If this was about dogs or horses...

My horse is getting older. By most standards she would have been labeled broken years ago. Hypermobile. Lots of little wears and tears. Uncooperative in work and no, she has not really been ridden for years. High maintenance in every imaginable way. If you measure worth by productivity, she has long since failed the test.

And yet she is living her best life. Spicy as ever.

And I love and cherish her to pieces. Best horse ever for me and my family.

I tend to her carefully. I monitor her comfort, her mobility, her appetite, her energy. Yes, she has off days. Yes, she has limitations. And it gives me gray hair galore. But I do not only watch her problems. I watch her spark. Her curiosity. Her joie de vivre.

And when it is time to say goodbye one day, I will know. And I will act.

But we are not even close to having that discussion.

I see the same pattern in my older canine clients. Aging bodies. Funky minds. Stiff joints. Grey faces. And owners who know and see them more deeply than ever before. Who adjust the walks to actual capacity. Who build rhythm around the individual instead of forcing the individual into a fixed rhythm.

Strangely enough, many of these animals are doing better in their later years than they ever did before. Not because they are healthier on paper, but because they are finally understood. Because it feels more natural to adjust to the quirks of an elderly dog than to a young one.

We somehow accept that aging requires responsiveness, and that makes things easier. It is funny and lovely to notice.

And that makes me wonder about us as human beings.

How well do we understand ourselves? Our nervous system. Our needs. Our nature.

Why do we so often wait until stress, illness, or burnout forces us to listen? Why do we push and struggle through misalignment for years before allowing ourselves to design a life that actually fits our temperament, our energy, our genius, our natural rhythm?

If you are reading this, you probably already sense when something is off. You are aware. You feel the friction. You notice the quiet voice that says: "this does not fully fit."

But then there are our children.

We wake them early. We rush them through mornings. We sit them at small desks under artificial light for hours on end. We ask them to suppress movement, curiosity, hunger, thirst, even basic bodily impulses, so they can strengthen one very specific muscle: the cognitive one. We schedule them tightly. School on time. Homework on time. Sports on time. Bed on time. For the biggest part of their young lives.

Because we are supposed to. It is 'normal' and even obligatory.

We did it too as a child and we turned out 'fine'. (Uh-uh, rrrrright....)

If we structured a horse's life like that, many professionals would immediately advocate for more daylight, more movement, more autonomy, more species-appropriate living. The same goes for dogs. The conversation around natural environments and ethical care has gained enormous momentum. And that is a wonderful thing. However, in some circles it even tips into harsh judgment toward anyone who does not provide the utmost perfect conditions.

And yet.... we barely question the human equivalent.

We have become better and better at advocating for natural living for animals. Less so for ourselves. And yes, I am going to say it plainly: even less for our children.

With animals we ask, is this life still good for this individual?

With humans we often ask, is this individual still functioning inside the system?

Those are very different questions.

This is not a dramatic call to tear everything down tomorrow. It is an invitation to notice the blind spot. To observe how easily we recognize natural living requirements in a horse or a dog, and how quickly we override it in ourselves.

Care is not perfection. It is responsiveness. It is observing the being in front of you and adjusting accordingly.

Yes, there were times in history when children worked in mines and factories. That was way worse. But having a dramatic baseline in a man-made, industry-driven system does not mean we have to settle for whatever improvement followed.

Maybe it is about time for this conversation. Not as rebellion, but as recalibration. Not from ideology, but from biology.

Because when you learn to read 'joie de vivre' in an old horse or dog, it becomes very difficult to ignore it in yourself. Or in your children.

Once you start paying attention to the spark, to your nature, you cannot unsee it.

This is exactly the kind of conversation I have with the people I work with. If something in here stirred, you know where to find me.

Love, Annemarijn

PS. If something in here stirred, there are a few ways to go deeper, all free.

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