Building an Inclusive Equestrian Community: Bridging Gaps in the Hunter/Jumper Space

As we move into November, our thoughts and hearts turn toward a breed that has been interwoven into the fabric of so many lives: the Thoroughbred. This month’s issue is a salute; a heartfelt tribute to a horse that has been a constant in my life, a teacher, confidant, and the very foundation of the equestrian I have become. This celebration is more than a theme; it’s a reflection of my identity and my journey, a journey marked by the gifts of the Thoroughbreds who have graced my pastures and shaped my values.

My earliest memories with horses are colored by the energy and elegance of Thoroughbreds. I was just a young, horse-crazy kid when two horses who, quite honestly, taught me everything I know about horsemanship: Sam and Sketch, lit up my passion for this sport. Both were off-the-track Thoroughbreds (OTTBs) and it’s not an exaggeration to say they sold me on the breed for life. With Sam, I discovered the fire that lies at the heart of every Thoroughbred, masked only by their powerful exteriors; with Sketch, I learned the meaning of true partnership. These two were nothing short of charismatic, curious, loving, and deeply loyal. Their athleticism was unmatched, but it was their willingness to try, their ability to forgive my youthful mistakes, and their constant effort to understand me that truly set them apart.

That thread of grace and versatility has run through every chapter of my equestrian life. Later, Gage entered the my story. Also an OTTB, Gage embodied the breed’s depth of character and gentle soul. His recent passing still leaves a quiet ache, a reminder of how deeply these horses touch our lives and how their legacies are carried forward with every hoofbeat. Today, I am fortunate to ride Kevin, another Thoroughbred who came straight from the track four years ago. Each horse, in their time, has been a living reason for my unwavering devotion to Thoroughbreds. To me, they represent so much more than a breed; they are teachers of resilience and partnership, companions who inspire us to do better, try harder, and love deeper.

Through their guidance, I built the foundations of my riding as a hunter rider and, for a time, flirted with the world of eventing. But my truest passion has always been found in the simple joys; hacking out in open fields, hearing the wind rush past, and coaxing my horse over natural obstacles: fallen logs, low brush, even the occasional gentle leap across a stream. It’s not about ribbons or accolades. It’s about a sense of connection and freedom, a legacy I hope someday leads me to the fox hunt field, where tradition, camaraderie, and partnership reign.

Now, life has come full circle. I find myself in the role my own mentors once played, passing the torch to the next generation. Today, my three and a half-year-old daughter stands at my side in the barn, her little hands learning to brush, pick hooves, and gently lead her first partner, a 14-hand BLM Mustang. This Mustang and my daughter are forging their own bond as she learns the basics: how to keep herself safe, what each brush is for, how to use gentle pressure and patient timing to build trust. These are foundational lessons in horsemanship, and I cherish every moment. At the end of each lesson, she’s rewarded with the thrill of sitting bareback, no saddle, just the warmth and life of a pony beneath her.

I adore the relationship she’s building with her little Mustang and dream of them together for years to come, I also envision a day when she’ll sit atop a Thoroughbred, possibly Kevin. I want her to learn from their sensitivity, their attentiveness to energy and body language, because I believe Thoroughbreds teach us; sometimes gently, sometimes sharply, about softness, about communicating with intention, and about forging a true partnership. There is something uniquely instructive about a Thoroughbred’s quiet intelligence and the way they mirror our emotions.

Yet, as I look at the pathway before us, especially as it leads into the world of hunter/jumper competition, my heart is heavy with worry. The truth is, I am troubled by what I see happening in this corner of our sport. Where I once felt welcomed, I now sense a division, an exclusion that seems to run deeper with every passing season. Recently, I’ve found myself standing at the edge of the hunter/jumper scene, not quite fitting in, not quite sure if I even want to. The culture feels fractured. The sense of community I used to find standing ringside, helping each other with boots or nerves seems to have dwindled, replaced by a cloud of negativity, cliques, and a focus on appearance and perfection over authentic horsemanship.

