Friction, layers, and the moments that bring me back to myself
In the course of revealing the layers of my life, several things have come to light.
When friction starts to reveal what’s underneath
Some of those discoveries arrive through friction—the kind that rubs against old patterns and smooths rough edges over time. It isn’t always comfortable. At times, it unseats me completely. Bucks me right off and asks me to take a closer look.
A story about masks that opened more than expected
Lately, I’ve been drawn to story slams. Rooms where you can put your name in a hat and take your chances, or sign up ahead of time and step onto a stage with a story to tell. There’s always a theme. There’s always an invitation to go a little deeper than you planned.
In October, the theme was masks.
I started writing what I thought would be a simple story. It opened up more than I expected.
The boots that felt like me
It took me back to being a little girl in my cowgirl boots—scuffed, dusty, and completely me. Those boots said everything I needed them to say. I’m a horse girl, and I’m proud of it.
When the mask came on
Somewhere around junior high, that shifted.
That’s when the mask came on.
The boots didn’t disappear entirely. They just became situational. I learned when it felt safe to wear them and when it didn’t.
Boots off. Mask on.
Boots on. Mask off.
I got good at reading the room. Good at adjusting. Good at becoming someone who could fit.
The ones who never wore a mask
All the while, the horses in my life stayed exactly the same.
Reed Man. Smokey.
Neither one had any interest in pretending. They didn’t perform or shape themselves to meet expectations. They showed up as who they were, every single time.
And me?
I split myself in two.
In high school, when I was rodeoing, the boots were still part of my weekends. At school, the mask held steady. That pattern followed me into different environments, even as my riding shifted into hunter/jumpers. It was never really about the boots. It was about the quiet divide between who I was and who I believed I needed to be.
What horses notice that we try to hide
Horses have a way of noticing that.
My mentor calls them equidetectors. They pick up on the smallest inconsistencies between what’s happening on the outside and what’s true underneath. They don’t respond to the version of you that’s trying to fit in. They respond to what’s real.
If there’s a mismatch, they let you know.
Sometimes they turn away. Sometimes they disengage. It can feel like rejection at first glance. In reality, it’s an invitation.
“Come back when you’re ready to tell the truth.”
There’s something incredibly humbling about standing next to a 1,200-pound animal that will only meet you when you drop the act.
Looking back, I can see that the horses were teaching me this lesson long before I had words for it.
Telling the truth has a way of creating friction
The story slam brought it into sharper focus.
Standing on that stage, telling the truth out loud, created a different kind of friction. The kind that reveals where something is out of alignment. The kind that doesn’t let you look away once you’ve seen it.
Where I drifted out of alignment
What became clear is that I had been living outside one of my core values.
Authenticity.
Not in a dramatic, all-or-nothing way. In smaller, quieter choices that added up over time. Choices to be more palatable. More acceptable. More aligned with what I thought others needed from me.
That kind of misalignment has a cost.
It shows up as tension. As exhaustion. As that internal nudge that grows stronger until it can’t be ignored. Sometimes it shows up as a full buck that demands your attention.
Living with less division
These days, I don’t work as hard to fit into someone else’s mold.
Ariats, Birkenstocks. Jeans, yoga pants, shorts.
The outer expression matters less than the internal alignment.
The horses don’t care what I’m wearing. They care whether I’m hiding. They notice when I’m trying to present something polished instead of something true. They respond when I show up as I am.
That kind of feedback changes you over time.
It softens the need for the mask. It brings you back to your own values. It creates space to live in a way that feels more honest and less divided.
Boots off. Mask on.
Boots on. Mask off.
These days, I aim for something simpler.
Boots on. Mask off.
When you’re ready to live from what’s real, not just what’s worked
If you’re noticing your own layers…
If there’s friction showing up in your life…
If you feel the weight of boots that no longer fit or masks that are getting harder to hold in place—
There is another way to explore that.
The horses have a way of meeting you right where you are—without judgment, without expectation. They don’t respond to the mask. They respond to what’s real.
In a session, we can begin to uncover your personal values—the ones that are truly yours, not the ones you learned to wear. The ones that bring you back into alignment with yourself.
And from there, everything begins to shift.
If that feels like something you’re ready for, I’d love to walk alongside you—on the ground, with the horses—as you rediscover what’s true for you.
Every story needs a soundtrack.
This is the one I’ve chosen for this post—sometimes because of the title, sometimes the lyrics, sometimes simply the feeling it stirs in me.
