Don’t Just Do Something, Stand There

How a week with an anxious horse reminded me that presence beats problem-solving.

This week, I’ve been sharing my space with a pony. She’s not mine - just here for a while - and she arrived carrying something heavy. Not visibly. But you could feel it in her skin, in her stance. The way her ribs seemed to hold their breath. The way she scanned the world with more suspicion than curiosity.

Photo by Seth Fink on Unsplash

I’ve been doing what I always do with animals like this: slowing down and not fixing, not explaining - just being - making the right things easy and making safety obvious. Letting her know I’m not trying to do anything to her. I’m just here. Watching. Listening and responding, not reacting.

It’s a strange thing to say, but with this kind of pony, I find myself becoming less of a person and more of a presence. Less narrative, more noticing. I no longer need to be right, to understand, or to impose a story. I don’t say “she does this because of that.” I just say: she does this.

And I try to answer the only question that matters in those moments: can I help her find the answer for herself?

This is what always strikes me: behaviour is information. That’s it. Not moral failure. Not manipulation. Not defiance. Not a diagnosis. Just data. Just a signal.

She flinches when something unexpected happens.
She goes into the stable but wants to go out again.
She agrees to do whatever I ask, but doesn’t look relaxed

These are clues. Not to her “trauma story,” necessarily (and I hasten to add, I’m not sure she has one). That can be helpful, sure. But I don’t need it to help her now. I just need to notice what she’s trying to tell me. And then build a world around that that makes more sense to her.

That’s the work. Not to force understanding, but to create conditions in which understanding can arise.

And of course - you saw this coming - this doesn’t just apply to horses.

When I work with humans, especially those of us who are wired a bit differently - ADHD, autism, anxiety, high sensitivity, high vigilance - it’s the same principle. Our behaviour is never the problem. It’s the best attempt we’ve made at finding the answer to the question.

The solution is almost never control. It’s never “try harder” or “act normal.” The solution is safety. Clarity. Choice.

It’s the same principle as “reasonable adjustments,” if you strip that phrase of its bureaucracy and instead treat it as an act of deep listening.

We need environments that ask the right questions.
The kind we can actually answer.
Environments that make the right things easy.
And don’t punish us for not being something we’re not.

Sometimes, the horse walks beside me with no rope.
Matching steps.

Not because I trained her to.
But because she wants to.

And when she stops, I stop too.

And for a moment, there’s no handler and no horse.
No teacher and no student.
No right way, no wrong. Just two mammals,
learning how to be less afraid of the world together.