Too Soft? Reframing Strength in Horsemanship

Lessons From Goodall, Fossey, and the Women Who Carry Horses

When Jane Goodall first stepped into Gombe in 1960, she wasn’t welcomed with applause. She was met with skepticism. A young English woman without a degree, daring to claim that chimpanzees had personalities, families, even the capacity for tool use? Male scientists scoffed. They called her work too soft, too emotional, too unscientific.

Dian Fossey faced the same resistance in the mountains of Rwanda. She sat among gorillas, mirrored their postures, and wrote about their individuality and emotional depth. Her critics said she was anthropomorphizing, blurring the lines between observation and sentiment. In a male-dominated field, Goodall and Fossey were dismissed for the very qualities—empathy, patience, attention to relationship—that ultimately rewrote the way the world understands primates.

History proved them right. What was once considered “softness” became the foundation of groundbreaking science.

Today, horsemanship is standing at a similar crossroads.

The Gender Paradox in Horses

In the United States, between 77% and 93% of equestrians are women. We run the barns, teach the lessons, muck the stalls, and keep the industry alive. In the Northeast especially, women are the backbone of equestrian culture.

And yet—look at who dominates the clinics, the national stages, and the glossy magazine covers. The headliners are overwhelmingly men. Clinton Anderson, Pat Parelli, Buck Brannaman, Monty Roberts, Chris Cox, John Lyons, Warwick Schiller, Craig Cameron, Martin Black—the list goes on.

Meanwhile, women clinicians exist—Julie Goodnight, Stacy Westfall, Linda Parelli, Karen Rohlf, Lynn Palm—but they are outnumbered, often under-recognized, and still fighting to be seen as authoritative in a field where women already make up the vast majority.

It’s a paradox: women are the majority, but men still hold much of the microphone.

“Too Soft” in the Arena

This imbalance shows up in the message, too. Many male clinicians arrive with a cowboy mentality—fast, decisive, dominance-driven. They solve problems with pressure, speed, and spectacle. When they look at the Northeast, where riders tend to value empathy, relationship, and daily care, the critique is familiar: “You’re too soft. You spoil your horses.”

But neuroscience tells a different story. We now know that a horse’s brain builds new neural pathways through experiences of safety and curiosity, not fear. Horses learn best in parasympathetic states, when their nervous system feels calm and secure. “Softness” isn’t indulgence—it’s the biological foundation of lasting learning and trust.

Different Horses, Different Purposes

The cowboy way was—and still is—utilitarian. Horses in the West have traditionally been tools of necessity: gathering calves, moving herds, dragging posts, covering vast rangeland. A horse that balks, hesitates, or “asks questions” isn’t just inconvenient; on a working ranch, it can cost daylight, cattle, or safety. That culture shaped the cowboy mentality: quick decisions, fast fixes, and absolute obedience.

The Northeast is different. We don’t have the wide-open cattle country. We don’t have herds to push or calves to brand. Instead, our horse culture grew out of smaller farms, wooded trails, foxhunting, arenas, and competition rings. The goals are different—hunter/jumper, dressage, eventing, pleasure riding, and simply enjoying a morning hack through the woods. For many, the relationship itself is the work.

Layer onto that an aging demographic of riders in the East—predominantly women—and the priorities shift even further. Women want safe, sane companions. Horses that can navigate rough terrain quietly, carry them safely in the ring, or give them a peaceful escape from daily life. Fear plays a larger role here than it does in the bold, performance-driven cowboy culture. And that’s not weakness—it’s wisdom.

Men, by nature and culture, often step into risk with boldness. Women, more attuned to safety and consequences, are cautious. That sensitivity shapes training priorities: a horse must feel reliable, steady, and safe. Softness isn’t indulgence—it’s the practical demand of a culture where horses are partners, not tools.

Breaking the Mold

Goodall and Fossey showed us that being called soft is not an insult. It’s a signal you’re on the edge of something transformative. Their critics clung to tradition; their empathy reshaped science.

It’s time to break the same mold in horsemanship. To stop equating empathy with weakness. To stop dismissing patience and relationship as “spoiling.” And to recognize that women—who have long carried the barns, the lessons, and the day-to-day work of horsemanship—are not only the majority, but the future of training itself.

The cowboy way has its place. But the next breakthrough in communication won’t come from more dominance or more toughness. It will come from redefining strength as presence, patience, and trust.

Because horses don’t just react. They perceive. And when we honor that truth, we don’t just train horses—we build partnerships that can change everything.