It’s Never Too Late to Come Home to Yourself

By Jennifer Rodencal

My name is Jennifer Rodencal, and horses were my first love.

As a young girl, the barn was where I felt most like myself; grounded, confident, and free. I grew up riding Arabians, falling in love with their heart, intelligence, and undeniable presence. I showed in Western and Hunter Pleasure, learning finesse, balance, and true partnership long before I had words for those concepts. The show ring shaped my work ethic, confidence, and belief in what was possible.

My life with horses wasn’t limited to the saddle. As an adult, my passion became my profession. I became a Certified Journeyman Farrier, building and running my own farrier business for nearly 10 years. Hoof care deepened my understanding of biomechanics, soundness, and the responsibility that comes with caring for a horse from the ground up. It wasn’t just work for me; it was craft, commitment, and another expression of the bond I’ve always had with horses.

Even then, beneath all of it, I carried a quiet dream.

I watched dressage with awe. The precision, the harmony, the silent conversation between horse and rider had me hooked. I never had the opportunity to pursue the discipline as a child, but the dream stayed with me. Someday, I told myself. When life allows.

Life, as it often does, had other plans first.

When my son Seth—known to many as “Scooter”—was born, everything shifted. He was diagnosed as high-functioning autistic, and my focus became singular: his needs, his growth, his future. While continuing to work a full-time 9-5 job, I made the intentional and difficult decision to step away from horses professionally. I hung up my farrier tools, leaving behind a business I had built over a decade, so I could be fully present as his mother and advocate. It wasn’t easy, but it was right. Scooter always came first.

Those years were filled with hard work, resilience, learning, and deep love. I balanced a full-time career while fighting for my son in a world that often wasn’t built for him. I learned alongside him—how to be patient, how to push when necessary, and how to redefine success. Progress didn’t always look the way others expected, but it was real, and it was earned.

Years later, another unexpected chapter arrived. I was diagnosed with cervical and uterine cancer. Once again, life came to a full stop. Treatment, recovery, work, and motherhood collided, but still I fought.

And I won.

Coming out on the other side of cancer changed how I saw everything.

Around that same time, Scooter graduated high school with honors, and it was one of the proudest moments of my life. His journey didn’t stop there. Today, he is a Sergeant in the United States Army. The second proudest moment of my life was hugging him the day he graduated basic training—standing face to face with a young man who had overcome so much and emerged strong, disciplined, and confident. That moment will live in my heart forever.

That was when something inside me woke up.

The little girl who loved Arabians.
The horsewoman who built a career around soundness and care.
The woman who dreamed of dressage from afar.

She was still there—and now, she was ready.

I went looking for a horse again. Not for ribbons. Not for anyone else’s expectations. I was searching for connection, healing, and the chance to finally say yes to that long-held dream—while still working full time and juggling all of life’s responsibilities.

When I began searching, I prayed for just a few things:
An Arabian gelding.
Grey.
Middle-aged.
Maybe one who needed a little work.

That’s when I found Trubadour, or “Toby.”

I knew the second I met him that he was the one. Sitting in the saddle again felt like coming home, and I had no doubt that Toby was home. He came home with me the very next weekend.

Toby wasn’t just a horse. He was a return to myself. With him, I found peace, curiosity, and renewed purpose. Together, we stepped into dressage not as seasoned competitors, but as learners—me at 42 years old, working full-time, starting over completely, bringing with me decades of hoof care knowledge and feel, and him willing to try every step of the way.

I boarded Toby at a local barn, and one day, as I passed the stall of a young horse new to the barn named Zeus, I noticed the nameplate:

Owned and loved by Stephanie Ernst.

The name stopped me.

Curious, I searched for her on Facebook and immediately knew—we had shown together as kids. Stephanie and I reconnected, and began traveling our horse journeys side by side once again. She is also a cancer survivor, a mother to a son the same age as Scooter, and a woman who fought her way back to a passion that runs deep in our souls.

At the time, she was showing. I was not.

It took her an entire year to convince me to take Toby to a local show.

“You don’t even have to ride,” she said. “Just bring him. Do in-hand classes. See how he does.”

So I did. And I felt complete again.

Toby was incredible, and a complete gentleman. That show lit a spark, and I wanted more.

As if the universe wasn’t finished opening doors, my best friend’s aunt happened to be an FEI trainer and coach, and suddenly we were diving headfirst into the world of dressage. Over the next two years, while we were both balancing full-time careers, motherhood, and life, Stephanie and Zeus, and Toby and I traveled together to shows, clinics, and countless lessons.

Along the way, we met another remarkable woman on the circuit, Ashley Hoffman. Together, the three of us became The Unbridled Beauties—a team built on trust, laughter, honesty, and strength. We lift each other up, cheer each other on, and never let one another quit. We are family.

Toby and I went on to earn a Region 10 Arabian Sport Horse Regional Championship, a Regional Reserve Championship, and Dressage High Point with our Arabian Horse Association (AHA) club in our very first year in the dressage ring.

But that’s not why we do this.

This journey is deeper than ribbons.

It’s a fire that will never go out. It’s a declaration that no matter what life throws at me, I will always come out the other side.

My journey with horses didn’t end. It paused—while I became a mother, a professional, a fighter, an advocate, and someone who had the courage to set aside a career for what mattered most.

Now, it continues with deeper meaning.

Horses taught me who I was as a girl. Motherhood taught me who I needed to be. Cancer taught me how strong I truly am.

And Toby reminds me every day that it’s never too late to come home to yourself—or to finally ride toward the dreams you once whispered to your heart.