I don’t have a natural affinity for animals, a fact that I blame on my urban upbringing. So no one was more surprised than I was when, two years ago, a couple of horses provided me with some of the most direct and useful guidance I’ve ever received.
    
I met the horses in question at a Wisconsin farm that partners with Minneapolis-based Wisdom Horse Coaching (WHC), which is not, as its name implies, an equestrian training center. Run by certified life coaches Lynn Baskfield and Ann Romberg, WHC specializes in “equine guided education” (EGE), a type of life coaching that uses horses to help people and corporate teams recognize and solve problems.
    
According to EGE proponents, horses are natural mirrors for our behavior thanks to their knack for accurately reading all aspects of their environment, including humans and their body language. The idea with EGE is that by observing, guiding, following and speaking to horses, humans can realign themselves with their own intuitive natures and learn to behave more authentically. In this way, horses are the ultimate human whisperers.
    
Though I’d heard that EGE had helped people struggling with autism and cerebral palsy, I was skeptical about how it could help me. It sounded odd, a little new age-y. But in the end, something inexplicable drew me out to that Wisconsin farm, one the of many sites across the country that  partner with WHC.
    
When I arrived, Baskfield and Romberg gave me a brief overview of their business. They mentioned that an increasing number of corporations, Wells Fargo and Medtronic included, had begun signing up for WHC’s leadership retreats and workshops. People in the workplace often feel disconnected and struggle with conflict, they explained, adding that horses can teach “authentic leadership, trust and adaptability to change” in a direct, experiential way. They also talked about their non-corporate clients, people like me, and how horses are especially good at showing individuals when they are fooling themselves and when they are on the right track.
    
Then they took me out to the horse-filled corral. I was a little scared. Horses are big animals. As I looked at them, scattered in small groups, Romberg asked me what was on my mind. I explained how I had just returned from Rome, where I’d fallen in love with a man named Miguel (to whom I’m now married). As I explained the physical distance and unknown future between us, I brought up my teenage daughter. Romberg and Baskfield pressed me.
    
“I’m so excited about this new relationship,” I continued, “but I don’t want my daughter to feel abandoned.” Just then I was overcome by a sense of awe as one of the horses broke away from the group and walked straight toward me. I talked more about my daughter as the horse, named Honeybunch, began to nuzzle me. Her nose on my face and neck unleashed my tears. She reminded me of my daughter when she was younger. They even had the same honey-colored hair.
    
Romberg and Baskfield prompted me with questions, encouraging me to continue speaking. The horses, it seemed, began to act out my story. A gorgeous black stallion that I identified as a metaphorical Miguel, pulled away from the group and moved towards us. He kept a distance, however, walking behind us and then over to the other side of the corral. He appeared to want to make himself known, but not in an imposing way.
    
The women narrated, asking how I might reassure Honeybunch in order to get around her and say hello to the stallion. Feeling a little silly, I patted Honeybunch on the neck, walked around to the front of her and told her that I was going to see another horse, adding that I loved her, that she could join me if she wanted, but that I would be back for her. I walked toward the stallion, held out my hand, as Baskfield had shown me, and said hello. He touched his nose to my hand. We stood there like that, both of us a little shy and soon Honeybunch joined us. The three of us stood there and, for that moment, I knew that everything would work out. Then Honeybunch turned and left the corral.
    
“She’s off to college,” I said, laughing and crying at the same time. I said goodbye to the horses and the herd’s sentry escorted me all the way to the gate—an honor in itself. “What was that?” I asked inside the barn. “What just happened?” The women simply nodded their heads at me in silent understanding of the profound shift that had just taken place inside me.
    
Later that night, as I stood washing dishes in my kitchen, my daughter wandered in and began talking honestly about her fears about Miguel’s impending first visit. I had said nothing to prompt this outpouring, but thanks to those horses, something had shifted in my heart. My daughter, like the horses, sensed it: I was ready to receive the truth.

To learn more about Wisdom Horse Coaching and equine guided education visit  their sites.