As a little girl, I was always irresistibly drawn to animals. I used to rescue lost earthworms and build tiny homes for beetles. As I got older, I noticed how much I felt like myself when I was out walking our neigbours’ dog or brushing horses at the riding school. That’s when I felt calm, with both feet on the ground (well, usually in the mud), and finally out of that always busy brain of mine.

My path hasn’t exactly followed the straight line I once had in mind. I developed an eating disorder, and later on, I was knocked off my feet by a full-blown burnout. And the most frustrating part? On paper, everything looked fine. So what went “wrong”?

In daily life, unfortunately, I couldn’t just hang out with horses or wander through the woods all day. As a young, sensitive girl, the classroom could be a cosy place, but often it felt intense and overwhelming. I got quieter. Started withdrawing. My inner radar was always scanning – “Am I doing this right?”, “Do they still like me?”, “Is that person okay, and should I do something about it?”. Looking back, I think: phew, what a load to carry. But at the time, I didn’t even realise it.

It took me years to learn that not everyone’s brain works in the same way as mine (and that mine didn’t always have to be going full speed). But my sense of responsibility, my drive to do everything well, and my deep care for others had already kept me going far beyond my limits. But was it sustainable? Not at all.

I had no connection to myself, no clue what I was really feeling. And if I did feel something – were those even my emotions, or had I picked them up from a colleague, a stranger on the train, or my partner? Knowing what I needed felt like completely new territory. I had never really explored it.

In hindsight, it was the perfect breeding ground for both my eating disorder and my burnout. But at the time, it was just a confusing and deeply frustrating experience.

I tried many different therapists and coaches. Some helped, some didn’t. But what I kept missing was someone who could help me understand the real roots of my behaviour – someone who could gently see through the polished, pleasing answers my brain could give so easily (I was great at giving the therapist a good feeling about the session, but I secretly always left feeling miserable). Someone who didn’t shy away from my emotions – even the big, hidden, intense ones.

In the end, my best therapists turned out to be horses.

Their honesty, their gentle nudges, their confronting clarity, and their unconditional love taught me what my eating disorder was really trying to protect. They helped me understand what I thought control and focussing on food gave me – and, more importantly, what I actually wanted to live for. They helped me find the spark in my eyes again.

Over the past years, my path led through studies, trainings, and different jobs and eventually to my own practice in the Netherlands, where I worked with many young people in recovery and their families. Now that I’ve moved to France, that work continues here at The Big Fields.

With lived experience at the core, and a background in neuroscience, equine therapy, and trauma-informed coaching, I now get to combine my passions – supported by the presence and honesty of my horse colleagues – to guide people like you, in your own rhythm and in your own time.

Curious how I might be able to support you? Send me a message, no pressure. I’d love to meet you.