Keeping My Nerves Steady Before Dressage
Dressage is often the phase that makes me feel most exposed. In show jumping, I can focus on the next fence, and cross-country gives me a clear rhythm of obstacles, speed, and terrain. Dressage feels quieter, which means every misplaced transition, crooked halt, or moment of tension seems much easier to notice.
Before a test, my nerves rarely arrive all at once. They build while I plait Archie, check the times, walk around the warm-up arena, and watch other riders perform their movements. I start imagining everything that could go wrong, from forgetting the pattern to allowing my nerves to travel straight down the reins.
I have learned that I cannot remove pre-competition anxiety completely. My aim is to make it manageable, familiar, and useful. A little adrenaline can sharpen my attention, but too much makes me rush, grip, and lose the calm connection Archie needs from me.
Why My Nerves Build Before Dressage
The waiting is often harder than the test itself. Once I am riding down the centre line, I have a job to do, but the minutes before entering the arena leave plenty of room for unhelpful thoughts. I compare my preparation with everyone else’s and wonder whether Archie feels as ready as the horses around us appear to be.
I also put pressure on the score. It is easy to think that a good mark will prove the training is working, while a disappointing mark means I have failed to prepare properly. That way of thinking makes every movement feel like a judgment on me and Archie, rather than one short performance on one particular day.
Recognising this pattern has helped me separate nerves from danger. Feeling tense does not mean that I am unprepared or that the test will go badly. It usually means that the result matters to me. Naming that feeling makes it less mysterious and stops me treating it as a prediction.
Preparing Archie Helps Me Settle
Much of my confidence comes from giving Archie a quiet, consistent preparation. I check his tack, boots, bridle, and number in the same order whenever possible. These small jobs give my mind something practical to follow, especially when I can feel myself drifting into overthinking.
I also try to arrive with enough time for Archie to look around without spending hours standing beside the lorry. He benefits from a balance between rest and movement. If I rush him into the warm-up, I become tense because I feel behind schedule. If I leave too long before riding, I have too much time to imagine problems.
My pre-test focus is on how Archie feels rather than how other combinations look. I notice whether he is loose through his back, responding to my leg, and accepting a steady rein contact. Those observations are far more helpful than guessing what a judge might award us before we have even entered the arena.
A reliable routine also reassures me that I have done the important things. I do not need to make every preparation perfect. I need to be organised enough that nerves are not competing with avoidable distractions.
Using Breath And Body Position
When I am anxious, I tend to hold my breath during transitions and tighten my thighs. Archie can feel that immediately. He may become shorter in his neck, less regular in his stride, or more hesitant in the contact. Trying to force him to relax while I am physically tense is clearly unfair and rarely effective.
My first reset is a long exhale. I breathe in normally, then let the breath out slowly while softening my fingers and dropping my shoulders. I repeat this several times during the warm-up, particularly before a movement that I expect to find difficult. It is simple, but it gives me a clear physical action instead of leaving me to wrestle with vague worry.
I also check three areas of my position: my jaw, my hands, and my lower leg. A clenched jaw often tells me that I am bracing elsewhere. Tight hands make Archie feel restricted, while a loose lower leg can leave my aids unclear. Making these quick checks helps me return to riding rather than monitoring my nerves.
I do not try to manufacture a perfectly relaxed feeling. I ride with some nerves present and concentrate on keeping my body functional. The goal is a balanced seat, an elastic contact, and aids that Archie can understand.
A Simple Pre-Test Routine
My warm-up works best when it has a purpose rather than a fixed number of minutes. I begin by allowing Archie to walk and look around, then ask for a few easy transitions. Once he is listening, I include a little lateral work, some changes of rein, and short periods of trot or canter that match what he needs that day.
