The Scariest Part of Becoming a Mom? Wondering Who I’ll Be Without Riding.

I rode and showed until I was 20 weeks pregnant.

Before anyone reads that and thinks, “Wow, she rode until 20 weeks?!” I want to say this upfront: pregnancy looks different for everyone, and there is no right or wrong answer when it comes to when you stop riding. I’m not endorsing riding during pregnancy or suggesting anyone should do what I did. This was simply my personal journey and a decision I made with my doctors based on my individual circumstances.

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way and hopefully no one is typing an angry comment…

Those first 20 weeks were some of the most fun weeks of my riding career. I was pregnant, but I was still riding. Still showing. Still chasing points. Still spending an unreasonable amount of money to jump colorful sticks on an animal who occasionally finds inanimate objects personally offensive.

I was still me.

And weirdly, I had one of the best circuits of my life. I genuinely felt like I was riding better than ever. But something had changed, and it wasn’t my riding.

It was my perspective.

For the first time, I wasn’t obsessing over the next ribbon, division or goal. Every time I got on my horse, I knew there was a little person growing inside of me. Somehow, the pressure got quieter and the gratitude got louder.

And then eventually, I couldn’t ride anymore.

I came back to riding when I was 22, after taking seven years off, and over the last decade, horses have become so much more than a hobby. They have shaped my friendships, weekends, vacations, finances, goals, schedule and, in a lot of ways, my identity. (….Mostly my finances.)

So when I started thinking about becoming a mother, there was a part of me that was genuinely terrified. Not necessarily of motherhood itself, but of losing myself. Some might even say, absolutely horrifying.

Because for so long, “rider” hasn’t just been something I do: It’s been part of who I am. Taking the plunge into motherhood felt like willingly stepping into a life I couldn’t possibly visualize. I knew I wanted this baby. But I also knew my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t control.  And adult amateurs already have enough going on. We’re somehow supposed to juggle 86 things: careers, marriages, friendships, houses, horses and functioning bank accounts while remembering that the farrier is coming Tuesday and our horse needs Adequan.

And now we’re adding a baby?

Seems reasonable.

But somewhere along this pregnancy, I realized something important: This isn’t the death of me as a rider. It’s just a new chapter. And different doesn’t have to mean worse. I’m not going to the Olympics. I think we can safely put that dream to bed. There is no deadline by which I have to reach the top of the sport. There is no expiration date on my ability to jump a course, show at WEF or spend an afternoon hacking around the ring.

I have time.

Maybe I won't ride five days a week for a while. Maybe I won’t show as often. Maybe someday I will miss a horse show because my daughter has a soccer game. The point is, my priorities might shift. And that’s OK. Because prioritizing something else for a season doesn’t mean you’ve abandoned the things you love. It means you’re building a life big enough to contain more than one dream.

The Attitude of Gratitude

I’ll admit: there were moments during pregnancy when I felt sorry for myself.

I missed riding. I missed showing. I missed being able to throw my leg over my horse whenever I wanted. I watched my friends ride and compete while I became increasingly shaped like someone who had absolutely no business attempting to button a pair of breeches.

But eventually, I started asking myself a different question. Instead of, “What can’t I do?” I started asking, “What can I do?”

OK. I can’t ride. But I can go to the barn. I can groom my horse. I can hand walk him. I can stand in the sunshine while he grazes. I can work on our relationship from the ground. There is something about standing in a barn, smelling your horse, feeling him breathe next to you and walking down a quiet path together that makes the rest of the world disappear.

I spent years thinking riding was the thing I loved most. But maybe what I really love is simply being around horses. Riding is one expression of that love. Showing is another. Training is another. Riding with friends is another. And right now, walking in circles while my horse searches aggressively for grass is another. That doesn’t make this season less meaningful. It just makes it different.

I can’t ride right now. But I can still be with my horse. And when I eventually ride again, I know I’ll appreciate it in a way I couldn’t have before. Motherhood doesn’t erase the decade I’ve had. It doesn’t erase the horses I’ve loved, the shows I’ve done, the friendships I’ve made or the dreams I’ve chased.

I got to ride, compete and have horses be the center of my life for a decade And now I get to add something else to the story.

A daughter.

The Next Chapter

I have absolutely no idea what motherhood is actually going to look like. I’m learning to be OK with not knowing. Because if being an adult amateur teaches you anything, it’s that there is no perfect timeline. Jobs change. Horses get injured. Money gets tight. We move. We get married. We have kids. Life happens.

And somehow, we keep finding our way back to the barn. That’s what I love about this sport.

It will wait for you.

The jumps aren’t going anywhere. The horses will still be there. The horse show will still somehow be running three hours behind schedule. And when I eventually get back into that saddle, I don’t think I’ll take a second of it for granted.

Maybe my daughter will watch me ride someday. Maybe she’ll come to horse shows. Maybe she’ll sit on a pony. Maybe she’ll become completely horse obsessed and I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering why I willingly created a second horse-show bill. Or maybe she’ll have absolutely no interest in horses whatsoever, which feels like a personal betrayal but will probably be significantly better for our retirement accounts.

Who knows. But I do know this: I am not losing myself as I enter motherhood. I’m expanding. I get to be a mother and a rider. A wife and an amateur. A friend and a horse owner. A professional in tech sales and a person who still gets irrationally excited about a good round.

The plates aren’t getting fewer. I’m just learning how to balance more of them. Maybe that’s what this journey has really been about. Not figuring out how to keep my life exactly the same, but realizing that it doesn’t have to stay the same for it to still be mine. My riding career isn’t over. My passion isn’t gone. My dreams aren’t dead.

They’re just evolving.

And when I finally get back in the saddle, I think I’ll see it through a different lens. A lighter one. A more grateful one. One that understands just how lucky I am to get to do this at all. And now I get to have a little sidekick with me!