Mounted Archery Through the Lens of Chronic Illness

Why attempt something so wild while living through a long-term changeable health condition?

Disclaimer: I am not a doctor or therapist. This blog is based on personal experience and is for informational purposes only. Please consult a qualified medical and/or mental health professional before starting anything new. Full Disclaimer can be found at the bottom of this page.

Ever wanted to start something new and then thought, 'Nah, I'll be no good at that? I'm not the right age, or the right weight, or I don't have good enough health or enough money. I won't ever be good at that. So why bother?'

This kind of thought is not new to me, and it’s probably not new to you either. We've all heard the stories about characters who regret not pursuing their dreams, so we're definitely not alone on this thought train.

So what happens when we decide to try it?

Well, I’ve decided to find out and report back.

My name is Taryn. I’m a certified and licensed western equestrian coach. And I have a chronic illness called Ménière’s Disease, along with vestibular migraines, regular migraines, and lungs that hate to work too hard (the doctors don’t really know why). I’m somewhere just shy of 40 years old and I've recently decided to jump off the thought train onto the action train... right into mounted archery.

Now there have been times where I’ve said yes to things in the past—things that I’ve prepared for, that I’ve planned out. This is different. This is a risk. It’s spontaneous. It’s a dream. A spark of a passion waiting to catch light, but with the constant drizzle of chronic illness to douse it.

Some of my coaching certification requirements I earned around 15 years ago. But the bulk of it I actually earned over the last couple years, after I had spent around 7 years with declining health and another couple years battling to improve it. And now I'm taking everything I've learned while navigating my health and throwing myself into something completely wild: shooting arrows from horseback with a broken balance system and a world that spins unpredictably.

Why would I do something so seemingly reckless?

In the Trenches of Chronic Illness

Here's the thing about earning certifications while chronically ill—it doesn't happen in a straight line. It's 4x4ing down a canyon wall while loose rocks tumble down below you into the abyss, hoping to live long enough to see the bottom (ah yes, my old nemesis: the ability to cover up the hardship with a blanket of fun metaphors).

Anyway, back to those 7 years of hell... They stripped me of all I was and hoped to be. It got so bad I was unable to work. I went from being an active, strong cowgirl, dipping my toes in the film industry and learning to ride a motorcycle, to someone who couldn't get out of bed for entire days. That needed help to get to the bathroom so I could throw up from the spinning.

Ménière's Disease is cruel and messy and terrifying. It slowly destroys the balance function in your inner ear while your hearing steadily declines. Attacks are a violent whirlwind of dizziness and vertigo where it feels like you’re falling uncontrollably through space with no reference of which way is up. You can’t walk or sit up, and struggle to even lift your head from the floor. The tinnitus whooshes and pulses and sings in your ears, a new soundtrack to your life that you didn't ask for. And all this appears in your midlife after several healthy, active decades. Between attacks are times of relative normality, except for the hearing, so it leaves you existing in the grey area of too sick to do most of the things you used to do, but not sick enough that the medical system takes you seriously.

Patients with Ménière’s Disease have lower quality of life scores than those with life-threatening illnesses such as cancer. But it’s not terminal. So you get to live a long, unbalanced life afterward... yay me.

Thankfully, I kept hunting for answers and eventually managed to get some tests done that revealed an extenuating factor: a virulent intestinal infection making everything worse. After treating that, I was able to kind of stabilize my illness through finding my personal triggers and adhering to a strict diet and routine. Somehow, after a 9 year break, I found myself back with horses.

I’m now in what’s called the ‘burn out’ stage (though there’s debate on this stage by scientists and doctors). The violent bouts of vertigo are mostly gone, but what's left is a brain constantly trying to compensate for a broken system and permanent hearing loss. I still have occasional dizziness that affect walking and spatial awareness. The amount of times I’ve suddenly veered off course and walked into shelves at my day job is pretty entertaining. I have learned to laugh. You know why. (I do find it genuinely funny though—shout-out to my coworkers who helped me find the humour in life's chaos!)

Did I mention I have a service dog to help me on days I can't walk straight? Here's picture tax of him for you.

And don’t forget about those handful of other health issues I mentioned: vestibular migraines that bring bouts of added dizziness (a super fun game to play is "Is this Ménière's Disease or Vestibular Migraine?"), and regular migraines that bring weird visual disturbances, flashing lights and confusion.

This is the body I'm asking to learn mounted archery. Yep... I know what you're thinking. And maybe I have lost my mind along with my balance.

But Horses Are Dangerous!

So why, with all this going on, would I go back to horses? They’re large, sometimes unpredictable, and balance is pretty essential when dealing with 1,200 pounds of muscle and opinion.

Because I'm me with horses.

I’ve been riding for more than 25 years—through my childhood, teenage years, and into my twenties. It wasn’t until my 30s that I set out on a path away from horses and chronic illness set in. But coming back to them now has brought me back to myself, to who I am underneath the medical labels and limitations.

I feel capable with horses. Strong. Being around them cuts through the haze of chronic illness and reminds my body what it's like to move with purpose instead of just compensating for what's broken. Horses don't care about that. They respond to intention, to presence, and help me tap into the part of me that chronic illness hasn't touched. A spiritual strength that's not quite physical and not quite mental that connects to both.

Yes, they make me physically tired—so tired that I sometimes question whether this path is right for me. But at the same time, they infuse me with a vibrancy that anyone can see when I’m around them.

After years of unpredictable health and feeling lost, I'm reclaiming my ability to choose controlled risk instead of random chaos. Finding a partnership with that risk instead of being powerless to it. Fostering the courage to take the reins of an animal that could hurt me, and allow that strength to reflect into other aspects of my life.

