first two questions to get to the third. You can't skip to meaning-making. You can't intention-set your way out of unprocessed pain.

Standing with Felix, I asked myself: What do I want to take with me into this season?

The answer came clearly:

The memories of my mom—not the pain of losing her
The strength and love she taught me
A release of the regrets and anger that no longer serve me
Felix stood quietly beside me. His presence reminded me that I don't have to carry it all. I can choose what comes with me.

Why This Exercise Works
When you experiment with this exercise—whether with cones, horses, or objects—you'll get a unique response every time. That's the beauty of it.

Here's what I've learned:
Horses help us process in the present. Their calm, non-judgmental presence invites honesty. You don't have to perform. You don't have to "be fine."

One loss often ties to a deeper loss. Don't minimize what seems small. My learner grieving a canceled holiday might actually be grieving a fractured relationship. A lost tradition might represent a lost sense of safety.

Grief is a lifelong journey. We don't "get over" loss. We learn to carry it differently. And having tools—like this reflective exercise—can be the difference between growing into strength or spiraling into depression.

An Invitation for EAL Coaches
If you work with learners navigating grief, stress, or emotional overwhelm during the holidays, this exercise can offer them a gentle container to:

✨ Acknowledge what they're carrying
✨ Release what no longer serves them
✨ Intentionally choose what they bring into the season

You can use cones. You can use horses as stations. You can adapt it to your herd, your space, your learners.

The structure holds. The horses witness. And the healing unfolds.

Final Thought
The holidays aren't just about joy. For many of us—and many of the people we support—they're about holding joy and grief at the same time.

This exercise gave me space to do that. And I hope it does the same for you.