Have you ever played Mario Kart?

You’re cruising along, speedy McSpeedy… and the whole screen is pure chaos.
Go-karts are crashing everywhere.
Bombs and bananas are flying.
Someone’s always ricocheting off a wall like it’s a strategy.

It’s fun. It’s silly x10. It’s loud.

That is the closest comparison I have to school skate night.

I took my kids to the school skate night and there was an ugly sweater contest… and these kids committed. I’m talking full sparkle-elf outfits. Christmas light necklaces. Tinsel shedding like a golden retriever in July.

It was glorious.

And I swear—bombs and bananas were dropping nonstop as Santa hats and bows hit the floor. Every lap there was at least one kid hitting the deck… sometimes chains of two or three at a time, literally spinning out right in front of me.

Other kids using the wall as a stopping device. Kids beelining across the rink to exit like it was a fire drill, other skaters be damned.

And then there were the tiny siblings. The 3–5 year olds wandering into traffic like adorable little bowling pins.

I crept onto the floor with one goal: do not run over a toddler.
(It’s harder than it sounds.)

Within about ten seconds, my nervous system was like…

🚨 Danger, danger. 🚨

My heart started pounding. My breathing got shallow. And I genuinely wished for a helmet.

And then my brain hit me with the thought that so many of us have had at some point:

“My body isn’t as coordinated as it used to be… what the heck happened?”

Here’s the thing I want to say out loud, because a lot of women quietly carry this:

Sometimes the fear isn’t “I’m nervous.”

Sometimes the fear is:

• If I fall, I could actually get hurt. (When did that happen?)

• If I get hurt, it could mess up my whole life.

• I have kids. A job. A house. Responsibilities.

• I don’t bounce like I used to.

• If I’m sidelined, life doesn’t pause while I heal.

That’s not drama. That’s not weakness.

That’s your nervous system doing exactly what it was designed to do: protect you.

But here’s where it gets sneaky.

When your nervous system labels something as “unsafe,” it doesn’t always make you quit.

Sometimes it does something worse:

It makes you white-knuckle the thing you love.

And if you’re a rider… you know this exact headspace.

You’re still riding. You’re still showing up.
But you’re not in it.

You’re scanning. Bracing. Managing.
Shoulders up. Jaw clenched. Holding your breath like you’re underwater.

“Just get through it.”
“Don’t make a mistake.”
“Keep it safe.”
“Don’t let him spook.”
“Don’t blow the lead change.”
“Don’t miss the stop.”

That’s not riding. That’s surviving.

And surviving is exhausting.

Which is why white-knuckling eventually turns into smaller choices:

“I’ll keep it simple today.”
“I don’t need to lope.”
“I’ll skip that maneuver.”
“I’ll just trot this pattern.”
“Maybe I’ll show next season.”

And listen—sometimes that is wisdom.

But sometimes?

Sometimes it’s fear slowly shrinking your horse life. Not in one dramatic moment… but in tiny “reasonable” decisions that add up.

Not because you’re lazy. Not because you don’t love it.

Because your body learned: tight = safe.
And “safe” starts to become your whole identity.

So what do you do with that?

You don’t “just be confident.”
You don’t bully yourself.
You don’t pretend you aren’t scared.

You train your nervous system the same way you train your horse:

small reps that build trust.

The One Notch Braver Rule

Pick one thing that’s one notch braver than your default… without tipping into white-knuckle mode. Like you’d adjust your belt just one notch.

Not “go win the derby.”
Not “send it and hope.”
Just one notch.

Here’s some examples:

• Lope one extra lap while you focus on breathing out

• Ask for just one notch more speed

• Go to the arena even if you don’t “feel ready”

• Ride with the goal of softness instead of perfection

Then pair it with one regulation cue:

• long exhale

• drop your shoulders

• soften your jaw

• feel your feet in your boots

• name what you see (ground your brain in the present)

You’re teaching your system: I can do hard things and still be safe.

That’s the whole game.

Not “fear disappears.”

But “fear sits in the backseat.”

And if you’re tired of white-knuckling your rides—if you miss feeling steady in your body instead of just trying to get through it—5DCC is your on-ramp.

It’s five days of short, practical training (including my Calm Switch) you can use immediately in the saddle—especially for those warm-up pen / gate / first maneuver moments where your brain goes full 🚨danger🚨 for no good reason.

JOIN 5DCC HERE!

With love,
Nicole