Patience Then Progress: A Journey of Connection at Speaking of Horses

As speech therapists, we live in a world of percentages and progress reports. Insurance companies require data showing improvement, and our professional training pushes us to "fix" communication challenges—whether articulation difficulties, language delays, or pragmatic skills. But what happens when progress doesn't follow a neat, linear path? What happens when breakthroughs require months of seemingly invisible groundwork?

At Speaking of Horses, we embrace a different philosophy: each child has their own timeline for growth, and honoring that timeline isn't just best practice—it's essential for genuine, lasting progress. When we push children beyond their readiness, we don't accelerate growth; we often create resistance that can set back communication development for months or even years.

To illustrate the power of patience before progress, I'd like to share the remarkable journey of one little girl whose story has profoundly shaped our approach.

When Fantasy Meets Reality

An 8-year-old autistic girl arrived at our farm one sticky August day. Her communication profile included minimal verbal output—typically just one syllable of single words—alongside using her AAC device to express 2-3 word phrases. She had also developed her own creative communication system, playing YouTube videos with high emotional content to express her feelings when words were inaccessible.

Her parents were thrilled about the potential of equine therapy because horses weren't just an interest for their daughter—they were her passion. She watched "Spirit" and "Pony Pals" daily, played constantly with toy horses, and lived in a rich imaginary world populated by equine companions.

But fantasy and reality often exist in different sensory landscapes. When confronted with the imposing size of real horses and the multisensory environment of the farm—the smells, sounds, and open spaces—she immediately retreated to our sensory-friendly corner of the barn, a cozy space with bean bag chairs and soft blankets designed for just such moments of overwhelm.

In those early sessions, we simply sat shoulder to shoulder in silence. Not talking. Not directing. Not pushing. Just being present together in a shared space—the foundation of all communication.

Connection on Her Terms

As weeks passed, she began to explore the farm, though with minimal engagement with people. She developed a fascinating pattern: she would run up to the fence where Red, our three-year-old horse-in-training, stood watching, briefly touch him, and then run away.

What made this interaction remarkable was her clear preference for Red—a horse separated from her by a fence—over our gentle therapy pony Whinny, who was available for direct interaction in the ring. Something about the boundary the fence provided created safety. Perhaps it was the perfect distance that allowed connection without overwhelm, or perhaps she and Red shared some deeper understanding that transcended our professional comprehension.

Whatever the reason, Red seemed to understand his role perfectly. He would lower his head to her level when she approached, standing perfectly still during these fleeting moments of contact. I would stand nearby in silent support, careful not to disrupt their connection with my words or expectations.

Meanwhile, her brother (also autistic but with different communication preferences) had begun riding Whinny with enthusiasm. His progress followed a more predictable trajectory—his 1-2 word utterances blossomed into full, spontaneous sentences as he learned to trot. His success, while celebrated, highlighted the unique nature of each child's journey.

Tiny Steps on a Marathon Journey

For our young horse enthusiast, we took a very slow approach. We placed her favorite chair far from Whinny, then gradually moved the pony closer, always watching for her subtle cues that indicated "close enough." We celebrated the tiniest victories—a moment of connection with the pony from afar, a step closer than last week, a fleeting touch followed by retreat.

Weeks turned into months. Seasons changed. To an outside observer, progress might have seemed nonexistent. She still engaged minimally with me. Her language patterns remained relatively consistent. But underneath this apparent plateau, her comfort zone was expanding millimeter by millimeter.

She began to approach Whinny for brief moments. She practiced walking up the mounting steps while the pony stood at a distance. She touched the saddle. Eventually, she would quickly pat Whinny's side before retreating.

The path wasn't linear. Some days she would reach the third stair of the mounting block—a huge achievement—only to regress the following week to keeping her distance entirely. Her family demonstrated remarkable patience, never pushing her despite their natural hope to see her ride someday. They understood intuitively what many miss: true progress cannot be forced.

The Day Everything Changed

Seven months into therapy—after approximately 28 sessions of patiently waiting—something remarkable happened. Without prompting, she climbed the mounting block and lifted her leg slightly—a clear but subtle communication that she was ready to try sitting on Whinny.

With gentle support, she settled onto the pony's back. The transformation was immediate and profound. Her entire face illuminated with a smile of pure joy. She squealed with excitement, flapping her hands in delight. After just two minutes, signs of sensory overwhelm appeared, and we helped her safely dismount.

But those two minutes represented more than just sitting on a horse. They were the culmination of seven months of trust-building, of honoring her boundaries, of patient waiting. Her parents captured photos of this milestone, but more precious than the images was the radiance of pride and accomplishment that no camera could fully capture.