So here I am: chronically ill, not in optimal fitness (though the horses are working on that), not the ideal age, jumping into a new sport with both feet. Good or bad, it'll certainly make a splash.

Why Mounted Archery?

Why not just stick to western sports like roping and reining? Or, even better, something slower like western pleasure or ranch versatility? How about just trail riding? I’ve asked myself these questions too.

Why choose something that combines balance, precision, and a galloping horse when my inner ear has fallen apart?

First, I'm not who I was in my twenties. Don’t get me wrong, I love western riding. I love roping and obstacles, and I still do them. But who I was before my chronic illness isn’t who I am now. The ability to push myself toward perfection, to focus beyond a tiring body, just doesn't exist in me anymore.

By pursuing something new, I’m rebuilding this part of myself with everything I've learned, all my experiences and growth, from chronic illness baked in right from the starting line. No trying to retrofit old skills to a different existence, I'm creating new ones that work with who I am now.

Second, this sport rewrites my relationship with trust and perfection. Traditional western riding often focuses on precise communication between horse and rider—the right front here, left hind there, body just like that. It's awesome, but now when I focus on the horse too much, I can get wound up in my own tension and spiral into a distrust of things going wrong.

Mounted archery flips that on its head. This sport requires trust in the horse to carry me where I need to go. I’m not trying to make the horse perfect, I'm focused on the targets and loading the arrows. The horse and I are partners with different responsibilities that work together. When I take my attention off the horse and pour it into that singular focus of following the target, something crazy happens—I relax. My reactive, chronic-illness-trained brain suddenly stops anticipating disaster and starts trusting the process. The feel of ease the first time I tracked a target on horseback was unbelievably freeing.

Third, it captures something in me that chronic illness tried to kill. The horses, the bows, the dramatic flair. The costumes, the history, the audacity of shooting arrows from a galloping horse. It's that Thing that has followed me for years. Every picture that pops up, I stare at in awe. The epic adventure of it. The freedom. The imagination that it captures inside me.

Chronic illness has gut punched me more times than I can count. It’s time to take those hard-won lessons and turn them into something that makes me want to wake up in the morning. From chronically ill cowgirl to warrior princess-in-training isn't just a hobby change—it's reclaiming the part of me that still believes in doing impossible things.

What Will This Series Explore?

So, what lies at the crossroads of chronic illness and equestrian sport?

Well, here's what I've learned: there's a massive gap between surviving chronic illness and actually living with it.

For years, I was dragging my body from point A to point B, pushing myself to get up on time, existing as a zombie. Even as my health improved, I was lost, just trying to survive, make some money. I was tired of being tired. Sound familiar?

If you're nodding along, if you've reached a point in your chronic illness journey where you're ready to breathe life back into your spirit, where your health has stabilized, and you're ready to work with it to find a path forward—then this series is for you.

I'm going to show you what it looks like to reclaim pieces of your life that chronic illness tried to steal. Not through inspiration porn or pretending limitations don't exist, but through the messy, real process of figuring out what's possible when you stop letting your illness choose your life for you. When you start reclaiming the pieces that you can.

Despite limited energy and unpredictable body failures, we deserve to use some of the life we have for something that sparks in our souls. It may not feel worth the time or effort for you, but I want to show you that it is. That it is worth it. That the good days are worth enjoying.

Through my mounted archery journey, we'll explore themes like:

• Redefining strength and progress when your body doesn't cooperate on a schedule

• Working with unpredictable energy instead of fighting against it

• Finding your version of "athlete" even when accommodations are needed

• Managing the mental game when your brain is already working overtime

• Building something meaningful with whatever capacity you have on any given day

I spent years having already given up on life. But I've learned you can come back from that.

This isn't about pushing through pain or pretending you're not sick. It's about discovering that you can be chronically ill AND pursuing something that lights you up. These things aren't mutually exclusive, even though the world often treats them that way.

Nonlinear progress is still progress. You can start again after a week, after a year, after a decade. I did. I won't pretend it's not hard, but I will show you it is possible.

Do you lie awake thinking about that Thing you've always wanted to try, only to talk yourself out of it by morning? Maybe it's time to stop throwing away those late-night dreams and start figuring out how to make them work with the body and life you actually have.

If you fail, it’ll be disappointing for sure, but I bet it gave you something to focus on. I bet it’ll make you notice the good days more than the bad. And perhaps you’ll find something along the way that you can achieve. A compromise between your spirit and your body, adaptability in finding the right thing for you.

That is what this series is about: exploring the space between your limitations and your spirit, discovering what adaptation looks like when you refuse to give up on the parts of yourself that chronic illness hasn't touched. To give you tools and a different kind of lens to find your own path.

Ready to start your own exploration? I've created a free workbook that walks you through the same process I used to identify what I actually wanted to pursue despite my limitations. It's not about finding the "perfect" passion—it's about getting honest with yourself about where you are now and what small step you might be ready to take. No pressure, no timeline, just a chance to sit with those late-night thoughts and see what emerges.

And if you want to ride along with the weekly reality of learning mounted archery with a broken balance system—the good days, the frustrating setbacks, the small victories, and the moments when I question my sanity—join my newsletter. I share the nitty-gritty details there: what actually works, what doesn't, and how I'm adapting training methods to work with unpredictable health. It's the behind-the-scenes look at what this journey really looks like when the inspiration wears off and you're left figuring out how to make it work in real life.

“Healing doesn’t mean the pain never existed.

It means the damage no longer controls our lives.”

—Unknown

If you’d like to support this blog or my journey, buy me an arrow! (The land spirits take them as sacrifices.)