The Sacred Stillness of a Horses' Heartbeat

A guest letter from Chloe Redfield about how a young Thoroughbred became her refuge, teacher, and the first place she ever felt emotionally safe

This post was written by Chloe Redfield, a dynamic voice for recovery and a dear colleague and friend. She’s helped grow this lovely community and will be sharing guest letters from her experience and in her own words. Help me welcome Chloe to the circle by dropping a heart and saying hi in the comments.

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There is a kind of healing that does not require language. Horses know it well.

I was 18 when I met my heart-horse, Juliet. She was a beautiful, rich bay off-track Thoroughbred with the most delicate, feminine face I’d ever seen on a mare. Young and green, but her soul felt ancient.

She wasn’t like the hot-tempered caricatures Thoroughbreds are often made out to be. She was thoughtful. Fiercely intuitive. And somehow, she knew exactly what I needed, before I even did.

I didn’t grow up on a ranch. Just a horse-obsessed girl in the suburbs who taught herself how to care for something I always knew was part of my soul. Juliet was the fulfillment of a dream that had lived in me since I was little, long before life grew heavy.

Because by the time I found her, I had already survived more than most people knew.

Trauma became part of my story when I was twelve. Emotional abuse, manipulation, and deep-rooted instability shaped the way I saw myself. From a preteen onward, my home was not a soft place to land. I became the emotional outlet for my parents’ chaos, caught between a divorce that dragged on for more than a decade and still manages to seep into my life as I try to maintain some kind of relationship with them.

That was my struggle. Not addiction. But trying to rewrite a story that was barely allowed to begin. I was never given space to simply be - to grow, to stumble, to explore myself, without absorbing my parents’ emotions.

Still, I was expected to keep my head high.

And I did. For far too long.

I persevered, relying on no one but myself. I guarded my inner world, trying to shield myself from the sharpest words, ones that cut deeper than words can explain. I had to grow up too fast. While other teens were focused on parties and college applications, I was busy just trying to survive most of the time.

And yet, surviving that way came at a cost.

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I made sure my pain wasn’t obvious to others, but it ran deep. Debilitating anxiety. Trauma tucked into corners of my mind so well-hidden, my brain had blocked it off.

And in school, I constantly struggled. I was labeled with a learning disability early on, but the truth is, my brain was never broken, it was just preoccupied. Always scanning, bracing, trying to make sense of chaos.

But with animals, it’s different.

Being with horses places you in a world where you are not measured by performance, grades, or accomplishments. You are not too quiet or too much. You are simply you —and that’s enough. Animals have always been the only place I’ve felt truly safe. Especially horses. They never asked me to shrink. They never judged. They just knew.

Juliet gave me that space. She was my safest mirror.

She didn’t ask for explanations. She didn’t recoil from the heaviness I carried. When I stepped into her stall, she’d turn her head and softly whinny, every time. And in that moment, it felt like she saw the whole of me: the weight I bore, the fire I still carried, and the softness I thought I’d lost.

Horses are spiritual beings. You don’t just ride them, you merge with them. The bond is beyond logic. It’s body, breath, and energy. There is no pretending around a horse. They feel what’s unspoken. They read intention, not appearance. And when they trust you, they offer something holy: presence.

Juliet was my best friend. My teacher. My home. She helped me regulate my nervous system long before I even knew what that meant. In the barn, I could finally breathe. In her heartbeat, I found a rhythm that calmed my own.

She didn’t heal me, but she stood with me in it.

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The warm weight of her body beside mine, the sound of hooves pressing into morning dirt, the quiet exhale of her breath against my cheek. That will always be my grounding place.

You don’t need to speak the language of horses to understand their medicine. You only need to feel it—to stand in their presence and be known without performance or explanation. To be loved not for who you should be, but simply for who you are, right now.

I’ve never walked the path of addiction. But I have known what it feels like to need rescue. To crave something steady in a world that keeps shifting underneath you. For some, that lifeline is recovery. For me, it was Juliet. A horse with a soul big enough to hold what I couldn’t name, and a heartbeat strong enough to anchor mine.

That’s what she gave me, and what horses continue to give others.

150% unconditional love.

What is your experience of healing?

Do you have your own Juliet, someone (animals included) who shows you how to heal in deeper ways?

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Chloe Redfield, rooted in Arizona, she writes about desert living, holistic wellness, nature as medicine, and the soulful bond between horses and humans. Her work invites those craving stillness, wildness, and a return to what feels real.

Caroline Beidler, MSW, is an author, speaker, and Managing Editor of Recovery.com, where she combines expert guidance with research to help people find the best path to healing and treatment. Her next book, When You Love Someone in Recovery: A Hopeful Guide for Understanding Addiction, is coming Spring 2026 with Nelson Books. Drawing from her own recovery journey through addiction, mental health challenges, and trauma, along with training as a mental health provider and addiction recovery expert, Caroline inspires others to believe that healing is possible. Learn more about her books here.