This guest post is by “Jordan,” a homeschooled high school senior who plans to pursue degrees in equine business management and western riding and training. Jordan is applying for the Spring 2026 Making a Difference Autism Scholarship through KFM Making a Difference, the nonprofit founded by Kerry Magro. Kerry was nonspeaking until age 2.5 and was diagnosed with autism at 4.
The applicant requested a pseudonym and a non-identifying stock photograph to protect their privacy.
Autistics on Autism: The Next Chapter shares stories from more than 100 autistic adults about what helped them while growing up and pursuing their dreams. All proceeds support KFM Making a Difference initiatives, including this scholarship program. To invite Kerry to speak at your school, company, or organization, submit an inquiry here.
Jordan has excelled at horsemanship and plans to build a career in the equine industry.
I have always loved horses. From a young age, my mother exposed me to many different animals. I remember trips to the zoo and helping at my parents’ dog daycare. I fell in love with the idea that animals could love and understand you better than most humans. But for me, horses were on another level. I see them as companions, athletes, friends, and family members. So how did I come to that realization?
I was diagnosed with autism at eight years old. I do not remember a lot, but I know I did not see the world the same way as many other kids. I wanted connections, but I did not learn in the same way or at the same pace. I needed more time than the school system would give me to build those bridges, so my parents decided to homeschool me.
For them, that meant thinking outside the box. There was not a strict syllabus or timed coursework. There were many books that I got to choose and many field trips. They fought for me to find what I was passionate about. There were riding lessons and horse shows. That was it.
I joined a youth equestrian organization and learned more about the horse world. I took regular lessons and attended events. It just clicked in my brain. I made friendships and went to rodeos. If it involved horses, I did it. Then one day, I did not. I was a teenager, and maybe horses just were not as fun anymore—or were not as cool because the people I wanted to spend time with were not interested in them.
Almost cold turkey, I stopped all equestrian activities. Work was busy for my parents. I tried other things, including summer camp, and was pushed out of my comfort zone. I tried taking classes at the local high school, but I needed more time to move through the hallways. The crowds were too much, and my friends there were so used to the environment that they could not sympathize as much. I was depressed, and something had to change.
Then, like a bolt from the blue, a friend from my equestrian community contacted me and invited me to a major three-day horse event with their family. I accepted, and I remembered what I loved. I remembered that I was good at it. I was going to ride again. I was going to compete and never look back. I came home, started lessons again, joined an interscholastic horsemanship association, and—most importantly—convinced my parents that I needed a horse of my own.
After a month or so of searching, we found him: a big, beautiful, bay-colored Paint horse. He was a nervous wreck, like me sometimes. He would spook at the slightest gust of wind or at a bird outside the barn. He was finicky, he was fast, and he was mine. Whenever my parents were able, they took me to see him. I did not ride every day. Sometimes I simply brushed him or made sure he was eating well. He was my best friend.
The next couple of years were a whirlwind. He threw me during a speed event, and I broke my arm. I could not ride for 12 weeks, but that did not mean I stopped seeing him every day. I kept participating in equestrian activities, and I also discovered polo. It is basically like golf on horseback during an earthquake. I found reining, full of high-speed turns and slides. I found the right summer camps and the right equestrian friends. As I decided what to do next, I toured colleges and quickly narrowed my choices based on how much time I would be able to spend around horses.
In 2025, my horse developed laminitis, a common but serious condition involving damage and inflammation in the tissue surrounding the hoof. My parents and I were by his side every step of the way. From trips to the veterinarian and ice boots to detailed medication schedules and multiple daily visits, we did everything we could. It was not enough, and later that year, we had to say goodbye to him. In just a few short years, he taught me more than I can account for. He was perfect for me, and he trained me as much as I trained him.
I now know that I want to ride and that I want the meaningful relationship only a horse can provide. I have to take what I have learned and use it in the world. I am thankful to my family for their support and encouragement. They said yes to me and yes to what makes me happy. Autism does not make the world an easy place, but when it leads you to the most beautiful relationship you can have, you have to roll with it.
By “Jordan”
Kerry Magro, a professional speaker and best-selling author who is also autistic, founded KFM Making a Difference in 2011 to help autistic students receive scholarship support for post-secondary education. Help us continue this work by making a tax-deductible donation here.
You can also invite Kerry to speak at your next event by submitting an inquiry here. Kerry speaks with schools, businesses, government agencies, colleges, nonprofits, parent groups, and conferences on autism, employment, college success, mental health, inclusion, and bullying prevention.
