Living Inside the Threshold

This summer, I’ve been living inside a threshold. I am standing at the edge of what was, and not yet across into what will be.

Losing my soul horse, Skye, in July has reshaped me in ways I am still discovering. Her absence has left a quiet space that is tender, raw, and holy. In that space, I find myself asking: What comes next?

I feel it not just in my grief, but in my work too. I’m reimagining my business without her as my partner. Skye was the heart of my programs. She was the reason I began working with horses as co-facilitators in the first place. Every coaching offering was braided with her presence, her energy and her unique way of holding space. Without her here, I find myself listening for what feels aligned for my next steps. I am also waiting for the next horse to arrive-the one who could step into this story with me and help carry me into a new chapter.

Thresholds are not comfortable places.They stir up questions more than answers. They ask us to release what we can no longer carry, even before we know what’s ahead. They also remind us that endings and beginnings are inseparable, forever woven together.

When I sit with the horses who are here now, I notice how they stand quietly in the in-between.

The herd too is shifting and realigning after the loss of Skye. Herds, like humans, also feel absence. They notice when the constellation changes. There is a pause as they re-establish bonds, redefine roles, and soften into a new rhythm. Watching them, I see how they allow the space of transition without resistance. They don’t rush to fill the gaps. They stand, they breathe together, and they wait until the new shape of the herd eventually reveals itself.

I am learning to follow the herd’s lead.

Some days I struggle reaching for answers that feel just beyond my grasp. But even in the struggle, I sense the invitation from the horses to slow down, to soften, and to trust that clarity will come in its own time.  I am still learning how to move forward without Skye’s physical presence. The days at the ranch without her are not easy. I am standing at a sacred threshold right now, one where the ground is unsteady and unfamiliar. And yet, I feel her beside me.

Skye taught me to listen in the quiet spaces. She showed me that healing doesn’t always happen in grand gestures- sometimes it’s in a blink, a sigh, the smallest shift of presence. Now, without her physical body beside me, I find myself in a liminal space between her last breath and the next chapter of my work with horses. It’s disorienting, raw, and at times unbearable.

However, I trust that this threshold is not empty. It is alive with her medicine – slow, sovereign and deeply soulful. This is the very essence she embodied, and the reason I ever believed I had something rare to offer the world through horstt es. I can’t see the path forward yet. But I know Skye is still guiding me. And in this liminal space, I am learning to listen deeper to the horses, to the trees and the ravens and to my own heart.

As I return to holding space for others, I will carry Skye with me. Her wisdom is woven into every breath practice, every still moment shared with a horse, and every sacred session. I don’t return to my work as I was. I return forever changed with her wisdom in my bones.

One of the greatest lessons for me in this threshold season has been to resist the urge to hurry through uncertainty. I am allowing the space between endings and beginnings to do its own sacred work. I am learning to trust that clarity, like the new rhythm of the herd, will arrive in its own time.

And so, I ask you:

• What threshold are you standing at in your own life right now?
• What are you being invited to lay down before you step through?
• What shimmering possibility do you sense just beyond reach?

This is the heart of what I hold in my Soul Shifts program -a space for honouring thresholds, for listening deeply to the wisdom that surfaces in the in-between, and for stepping into what’s next with intention and clarity. If you find yourself standing at a doorway in your own life, I would love to walk with you.

Wherever you are grieving an ending, sensing a beginning, or suspended in the tender in-between may you remember that the threshold itself is sacred. It is not wasted time. It is holy ground.