Solo Equine: "Dressage Isn't a Luxury Sport, It's a Devotional Practice"

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This week's guest column was penned by Stephen Forbes, who wrote it on Facebook in response to Anna Buffini's decision to take a step back from elite sport due the pressure and strain. Anna's story on The Chronicle of the Horse stirred up much debate, especially in the U.S.A.

Dressage Isn't a Luxury Sport, It's a Devotional Practice

Though it often feels like it, dressage isn’t a luxury sport. It’s a devotional practice disguised as one.

Most of the riders I know don’t ride because it is easy; they ride because they can’t not ride. They wake up before work, ride in the dark, stretch pay-checks thin, patch blankets, fix their own fences, and still find a way to put their heart back into the saddle. They do it quietly and without cameras, sponsors or caring about Instagram metrics, but just a deep love for the process and the animal standing in front of them.

And yet when you look at most headlines, you’d think the sport’s soul lives in the high performance barns, the seven-figure horses, the string of grooms, assistants, camera crews, and in flying coaches across the planet to warm you up before your class.

But the riders I admire most aren’t the ones at the top of the sport, they’re the ones mucking stalls before sunrise, staying up late to clean tack after an exhausting day, and still showing up for their horse like it’s sacred work. Because it is.

Every day, thousands of riders across the world make dressage possible through pure grit and grace. You sell things you love to afford lessons. You work double shifts to keep your horse in training. You miss vacations, skip dinners out, and pour your energy into something most people will never understand: the pursuit of harmony with a thousand-pound mirror.

You don’t need a press release. You don’t need applause. And you don't need podcasts and Eurodressage writing articles about your every plan.

But I want you to know something: I see you.

I see the way you show up when it’s cold, when you’re tired, when the bills feel heavy and the ride feels harder than usual. I see the devotion in the details, the consistency, the small adjustments, the quiet moments of connection that no one will ever post about.

That's the real dressage. Not the money. Not your placings. Not the fake curated perfection on social media. It’s the practice itself. The work, the surrender, the courage to keep choosing it day after day.

So if you’re reading this worried about bills, exhausted, covered in dust and shit, but still chasing that feeling of “oneness” with your horse, this one’s for you.

Because you are the soul of this sport.