How I Deal with Critics at the Show Grounds
Competition days bring plenty of noise. There are trailers arriving before dawn, horses calling across the lorry park, instructors giving last-minute advice, and riders trying to remember every detail from the warm-up plan. In the middle of all that activity, someone will sometimes make a comment about my riding, Archie’s way of going, or the decision I have made for a particular phase.
Some comments are thoughtful and useful. Others are careless, competitive, or based on only a few seconds of watching us. Learning to tell the difference has become an important part of my eventing education. I used to carry every remark into the dressage arena or over the show jumps. Now I try to treat criticism as information to assess rather than a verdict on my ability.
That change has helped me stay focused on the reasons I compete. Archie and I are at the show grounds to produce the best performance we can, learn from the experience, and bring him home feeling confident and well cared for. Everything else has to earn its place in my attention.
Separating useful feedback from background noise
The first question I ask is whether the person commenting understands the full situation. A trainer who has watched our training, knows Archie’s strengths, and has seen the plan for the day has useful context. A stranger who sees one rushed transition in the warm-up has much less.
The timing of the comment matters too. Advice given quietly before a class may help me make a sensible adjustment. A loud remark while I am riding toward a fence is more likely to distract me than improve my performance. Even accurate criticism can be unhelpful if it arrives at the wrong moment.
I also listen for whether the comment is specific. “Keep your outside shoulder back through the turn” gives me something practical to consider. “You look awful today” does not. Specific observations can be tested against my own experience, my coach’s view, and the video afterward. Vague insults usually belong in the background.
A simple filter helps me decide what deserves attention:
| Type of comment | What I do with it | Why it helps |
|---|---|---|
| Specific advice from my trainer | Apply it when safe and appropriate | It connects with our training plan |
| Careful observation from an experienced rider | Consider it and discuss it later | It may reveal something I missed |
| Concern about Archie’s comfort or soundness | Stop and investigate immediately | His welfare comes before competition |
| General criticism from a stranger | Acknowledge it internally, then release it | It lacks enough context to guide me |
| Sarcasm or an insult | Set a boundary or walk away | It is not constructive feedback |
Giving myself a pause before reacting
Criticism can feel physical. My shoulders tighten, my breathing becomes shallow, and I start replaying the words instead of watching Archie’s rhythm. If I respond while I am in that state, I am likely to sound defensive or make a decision based on embarrassment rather than good horsemanship.
My first response is therefore deliberately small. I take one slow breath, soften my hands, and bring my attention back to Archie. If we are mounted, I focus on our line, tempo, and the next task. If I am standing by the lorry, I step away from the crowd for a minute and drink some water.
That pause gives me enough distance to ask what the comment has actually changed. Do I need to alter our warm-up? Is Archie uncomfortable? Did I forget part of the plan? Or did someone simply express an opinion? Those are very different situations, even though they may initially produce the same flash of irritation.
I have also learned not to defend every decision aloud. Explaining myself to someone who is determined to criticize rarely makes me feel better. A calm “Thanks, I’ll discuss it with my trainer” is often enough. It closes the conversation without turning the collecting ring into an argument.
Keeping Archie at the centre of the decision
When a comment involves Archie, I take it seriously, but I do not automatically accept the critic’s interpretation. Horse care requires observation over time. I know how he normally moves, how he feels after travelling, and what his concentration looks like when he is relaxed compared with when he is worried.
For example, someone may say that Archie looks lazy when he is actually conserving energy after an early journey. Another person may see tension in his neck and assume he is badly schooled, while I know he has just been unsettled by a horse leaving the warm-up. These possibilities do not mean I should ignore what I see. They mean I should investigate before drawing a conclusion.
I check the basics: his breathing, appetite, way of going, willingness to move forward, and response to familiar aids. I look for changes that might suggest discomfort rather than dismissing them as competition nerves. If something feels wrong, I involve my trainer, a steward, or a vet as appropriate. Protecting Archie’s welfare is a responsibility, not a matter of pride.
The same principle applies to equipment and preparation. If someone raises a genuine concern about a loose girth, a poorly fitted boot, or a problem with our tack, I would rather check it twice than ignore it because I dislike the delivery. The useful action can be separated from the unpleasant tone.
Choosing whose opinion carries weight
At a busy event, there can be dozens of opinions within a few hours. If I gave them all equal importance, I would lose any sense of direction. I have had to create a small circle of trusted people whose judgment is based on experience, honesty, and knowledge of Archie.