I avoid drilling the complete test repeatedly. Running through every movement several times can make both of us tired and can increase my anxiety if one part feels imperfect. Instead, I practise the areas that help me feel connected, then finish with something Archie knows well.
| Moment | What I Focus On | What I Avoid |
|---|---|---|
| Arriving | Time, tack, and Archie’s general mood | Comparing our preparation with others |
| First few minutes | Forward walking and a soft contact | Asking for collection before he is loose |
| Main warm-up | Transitions, straightness, and responsiveness | Repeating one movement until it feels forced |
| Before entering | Breathing, shoulders, and clear first steps | Rehearsing every possible mistake |
| During the test | The current movement and the next transition | Judging the score while riding |
| After the salute | Letting go of small errors | Replaying the whole test immediately |
Having this structure prevents me from making last-minute changes because someone nearby is doing something different. Every horse needs a slightly different warm-up, and Archie’s needs can change with the weather, the venue, or how much travelling he has done. The routine is a guide, not a rigid script.
Before I enter, I choose one simple intention, such as keeping the rhythm through the first circle or riding positively into the first transition. A single useful thought is easier to carry into the arena than a list of technical corrections.
Riding The Test In Small Pieces
My nerves become louder when I think about the entire test at once. The movements seem to join together into one long examination, and I start worrying about remembering the sequence, producing accurate figures, and showing enough expression. Breaking the test into sections makes it feel much more manageable.
I focus on the movement I am riding, then prepare for the next one. After the centre line, I think about the first turn. Before a transition, I organise my position and ask clearly. During a circle, I concentrate on the line and rhythm rather than wondering what mark the judge might give it.
This approach is especially useful when something goes wrong. If Archie drifts through a corner or I ride a transition late, I give myself one instruction for the next movement and continue. A small mistake does not need to become a running commentary for the rest of the test.
I have found it helpful to treat the judge’s sheet as information rather than a verdict. The comments can show where our training should go next, but they cannot describe every factor involved in one performance. A tense warm-up, a noisy arena, or a moment of lost concentration may affect the result without defining our progress.
When I need reminding of that, I think back to first test lessons. Reflecting honestly on what happened after a test gives me much more useful confidence than pretending every ride was flawless.
Protecting My Focus On Show Day
Some of my best nerve-management decisions happen before I mount. I keep conversations practical and avoid long discussions about marks, judges, or which movements other riders struggled with. Well-meaning comments can quickly add pressure when I am already trying to settle my thoughts.
I also limit how often I check the running order. I need to know when to tack up and when to head to the warm-up, but repeatedly checking the time makes the wait feel more urgent. Once I have a clear plan, I put my phone away and return to Archie’s care.
Food and water matter more than I used to admit. If I am hungry, dehydrated, or running on coffee, my nerves feel sharper and my concentration becomes less reliable. A familiar snack, a drink, and enough time to breathe can make a noticeable difference to my mood.
These are small forms of preparation, but they help me arrive mentally available. I cannot control the weather, the arena, the judge’s preferences, or how Archie will feel on the day. I can control whether I have eaten, whether I know my plan, and whether I spend the final minutes feeding my anxiety.
Habits That Make A Difference
The routines I return to before dressage are simple enough to use at almost any venue:
- Arrive with a realistic timetable that includes travel delays, tack checks, and a calm warm-up.
- Give Archie time to walk, look around, and loosen before asking for more demanding work.
- Use slow exhalations and regular checks of my jaw, shoulders, hands, and lower leg.
- Choose one riding intention instead of carrying a long list of technical corrections.
- Treat the test as a sequence of manageable moments rather than one final judgment.
I also make notes after competing, while the details are still fresh. I record how Archie felt, which part of the warm-up helped, when my nerves peaked, and what I want to repeat next time. This turns each show into practical experience and gradually makes the whole process feel less unfamiliar.
Confidence has grown from repetition rather than from suddenly becoming fearless. The more often I ride through nerves without allowing them to take over, the more evidence I have that I can cope with them. Archie does not need me to be perfectly calm; he needs me to be clear, kind, and present.
Before our next dressage phase, I will use the same steady approach: prepare the horse in front of me, breathe through the tension, and ride one movement at a time. Anyone following Archie’s eventing progress can keep up with future training days and competition reflections here on Party Pony Eventing.