No, I won’t hit your horse

What’s one thing I do differently as an equine bodyworker?

You won’t catch me hitting a client’s horse.

Not for biting. Not for pawing. Not for wiggling.

Not unless my safety is genuinely in danger—and even then, it’s a last resort.

At this point, I’ve been kicked. Stepped on. Bitten more times than I can count.

But I don’t see those things as “bad behavior.”

I see them as communication.

Because here’s something I live by:

All behavior is a form of communication—especially when the animal has no voice to speak with.

I remember working on a gelding who had been on stall rest for multiple injuries. To me, it was also clear he likely had ulcers. He was finally getting some turnout time again, but his body was holding a lot—tension, pain, frustration.

As I began the session, he tried to bite when I touched specific areas. Instead of correcting him, I noted the spots and gave him space. He was telling me what didn’t feel good. What overwhelmed him.

But the owner quickly jumped in, saying,

“He knows he can’t do that.” And gave him a swift and hard whack.

And in that moment, I was reminded just how often horses are punished for speaking up.

That’s why I will kindly ask owners not to correct their horse during my sessions.

It’s so important to me that I’ve even added it into my intake paperwork.

Because when we interrupt the horse’s feedback with discipline, we shut down the very communication I need in order to help them.

This is why I don’t “correct” horses during bodywork. I listen. I adjust. I meet them where they are.

Because the equine nervous system isn’t designed for confrontation—it’s built for survival.

And when a horse paws, fidgets, or even bites, they’re not being “bad.”

They’re saying, “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Maybe that spot is painful.

Maybe they’re overstimulated or emotionally overloaded.

Maybe they’re trying their best, but their nervous system is still stuck in survival mode.

Maybe they just aren’t able to have a deep session that day—and it’s my job to recognize that and adapt, or make the call that today isn’t the day.

If I were to meet that with force, I’d be shutting down the very trust I’m trying to build.

As a bodyworker, my job isn’t just to loosen muscles.

It’s to help your horse regulate their nervous system. To create a space where they feel safe enough to soften, breathe, and heal.

So no, I won’t hit your horse.

Even when they’re “misbehaving.”

Because all behavior is communication—especially when your horse doesn’t have a voice.