My trainer has the clearest role because she understands our long-term goals. She knows which habits we are working to improve and which temporary imperfections are acceptable while we build strength or confidence. Her feedback may be direct, but it is connected to a plan rather than a passing impression.
I also value the observations of people who care for Archie at home and those who have watched us compete over several seasons. They can notice patterns I miss. One isolated round may feel disastrous to me, while someone else can point out that our rhythm was better, our recovery was quicker, or Archie stayed more settled than he did at the previous event.
After a class, I try to review the performance with these people before discussing it widely. We look at the score sheet, recall how Archie felt, and watch video if we have it. This creates a balanced picture. A low mark or a rail down matters, but it is one piece of evidence rather than a complete definition of the day.
Responding to comments in public
The show grounds are not a private training arena. Conversations happen beside the warm-up, near the secretary’s office, and around the lorry park. A criticism that might have been quietly offered at home can become a public performance, with other riders listening and adding their own views.
When someone comments while I am preparing to compete, I keep my reply short. “I need to concentrate now” is clear and polite. If the person continues, I repeat myself rather than adding more explanation. I do not owe a detailed account of my schooling methods, veterinary decisions, or competition goals to everyone who asks.
There are times when a firmer boundary is necessary. Comments about Archie’s welfare, my body, or my competence can cross from observation into personal disrespect. I can say, “Please do not speak to me like that,” and move away. If the behaviour becomes aggressive or interferes with another rider’s safety, I involve an official rather than trying to win the exchange myself.
Social media creates a second version of the show grounds. Videos can be shared without context, and people who were not present may judge a round from a short clip. I have become more careful about reading replies immediately after competing. Protecting my concentration is more important than monitoring every opinion posted online.
Turning criticism into a training tool
Some criticism still stings, especially when it touches a weakness I already know about. If someone points out that I collapse through a turn or lose my balance over a fence, I may feel annoyed because the observation is accurate. That discomfort can be useful if I handle it properly.
I write down the comment later, away from the pressure of the event, and compare it with my trainer’s feedback and the video. If the same issue appears repeatedly, it becomes a training target. We might add pole exercises, improve my fitness, practise transitions, or work on my position without the pressure of a competition environment.
A single mistake does not need an emotional punishment attached to it. At one event, I received criticism after a show-jumping round in which I rode defensively to a related distance. I was disappointed, but the answer was not to force Archie at the next fence. The productive response was to understand why I lost confidence and practise making a clearer decision earlier.
I also try to notice when criticism reveals a personal expectation rather than a genuine problem. Eventing involves progress at different speeds. Another rider’s results, training budget, horse, or competition schedule cannot be used as a fair measurement of my partnership with Archie. Improvement has to be judged against our own previous work.
My show-day plan for staying grounded
Preparation reduces the space available for outside opinions. Before leaving home, I write a short plan for travel, feeding, walking, warm-up, tack checks, and recovery. I include one or two performance goals that are within my control, such as keeping a consistent rhythm in the cross-country start box or riding every dressage transition with patience.
I also decide in advance who I will speak with after each phase. Usually, that is my trainer and one trusted person who helps with Archie. Having a clear support system means I am less likely to seek reassurance from whoever happens to be standing beside the warm-up fence.
These are the reminders I keep returning to during a competition:
- Check Archie’s comfort, soundness, and attitude before reacting to outside opinions.
- Listen carefully to specific advice, especially when it comes from someone who knows our training.
- Delay difficult conversations until I am safely finished riding and emotionally settled.
- Use video, score sheets, and repeated patterns rather than one person’s impression.
- Leave disrespectful conversations instead of trying to prove my worth in public.
The goal is not to become immune to criticism. I still care about doing well, and I still have moments when an unkind remark follows me longer than it should. The goal is to become selective. Useful feedback should sharpen my riding and horse care; careless judgment should not control my mood, my decisions, or my relationship with Archie.
At the end of a show, I want to remember more than the comments. I want to remember how Archie travelled, whether he felt confident, what we learned, and which small moments showed progress. That is the record that matters when we return home and begin preparing for the next event.
Critics will always be part of competition life, but they do not have to become part of my inner voice. I can listen with judgment, protect my focus, and choose a response that supports both my riding and Archie’s welfare. Follow Party Pony Eventing for more honest notes from the warm-up ring, the schooling arena, and the long road between events.