Emma Trossarelli On Horses, Healing, and the Wounded Healer: Fearful Child to Empowered Woman

Little me always had horses in her mind. Barbie horses, a Lego farm with horses, films about horses, books about horses.

Then, growing up, horses began to take a real place in my life when my mother saw this so-called “obsession” as a way to bring me out of my shell. I was timid, insecure, fearful of anything unknown.

She took it upon herself to find a place where I could finally be with these animals and discover that I could actually be without her for longer than a day. The place she found was a riding centre not far from the city where I lived — a small, family-owned place nestled in the beautiful mountains bordering France, where children could spend their summers experiencing country life, being amongst other kids, and simply being whoever they were.

Back in those days (it was the mid-eighties) in Italy, the horse world was mainly for those who wanted to ride for a specific purpose — competitions, trail riding — but the underlying idea was always to do something with horses.

I had no clue what I wanted to do with them; I just knew I wanted to be close to them.

The three years I spent every summer in that little riding place shaped who I am today. Though my approach to horses is very different now, that early freedom to explore made me realise (as much as a fourteen-year-old can) that my dream was to understand everything related to horses beyond riding.

Fast forward a few years: I was at university and had little time for my favourite animals. The small family centre had grown, and all I could manage was an hour or two of riding with no time for anything else.

It wasn’t what I wanted. For me, nourishment came from simply being in their presence, not from riding. And so, between the need to focus on my studies and the dissatisfaction of not knowing what I truly wanted, I decided to stop altogether. Just like that — point blank. Nothing. I wanted something different, but what that was remained a mystery.

University came and went, and after graduation I decided to take a trip to the USA, where some relatives lived — and where the world of cowboys and Native Americans met: California.
That decision, combined with my mother’s choice years earlier, shaped me even further.

Because that supposedly brief trip to California turned into eleven years of living there: a corporate job and, eventually, the rediscovery of my true calling.

Looking back at the patterns, it’s clear that everything conspired to land me where I am today. The job pushed me into severe burnout. My body ached, my mind felt heavy, and — though I didn’t know it then — I was deeply depressed.

Meanwhile, my dreams started to turn rather “horse-crazy”: herds of magnificent horses galloping across clouds, leaving me with a deep sense of belonging. I began researching the symbolism of horses, their archetypal meanings. I was searching for answers, and one day it hit me: I had to leave my job if I wanted to keep my sanity. Mental and physical.

So one morning, I woke up and handed in my notice — which didn’t even last forty-eight hours, as they told me to leave the premises the following day.

The universe was pushing: Do not procrastinate.
Go. Do what you truly love.

A wave of relief jolted through my body. I thought I was mad. No job, no plan, rent to pay, a life to sustain. But deep inside, I knew something bigger was unfolding. This certainty was fuelled by a rekindling of my spirituality through a healing modality that, much like Reiki, swept through me like waves clearing out every lingering doubt.

The first session flicked a switch inside me.

I was ready to find horses again — and this time, it would be my way (though I still had no idea what that meant).

Searching for horses led me to a rescue centre a couple of hours north of Los Angeles. I began volunteering there as though it were my new job. And once again, the universe stepped in: I became eligible for unemployment benefits for two years. “Ask and you shall receive” at its finest.

This was step three in becoming who I am today. I enrolled in horse-training courses at the Monty Roberts International Learning Center — because after reading The Horse Whisperer countless times, it felt ridiculous not to. I spent two weeks among horses, dogs, nature, and people who lived and breathed the equine world, learning ways to make the horse want to be with me.

But even then, something didn’t sit right. The idea of “making” a horse do anything jarred with something deep within me.

And once again, life nudged me along, leading me to a book that changed everything.

One day, wandering through the animal section at Barnes & Noble, a book caught my eye. Sitting on the floor, reading its introduction, tears streamed down my face. A powerful wave of “I know this” washed over me.
The book was The Tao of Equus by Linda Kohanov — a horse trainer and founder of one of the first Equine-Facilitated Learning centres in the US.

She had my full attention.

I bought the book and devoured it. Page after page, I kept saying, “This is it. This is how I want to relate to horses. This is how I’ve always envisioned my life with them.”

I immediately looked for a certified instructor, and after my very first introductory workshop, I knew — again — that this was what I wanted to learn, practise, experiment with, and bring into the world.

And so it began: years of training, hands-on experience, and the sense of finally being in the right place with my oldest companions — the horses.

Seventeen years later, after a major move back to Italy, selling the family home, and buying my own farm, I can look back and understand the “whys”. I understand what that little girl longed for. I understand why I never felt “right” in my own skin. I see the pain of working in the corporate world, the verbal abuse from my boss, the threats that I’d be left with nothing if I dared to leave. I see the pattern woven through every painful relationship that mirrored that same dynamic.

I understand my desire to create something for myself, for horses, and for anyone who shares my wounds and history. And I gave that calling a name: emotional resonance.

This concept, intertwined with the archetype of the Wounded Healer, sits at the heart of every profession that serves another — human or animal. You resonate with the pain. You know the pain. And you have the tools to be of service.

Horses gave me back to myself. A book opened a new world for me. And life made everything else possible. The pain, the sorrow, the joy, and the deep experiences of the past years all became part of the toolkit I now carry to help anyone ready to be helped.

Horses have an extraordinary way of making us feel welcomed, accepted, unjudged, grounded. They insist on our authenticity. Nothing can be faked in their presence. Your best poker face won’t win their heart — but your open one will. Your true essence, even when you believe it’s “wrong”, is more than enough for them.

There’s nothing wrong with vulnerability. In fact, the more honest you are with your own darkness, the more willingly they welcome you into their space. And from there, the only direction is upwards — and the sky becomes the limit.

Horses are master teachers of emotional agility and presence. They ask nothing of us but truth, even when the hurt inside feels impossible to face.

Accompanying people on their horse journey — whether in person or through the coaching I do with the Way of the Horse cards (written by the same author as The Tao of Equus, Linda Kohanov) — allows that once-shy child within me to bring forth all her power and passion. It allows me to share the wisdom of horses, the resilience forged through transformation, and the message that whispers through every encounter:

Yes, you can.

Even a stomach ache or a migraine is a message from our body — something asking to be seen, welcomed, and used to begin a new hero’s journey.

May the power and wisdom of the horse be with you always.
Because you carry that power already.