The Space to Be Heard

Lessons from Horses and Writing

Slowing down is a practice—beginning with the body and then moving onto the page.

Last week, I had the amazing opportunity to co-teach with my dear friend Jennifer Cohen Harper, an author, mindfulness teacher, and equine assisted learning provider, at 13 Hands Equine Rescue in New York’s Hudson Valley. This sanctuary offers a compassionate landing for nearly 200 equines, including horses, donkeys, and even zebras.

Over the past year, Jenn and I have created a retreat that pairs my Narrative Healing principles with her beautiful Mindfulness with Horses program. We seamlessly alternate between practicing with horses and writing circles in our retreat. The results have been truly life-altering. A profound outcome of our partnership is how much I’ve learned about writing from the horses.

One of the most powerful moments during our retreats is when Jennifer introduces the concept of space. She explains that one of the main ways horses communicate with each other is by asking: “Are you willing to give me the space I need?” Depending on the answer, they decide whether being in a relationship with another horse is safe or preferable.

It never ceases to amaze me what a foreign concept this is for us humans, and perhaps especially writers; we’re so quick to relegate our writing lives to the smallest corners of our lives. Just as horses need space to feel safe and connected, our stories—and our creative lives suffer when crowded by the relentless pressures of modern life.

The truth is, our stories need space too.

They need room to express themselves and to be in relationship with other stories. Yet, we rarely give them the space they need. Instead, we crowd our stories—either by stockpiling them inside, where they suffocate or by rushing to use them like megaphones before they’ve fully evolved. We press "send," "publish," and "post" as if we’re playing Whac-A-Mole.

This isn’t our fault. We’re busy trying to keep up with the systems around us—making goals, setting resolutions, and manifesting dreams. But, the systems we use to measure our creative worth weren’t designed for the creative life. They were designed for machines.

As we charge into 2025, it’s easy to get caught up in the rush of modern life. Back-to-school schedules, work routines, climate crises, to-do lists, and New Year’s resolutions all push us to speed up. The pressure to stay productive and achieve more can feel relentless.

But resolutions often set us up to fail. Most of them don’t come from our own inner voice. Instead, they’re shaped by external forces—capitalism, supremacy, and patriarchy—that prioritize output over connection. These lofty goals, often laced with unrealistic expectations, only add to the stress.

How many of you have already slipped?

The truth is, the writing life doesn’t thrive on yearly mandates. It grows from daily actions rooted in trustworthy, spacious conditions. This is where our true voice lives.

The question isn’t what can I achieve? but rather, how can I sustain the space I need to create?

Start with right now:

• What communities surround you?

• How do you feel in your space?

• How much space do you need?

• Are the people around you willing to give you the space you need to free your voice?

What if, instead of rushing into resolutions, we behaved like horses? What if we asked one another, “Are you willing to give me the space I need?” And what if we learned to answer honestly:

“Yes, I can give you this space,” or “No, I cannot,” and moved forward accordingly?

The only way to honestly take up space and slow down enough to be with our stories is through the body. Writing begins with trust and presence, and this can start with a simple embodied practice.

Here’s a tool from my book, Narrative Healing, to help you create the space your stories need:

Create Space Exercise

We need to make room in our bodies to make room for our stories. This practice invites you to expand your physical space as a way to unlock creativity and presence.

Step 1: Find a Comfortable Position
Stand or sit in a position where you feel grounded. If you’re standing, plant your feet firmly on the ground. If you’re sitting, rest your hands on your lap.

Step 2: Expand Your Space
Stretch your arms wide, reaching outward as if creating a larger circle around yourself. If standing, widen your stance slightly and feel your connection to the earth.

Step 3: Breathe Deeply
Take three slow, deep breaths. Imagine your breath expanding the space within and around you as you inhale. As you exhale, release tension and invite openness.

Step 4: Reflect and Write
Ask yourself, “What does it feel like to take up space? How does this openness affect my voice and creativity?” Write your response in a journal or notebook.

Our stories, like horses, thrive when given room to emerge and connect.

This embodied practice is just one way we can create space for our stories. Jenn shared something with me during one of our conversations that has stayed with me. She wrote:

“For the horses to hear us, what we’re expressing on the outside needs to match what is happening on the inside. Lying is not an option. Faking it isn’t an option. And we get to practice editing because everything that isn’t essential is a distraction that creates confusion.

Time with horses helps me get to the heart of things in my own body and mind, helps me be more honest with myself, and helps me practice saying what needs to be said.”

Her words remind me of the vital connection between authenticity, communication, and writing. It’s about quieting the noise, uncovering the essence of what we’re trying to say, and trusting the process to bring us closer to the heart of our stories. You can read our full conversation here.

What if we approached our writing lives the way horses invite us to communicate—with full presence, honesty, and clarity? What if we gave ourselves permission to slow down, shed the unnecessary, and create the space our stories need to breathe and grow?

The next time you sit down to write, pause and ask yourself: What is my body telling me? Am I being true to my voice? What can I release to uncover the truth of my story?

Our stories are waiting—ready to emerge when we slow down, listen deeply, and create the space they need to breathe and grow. What step will you take today to honor your voice and make room for your story?

I’d love to hear from you. What does “creating space” mean to you? Have you found ways to invite more spaciousness into your writing life? Share your thoughts in the comments or reply to this post—I can’t wait to hear your reflections.

With love,

Lisa

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PS. If this resonates with you, I invite you to join me for my upcoming online course at Omega Institute. Join me at Omega to Create Space for Your Writing Life – starting January 30th. This unique online course blends mindfulness, body awareness, and creative practices to help you cultivate sustainable writing habits and reconnect with your true voice. Together, we'll explore guided writing exercises, Narrative Healing principles, and the power of community.
🌟 Spots are Limited – Reserve your place today!

Photo Credit 1: Jennifer Cohen Harper
Photo Credit 2: Lisa Weinert