Every body is an equestrian body, which is why August is focusing on size inclusivity on YourDressage. As we share the stories, struggles, and triumphs of plus-size equestrians from across the country, our friends at Horse Dazzle and Kerrits Equestrian Apparel have graciously partnered with us to sponsor a #DressageForEveryBody2026 giveaway for three lucky readers!
By Sarah Wolfgang
The first time I fell in love with dressage, I wasn’t in the saddle. I was sitting beside the judge with a clipboard in my lap, serving as a scribe at the Endless Summer Open Dressage Show. The judge was ‘S’ Judge and U.S. Paralympian, Robin Brueckmann.
When I arrived that morning, I expected to spend the day writing scores and comments. Instead, I found myself captivated by something I had never experienced before.
Horse after horse entered the arena, as expected. As Robin dictated her comments, I recorded every word. But it wasn’t the numbers that stayed with me; it was the quiet conversation happening between each horse and rider. Every movement reflected trust, patience, communication, and partnership. There was a softness and precision that fascinated me.
Some time during those tests, I realized I wanted to experience that feeling for myself. Driving home, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“I want to learn dressage.”
When I told my husband, he laughed and said, “You already know how to ride.”
He wasn’t wrong. Horses had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. I grew up riding saddleseat, and had spent years coaching 4-H Horse Bowl, hippology, and judging teams, and judged countless open horse shows. Even during the ten years I wasn’t riding, horses never left my life.
But this felt different. I wasn’t looking for something familiar. I was looking for the excitement—and vulnerability—of being a beginner again.
The first step was finding an instructor. I made a simple Facebook post asking for recommendations from local equestrian connections. One of my 4-H parents suggested Rosalind Equestrian and Ingrid Martin.
At the time, it seemed like an ordinary comment. Looking back though, it changed my life.
What no one could see behind that seemingly innocuous Facebook post was the fear I carried with me. I’ve been a plus-sized rider for as long as I can remember. As a child, I never thought much about my size. I thought only about horses. But as I got older, I became painfully aware that not everyone looked past my body to see the rider underneath.
When I began contacting dressage barns, one of the first questions I was asked was how much I weighed. It was a fair question, I thought. Every horse deserves to be protected, and rider-horse partnerships should always prioritize the horse’s well-being.
Still, hearing that question before anyone had met me brought back years of insecurities I thought I had left behind. For a moment, I wondered whether there would be a place for someone who looked like me in dressage.
Thankfully, I didn’t let that question become my answer.
When I arrived at Rosalind Equestrian for my first lesson, I expected everyone to notice the plus-sized woman who hadn’t ridden in ten years.
Instead, Ingrid watched me mount, smiled, and said, “Okay… obviously you know how to ride.”
We both laughed. With one sentence, she had reminded me of something I had forgotten: I wasn’t starting over, I was simply starting a new chapter.
Ingrid never treated me like I needed to prove that I belonged. She met me where I was, building on the foundation I already had while patiently introducing me to an entirely new discipline. That gift changed everything.
My equine partner through this journey has been Big E, a gentle Clydesdale lesson mare with an endless supply of patience. Together we’ve celebrated tiny victories that probably wouldn’t mean much to anyone watching from outside the arena: a straighter centerline, a softer connection, a balanced circle, a transition that finally felt effortless.
Those moments have become my milestones, though.
Big E has never cared what size breeches I wear, how long I spent away from riding, or whether I’ve earned a ribbon. She asks only for fairness, consistency, and trust.
Somewhere between those weekly lessons, something unexpected happened. The confidence I was building in the saddle began following me into the rest of my life.
When Dover Saddlery announced that it was closing, I bought my first pair of tall boots. To someone else they were just a piece of equipment; to me, they represented a promise. A promise that I would stop letting fear decide which dreams were worth pursuing.
Not long after, I wore my new boots to my lesson for the first time. As I finished riding, Ingrid smiled and said, “You look good.” I’ve thought about those words many times since.
She wasn’t talking about expensive boots or perfect riding. She was recognizing the rider I was becoming.
I still haven’t ridden my first dressage test at a show. That day will come, and I’ll probably overthink every movement. And I’ll almost certainly leave the arena already thinking about what I want to improve next. But whether that first score is high or low no longer feels like the point. Dressage has already given me something far more valuable.
It gave me the confidence to believe there is still room for new dreams, no matter my age, my size, or how much time has passed.
Looking back, I realize my journey into dressage wasn’t shaped by one defining moment. It was built through a series of ordinary ones. A volunteer opportunity, a Facebook recommendation, an instructor who saw ability before insecurity, a patient lesson horse, a pair of tall boots.
None of those moments seemed extraordinary on their own. Together, they brought me home.
USDF’s Dressage Is for Every Body campaign resonates with me because it reflects the lesson I’ve been learning weekly: belonging isn’t reserved for riders who look a certain way, fit a certain stereotype, or follow a perfect path.
Dressage welcomed me exactly as I was, a plus-sized rider returning after ten years away, eager to learn, willing to be vulnerable, and ready to begin again.
If someone reading this is wondering whether they belong in dressage, I hope they’ll take the first step anyway. Make the phone call, ask for the lesson, post the question, or walk into the barn.
You don’t have to feel fearless to begin. Sometimes all it takes to find your way home is the courage to start.
