There was a time when liberty stopped feeling fun.
It wasn’t fun for me.
And it wasn’t fun for my horses.
I was watching beautiful performances. Studying patterns. Seeing what was possible and wanting to grow into it. Liberty looked powerful. Connected. Intentional. And I wanted that feeling. Not because I wanted to impress anyone, but because I wanted to experience that level of harmony with my horses.
So I tried.
I practiced. I structured sessions. I worked with halters. I spent time with Rocky and Tornado individually and teamed, asking, guiding, shaping. On the outside, it probably looked productive. But underneath it all was tension I couldn’t ignore.
It felt like an invisible rope stretched tight between us.
Always holding. Always pulling. Always asking for more.
Liberty wasn’t light anymore.
And what I eventually realized was this: I wasn’t just guiding. I was controlling.
Not harshly. Not intentionally. But constantly.
I was directing every moment. Comparing what I had to what I saw elsewhere. Chasing a look instead of listening to the horse in front of me.
Letting go of that control was uncomfortable at first.
But it wasn’t chaotic.
It was freeing. And unexpectedly peaceful.
When I stopped trying to direct everything, something softened.
When I stopped comparing and chasing an image, something settled.
When I gave my horses the option to offer instead of perform, the conversation changed.
They began to show me what they enjoyed. What felt good. What they were willing to give on any given day.
What surprised me most was where that listening led. By letting go of control, we eventually reached the very places I had been trying so hard to get to. Not through force or precision, but through partnership. We arrived there together.
That shift didn’t make liberty less meaningful.
It made it more honest.
Rocky taught me this in a very quiet way.
He enjoys liberty. He offers thoughtfully. But he also tells me when he’s finished. Sometimes that looks like a halt. A turn. A moment where he stops, faces me, and waits.
Now, when that happens, I pause too.
Sometimes I softly ask again, recognizing that maybe my timing was off or my question wasn’t clear. Other times, I smile, walk over, and love on him. And we’re done. Not because he quit, but because he spoke.
That wasn’t something I trained.
He showed me.
I’m still learning how to listen well. And I’ve learned that Rocky enjoys liberty best in short, consistent stretches. A day or two of play, then he wants something different. When I ignore that, he lets me know. When I respect it, the quality of our time together improves.
Tornado teaches in her own way.
When she was younger, liberty was everything to her. We could play in the snow, in the arena, or out in the pasture. Fences or no fences, it didn’t matter. She simply loved to play and connect, and she always had the choice to step away.
As she’s gotten older, she still enjoys liberty, just in shorter stretches. She plays, she offers, and when she’s ready to be done, she tells me. When she does, I listen. I catch her, and we go graze or take a quiet walk together.
That is still liberty.
Every horse I work with, including client horses, continues to teach me something. About timing. About energy. About honesty. About myself.
Liberty isn’t about doing more.
It isn’t about being impressive.
It’s about being present.
When you allow that presence to lead, everything else begins to fall into place.
– Southside Performance Horses
Photography By: Lucy Broadwater