Apache and The Wisdom of Resistance

There was a time, many years ago, when I was taught that I needed to address resistance in a horse head on. Correct it. Move it. Work through it. And sometimes, it worked.

But over the years, as I deepened my knowledge and refined my skills at liberty under the mentorship of Carolyn Resnick, I began to see something even deeper.

The more I negotiated at the point of resistance, the longer I stayed there.

It was not until I stopped working against the no that I discovered the real doorway.

There are horses who challenge your skill.
There are horses who humble your ego.
And then there are the ones who change your entire philosophy.

Apache was that horse for me.

Fifteen years ago, when I first rescued him, he was explosive. Reactive. Powerful in a way that demanded absolute presence. He did not tolerate force. He did not respond to pressure the way many horses do. If he felt trapped, misunderstood, or pushed, he met that energy with intensity.

Before I understood the true language of horses and the subtle dialogue happening at liberty, I believed his resistance was something to solve.

I was wrong.

What Resistance Really Is

In traditional horsemanship, resistance is often labeled as disobedience. Stubbornness. Dominance. A training problem.

But Apache taught me that resistance is communication.

Resistance is a nervous system saying:
I do not feel safe.
I do not understand.
I do not trust this yet.

He showed me that when we push through resistance, we may win compliance, but we lose relationship.

And I was not interested in winning him. I wanted to know him.

The Explosive Years

Apache was not a horse you could muscle through anything.

I learned this not because I tried to overpower him, but because I witnessed others attempt it. Trainers, veterinarians, and farriers tried to help me before I knew what I know now. When they applied force or dominance, he escalated. His body coiled. His energy spiked. His eyes hardened.

He was not mean.
He was honest.

He was a horse who required congruence.

In the beginning, I spent a great deal of time simply being with him. Sharing Territory. He was comfortable with me as long as I did not ask him to perform. The moment I began trying to train him in the traditional sense, everything changed.

If I was even slightly misaligned internally, he mirrored it instantly.
If I carried tension, he magnified it.
If I moved with clarity and softness, he softened.

He forced me to regulate myself before I asked him to regulate.

And, that changed everything.

The Birth of My Journey With Waterhole Rituals

My search for a way to truly connect with Apache is what led me to Carolyn Resnick and the Waterhole Rituals.

This way of being with horses was a profound breakthrough for me and for my horses.

Instead of pushing through resistance, I began pausing. Listening. Regulating myself first. Inviting rather than insisting. I learned how to find an Entry Point of Connection with each horse, the one place where I could receive a genuine yes and begin building from there.

The Waterhole Rituals are a practice of:

• Slowing down the interaction
• Removing unnecessary pressure
• Allowing choice
• Building connection  before asking for performance
• Meeting energy with grounded leadership instead of force

Once I embodied this, something shifted.

Apache shifted.

Not because he was dominated.
But because he was understood.

Fifteen Years Without Loading Into a Trailer

Apache had not been hauled anywhere in fifteen years.

No trailer loading practice.
No routine hauling.
No desensitization drills.

Recently, he needed to go to the equine hospital. It was urgent. Not optional.

This meant walking away from his herd. Leaving the only environment he has known for years. Stepping into a metal trailer he had not entered in over a decade.

I was extremely nervous, imagining the worst. I remembered how he fought the trailer when we first rescued him. He had a history of being handled with extreme force and dominance before I found him. He resisted medical treatment. He fought anything that felt forced.

Old Apache would have exploded.

Old Apache would have said no with his entire body.

But this Apache?

He walked in.

No drama.
No panic.
No fight.

He left his herd.
He left me.
He stepped into the trailer and stood quietly.

Not because he was forced.
Not because he was exhausted.
Not because he was overpowered.

Because the relationship was stronger than the fear.

And at the hospital, something even more powerful happened.

The veterinarian looked at him and said he was the most well mannered horse he had ever had there.

The same horse who once coiled with explosive energy.
The same horse who once reacted to the slightest incongruence.
The same horse who would not tolerate force.

Now standing quietly. Soft eyed. Cooperative. Regulated.

That moment undid me.

Not just because he behaved.

But because it confirmed that transformation built on trust is real.

What Horses Teach Us About Resistance

Apache taught me that resistance is not something to crush. It is something to understand.

When a horse resists, ask:

What is he protecting?
Where is he unsure?
What in me is dysregulated?

Resistance is often the doorway to deeper trust.

The irony is this: when you stop fighting resistance, it dissolves.

When you stop making it wrong, the horse no longer needs it.

Apache was my greatest teacher not because he was easy, but because he was not.

He required me to evolve.

And in doing so, he helped shape the work I now teach through Waterhole Rituals and within the Liberty Horsemanship for Equine Assisted Professionals framework.

He showed me that true leadership is not control.
It is coherence.
It is safety.
It is emotional steadiness.

And when a horse feels that, even after fifteen years without a trailer, he will walk into one when it matters most.

Not out of submission.

But out of trust.

And that is everything.

The Invitation

The next time your horse says no, pause.

Instead of increasing pressure, look for the ear that flicks toward you.
Look for the breath that deepens.
Look for the smallest shift in attention.

Meet that.
Reward that.
Build from that.

After years of teaching liberty and watching horses choose connection again and again, I have learned this:

You do not make resistance disappear.

You make it irrelevant.

And you do that by finding the yes.

With every new horse I meet, they present me with exactly what I need to learn in that moment. Good horsemanship is a living practice, constantly growing and evolving to meet the needs of the individual horse.

My education continues to deepen through these encounters. Each one takes me further into understanding my true nature and the brilliance of horses.

With heart,

Nancy Zintsmaster