I am not alone in these concerns. Many voices in our community echo the same sentiments: disappointment with organizational and governing leadership, frustration with subjective judging, and a growing sense that our sport is drifting away from its roots. I worry that the show ring, with its pressure, expense, and constant comparisons, chases away not just riders but the love of the horse itself. How can I look my daughter in the eye and offer her up to this environment? How can I tell her to be herself, to love her horse, when everything around her might be saying she’s not enough; not enough ribbons, not enough pedigree, not enough horse, not enough money?

I question whether there is a place for us in the current landscape of hunter/jumpers. The goalposts feel unreachable at times, the entryways guarded by unspoken rules. It’s hard not to feel excluded when so much focus is on the price of your tack, the make of your jacket, or the breeding of your horse. I have always believed that horsemanship should be about connection, empathy, hard work, and the joy of partnership, not about status or exclusivity. Lately, though, that seems like a quaint idea from another time.

It’s important to remember that competition is NOT a necessity in the world of equestrianism. Simply riding and connecting with a horse can teach invaluable lessons about patience, responsibility, and empathy. However, I do believe that sports and competition, when approached with the right mindset, can sharpen skills and build character, particularly in young girls. Studies have shown that many women in leadership roles, such as C-suite executives, have backgrounds as athletes. For this reason, I want my daughter to experience the benefits of competition. But where does that leave us in a sport where bullying, abuse of horses and riders, particularly female riders, and an overemphasis on financial privilege often overshadow integrity and skill? These toxic elements foster insecurity, a defeatist mindset, and dishonest behavior. I don't want my daughter to become a victim, I want her to be a victor! I want her to grow in an environment that values horse welfare, healthy power dynamics, teamwork, hard work, and kindness. But truly, where do we go to find that kind of space in today's horse sport?

So, I am at a crossroads, and frankly, raw and vulnerable about it. I want a tribe, a discipline, a community where my daughter and I can thrive. I want to find an environment that welcomes all breeds and backgrounds, that celebrates skill, grit, and true partnership. I want her to be judged by how she cares for her horse, how she listens to her pony’s needs, and how she strives to get better every day, not by the size of the show string or the prestige of the barn’s banner. I want her to know that her place in the horse world is earned by the bond she builds with her equine partner and her willingness to learn, grow, and work.

But I don’t know, right now, where we belong. I am seeking inclusivity, warmth, and authenticity, and some days it feels like I am looking through the wrong end of a telescope. The more I search, the further away it seems to be. And I want to be very clear, it's not the people, professionals, or the shows in my personal community, it's the energy from the top. The US equestrian leadership that bleeds into every conversation and decision made, especially at rated hunter/ jumper events. Honestly, it just feels icky.

I am not qualified to lead the bigger conversation that is already happening, I am only able to evaluate it from my personal position and beliefs, and that evaluation is happening from a mother's point of view, not a professional's or amateur's point of view. My hope is that by opening up, by being honest about my fears and dreams, I can join a conversation that brings actionable change, and true joy back to being a competitor as an amateur and as a future show mom. Have we even stopped to think and ask the show mom how she feels about it? Because show moms and dads do actually have the strongest view point, because they are looking at it from a different lens, which is the lens of, "is this an environment that will be positive or negative for my child? Will it help carve out characteristics that will benefit my child for life, or destroy the very characteristics sports are designed to build?"

The horse world I want for my daughter, and for myself exists. It exists in the heart of us, the everyday equestrian, not in the egos of the 1-2% who only see the prestige of a title, the names of shows they attend, the height they are able to jump, the breed of their horse, or the name of the LLC or trainer they ride under.

So, I need your help, as a mother. I invite you, our readers and fellow horse lovers, to share your guidance with me. What disciplines have shaped you and offered you a sense of belonging? Where have you found the tribe that sustains you, welcomes you, your horse, your child? I want to know more about disciplines and competitions that value heart over finances, and where skill, sportsmanship, and the horse itself are truly at the center. Does it still exist? Because right now, I am not finding that in the hunter/jumper space.

My inbox is open, as is my mind and heart. Please share your experiences, your wisdom, and your hopes with me at labbott@thehorsereview.com . Maybe, together, we can build a space that celebrates every rider and every horse, Thoroughbred or otherwise, and ensure the next generation grows up feeling included, never excluded, in a sport that should belong to us all.