The following week, she approached the mounting steps with newfound confidence, clearly indicating her desire to sit on Whinny again. Another brief but magical session followed.

When Accommodation Creates Breakthrough

In her eighth month with us, another breakthrough occurred. The Building Goodness Foundation had donated a ramp to Speaking of Horses, creating an alternative to the mounting steps. This simple accommodation changed everything.

The day of this session began differently. When she arrived at the farm and stepped out of the car, she did something unprecedented—she ran up and hugged me. After eight months of patient connection-building, this spontaneous embrace was the first physical indication that she truly trusted me. That simple hug spoke volumes about our relationship, communicating what words couldn't: "I feel safe with you." It was a profound moment that signaled her readiness for the next step in our journey together.

With this newfound trust established, she approached the ramp with determination. The motor planning required to sit down on the horse's back from the ramp was less complex and psychologically less intimidating than climbing up from the block.

With minimal assistance, she sat and swung her leg over Whinny's back. We started as always with sitting still, carefully monitoring her regulation. Seeing her happy and engaged, we ventured a single step forward. Her response? Giggles of delight. Another step followed, with more joyful sounds.

When we paused to check in, she said "more"—a simple word that represented a massive communication victory. When I said, "Ready, set..." she responded with a clear "Go!" For the first time, we completed an entire circuit of the ring. Throughout this extended ride, she communicated intentionally through both her AAC device and verbal speech: "go," "stop," "more," "done," "off."

More words emerged in this single session than in our entire eight months together. The neurological input from the horse's movement, combined with the intrinsic motivation of this long-awaited experience, created the perfect conditions for communication to flourish.

The Lessons Her Journey Teaches

This little girl's story exemplifies core principles that guide our work at Speaking of Horses:

Honor the timeline. Real progress cannot be rushed. When we push children beyond their internal readiness, we often create setbacks rather than advancement. Patience isn't just a virtue—it's a therapeutic necessity.

Connection before communication. Meaningful speech emerges from a foundation of trust and relationship. Those silent sessions sitting shoulder-to-shoulder weren't empty time—they were building the essential foundation for everything that followed.

Regression is part of progression. The path to communication development rarely follows a straight line. Days of apparent regression are often necessary integration periods that precede significant leaps forward.

The environment shapes communication. Traditional therapy settings may inadvertently create barriers for some children. The combination of movement, motivation, and meaningful engagement that horses provide can unlock communication potential that remains hidden in more clinical contexts.

Accommodation isn't lowering expectations—it's enabling success. The ramp that facilitated her riding wasn't "cheating"—it was recognizing and addressing the specific barriers between her and success. True accommodation honors both challenges and capabilities.

Beyond Percentages

Traditional therapy metrics might have labeled this child's first seven months as "minimal progress" or "resistant to intervention." Insurance companies might have questioned the value of continued services without measurable advancement in specific communication goals.

But percentages and progress notes cannot capture the foundation being built through patience and relationship. They cannot measure the growth of trust or the slow expansion of comfort zones. They cannot quantify the internal readiness developing beneath the surface of observable behavior.

At Speaking of Horses, we recognize that the most profound communication breakthroughs often emerge after extended periods of apparent plateau. We understand that honoring each child's unique timeline isn't indulgence—it's the most direct path to authentic progress.

The joy on this little girl's face as she communicated "more" and "go" from Whinny's back after eight months of patient waiting wasn't just a therapeutic success—it was a validation of our core philosophy: genuine progress follows patience, not the other way around.

For every child finding their voice, in whatever form that voice takes, the journey has its own natural rhythm. Our job isn't to accelerate that rhythm but to honor it, support it, and create the conditions where communication can emerge in its own perfect time.

Supporting These Journeys

Speaking of Horses operates as a nonprofit organization dedicated to making equine-assisted speech therapy accessible to children from all backgrounds. While we accept insurance, including Medicaid, the costs of providing this specialized therapy far exceed typical reimbursement rates. The care and maintenance of our therapy horses, specialized adaptive equipment, facility upkeep, and accommodations like our sensory corner and mounting ramp all require resources beyond what insurance covers.

Stories like the one shared here are made possible through the generosity of donors and community supporters who understand the value of patience, connection, and meeting each child where they are. If you've been moved by this journey of patience before progress, consider supporting Speaking of Horses through a donation that helps create the time and space for more children to find their voices at their own perfect pace.

Your contribution directly supports the unhurried, child-led approach that makes these breakthroughs possible. To learn more about supporting our mission or to make a donation, please visit our website or contact us directly.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​