Living Life as an Exclamation Point

He can’t talk, but he communicates clearly. A stomp of a hoof, a swish of his tail, delivers the desired message. Timely, swift, and precise, there is no grey area. 

I watched him gallop in the field; his body used its full expression, hooves pounding, legs flying into the air, and his neck snaking low as he barreled over the ground. It dawned on me that Rudy lived his life as an exclamation point. He was never shy about communicating his likes or dislikes. He freely expressed the scope of his joy at any moment.  

I was surprised by this realization. How has it taken me ten years to see this when he’s modeled the path with consistency the entire time? In that moment, I decided that I wanted to be like Rudy. 

It was eight weeks into our lives at the new farm when I had this epiphany. Each day when I turned Rudy into his paddock, he expressed pure joy at having the space to run and do what horses do: move with power, grace, and dynamic action. He got an additional charge by buzzing my other horse as she quietly ate her hay. Rudy made a game out of racing away and back to me. He zoomed around intermittently, kicking out for emphasis. The finale of these episodes was often marked by him jumping off the ground with all four feet landing with a sharp thud, as if to say, “Take that!”  

Sustenance was never Rudy’s priority. Rolling off the stress held in his body from spending the night in his stall and expressing himself fueled Rudy. I frequently captured his antics with my phone because reliving those moments brought me both joy and awe. 

Rudy’s way of being stood in stark contrast to my habitual way of moving through the world. My young life taught me that certain emotions were okay and others were not. I learned that some feelings were unwanted or invalid. It didn’t take me long to adopt the role of peacekeeper. I studied the adults around me and learned how to please them. I stuffed my feelings and avoided conflict. It seemed easier this way. Over time, this approach ended up costing me. 

Life is like water, always changing courses. It wears grooves into the land it runs through. Holding my feelings in, tolerating, and putting others’ needs ahead of my own wore me down. It made me unhealthy physically and emotionally. 

My previous way of being flashed before my eyes as I watched Rudy that day. Much of my early life was marked by putting up and shutting up. It was how I kept the peace. When someone asked if I was mad, I would say no while I seethed with anger. When I was sad, I denied myself tears, as if I wasn’t worthy of feeling sorrow. When I was asked to do something, I said yes, when all of me screamed, no. I feared sharing my thoughts and feelings in personal and professional interactions. I routinely dimmed my light in the presence of others and resisted feeling joy when it arrived. I feared that if I reveled in this higher emotion, it would be snatched from me.  

One of the many gifts horses offer to humans is their ability to mirror a person’s internal state. Rudy has taught me a lot about myself over the years. He’s helped me listen and change.

The people who worked with Rudy described him as sensitive, and I joked that I never had to guess how he felt. In retrospect, I felt an undercurrent of judgment in their comments, as if sensitivity were undesirable. The trust was that I was sensitive, too. Years of living taught me that being soft was a recipe for torment.

By the time I was 30, the wall around my heart was considerable. My ex-husband called me the Ice Maiden because I rarely cried. I shed plenty of tears during the years with him, but not in his presence. I was disconnected from my body but didn’t realize it. Years of repressed emotion caused my body to manifest the symptoms of disease. I learned the hard way that the human body has a limit to what it can hold.

I was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus in my late twenties. After seven years of suffering, I took control. I stopped going to the rheumatologist. I weaned myself off the drugs I was on. I stopped eating meat, dairy, caffeine, alcohol, and sugar. I started seeing an acupuncturist regularly. The progress was slow, but there was improvement. The hardest thing I did was ending my marriage, but this was the linchpin to regaining myself and my physical health. Five years later, I was symptom-free. It was a powerful lesson, one that is never far from my awareness.

I was still finding my voice several decades later. The unease threatened to consume me initially when I thought about saying “No.” I became more comfortable speaking my truth and stepping into my power over time. It takes repetition to break patterns. There are still instances when I opt for the perceived safety of not expressing myself, allowing a boundary to slide, saying “I’ll do it,” even though my internal knowing tells me otherwise.

Fast forward to watching Rudy romp, filled with life and expression, and it made me realize I owe it to myself to fully express my emotions. I was on this path. I was peeling back the layers over the past decade, feeling what I had not allowed in my earlier years, saying what I was too scared to utter, and making choices I knew others would disapprove of. I was slowly stepping into my authentic self. It wasn’t an option; it was a necessity. I have so much to feel and celebrate, and I plan to do it Rudy-style!

By Diane R. Jones

February 9, 2026