Chelsea Russell

This is one of the simplest ways I think about movement.

A horse can give you the movement.

A human can find the range.

But that does not always mean the body has what it needs to use it well.

And I think this matters because it is easy to chase the thing we can see.

The tight hip.
The sore back.
The stiff neck.
The short stride.
The resistance.
The change in performance.
The behaviour.
The place that hurts.

And of course those things matter.

Pain matters.
Discomfort matters.
Behaviour matters.
Performance changes matter.
The story someone brings in matters.

I am not interested in dismissing any of that.

But sometimes, there is more to understand than where it hurts.

What might the body be trying to support?

What might it be protecting?

What might it be avoiding?

What might it be compensating for?

This does not mean every problem is physical.

It does not mean training, rehab, medical care, veterinary care, or lived experience do not matter.

It means the whole picture matters.

In people and horses, movement is not just about doing more.

It is about what the body can actually use, support, and keep.

Not every body has the same access, history, capacity, pain, energy, environment, or starting point.

That is why I care so much about asking better questions before asking for more.

Not to overcomplicate it.

To make the care fit the body in front of me.

This is general education, not medical or veterinary advice.

People and animals both deserve care that considers the bigger picture, including the right referrals when needed.

A horse can give you the movement and still not be ready to support it.

That is a big part of why I care so much about asking why before asking for more.

Because sometimes the movement happens.

The canter happens.
The transition happens.
The bend happens.
The jump happens.
The ride happens.

But getting the movement is not always the same as the body being ready for what the movement is asking of it.

Can they access it?
Can they control it?
Can they load it?
Can they stabilize through it?
Can they recover from it?

That is where structure and function matter.

The way a body is moving, bracing, protecting, avoiding, compensating, or trying to keep going can change how a horse feels, behaves, performs, and participates.

So before we call it lazy, dramatic, stubborn, spicy, rude, or something to “push through,” I think we need to ask better questions.

Behaviour is information.
Pain is information.
Compensation is information.
Performance is information.

This does not mean every problem is physical.

It does not mean training does not matter.

It means the whole picture matters.

And sometimes putting the horse first means realizing that “they did it” is not the same as “they were ready for it.”

Ask why before more.

A lot of people will say they put their horse’s wellbeing above their riding goals.

And I think most people mean that.

But I also think the harder part is what happens when those two things conflict.

When the horse is uncomfortable.

When the horse is not ready.

When the horse is resisting.

When the horse is repeatedly saying no.

When the entry fee is paid.

When the trailer is packed.

When the lesson is booked.

When everyone is watching.

When the rider really wants the ride, the show, the progress, the video, the lesson, or the outcome.

That is usually where the real test is.

Because putting the horse first is not just a nice quote.

It is asking better questions before asking for more.

And this is where structure and function matter.

The way a body is built, moving, loading, protecting, bracing, avoiding, compensating, or adapting can change how a horse feels, responds, and participates.

So when a horse rushes, braces, hollows, pins their ears, refuses, resists, feels “difficult,” or starts being labelled as lazy, dramatic, stubborn, rude, spicy, or bad…

I do not think the first question should always be:

“How do we push through this?”

I think the better question is:

“What is this telling us?”

Because behaviour is information.

Pain is information.

Compensation is information.

Feet, tack, teeth, training, veterinary care, environment, handling, past experience, and nervous system state can all be part of the picture.

That does not mean every problem is physical.

It does not mean training does not matter.

It means we should be careful about writing things off before we have asked enough questions.

Putting the horse first can look like changing the plan.

Continued in comments ⬇️

There are many ways people describe osteopathy, and you may see different explanations depending on the practitioner, school, country, and professional background.

This is one way I describe osteopathic manual therapy based on my training and clinical experience.

Most people hear “osteo” and think bones.

That makes sense.

The word osteopathy comes from “osteo,” which points toward structure or bone, and “pathy,” which relates to condition, experience, or suffering.

So yes, the name points us toward structure.

But osteopathic manual therapy is not only about bones.

To me, osteopathic manual therapy looks at the relationship between structure and function.

How the body is built.
How it moves.
How it adapts.
How different areas and systems may relate to each other.

A little Ontario note, because the language can be confusing:

In Ontario, manual osteopathy is not currently regulated as a health profession under the Regulated Health Professions Act. That is part of why I try to be clear with my wording and use osteopathic manual therapy / Manual Osteopathic Practitioner.

When you come in for treatment, the sore spot matters.

But it may not be the only thing worth considering.

That is why assessment matters.

Your history, movement, symptoms, breath, pressure, circulation, nervous system, scars, daily demands, and overall capacity can all give helpful information.

Not to overcomplicate care.

To understand what may be relevant.

Osteopathic manual therapy should not feel random.

You should understand what is being looked at, why it may matter, why a technique is being chosen, and what we are working toward.

The goal is for care to feel clear, appropriate, and connected to the person in front of me.

Hi, I’m Chelsea. 😄

I talk a lot here about bodies, care, assessment, animals, movement, consent, and the bigger picture, so I figured it made sense to introduce the person behind the work!

I’m a Registered Massage Therapist and Manual Osteopathic Practitioner based in Toronto.

Massage therapy is regulated in Ontario. Manual osteopathy is not currently a regulated health profession in Ontario, which is one of the reasons I care so much about clear scope, continuing education, consent, communication, and working collaboratively when care needs to be shared.

I work with people in clinic and in-home, and I’m currently completing my animal manual osteopathy training with a focus on horses and companion animals.

A lot of what I share here comes from what I keep learning in practice.

The body is not just separate parts.

Symptoms are not always the whole story.

And care works better when we take the time to understand what is actually in front of us.

My manual osteopathy dissertation looked at the five diaphragms, chronic stress, IBS, and the respiratory-circulatory relationship in the body.

My current animal thesis focuses on equine first rib dysfunction and chronic thoracic region dysfunction related to newborn rib trauma.

Different areas of study, but both have shaped the same lens:

Structure matters.
Function matters.
History matters.
Environment matters.
And the being in front of me matters most.

My work is not about forcing change or pretending to be the only answer.

It is about assessment, consent, communication, collaboration, and care that makes sense to the person or animal receiving it.

Thanks for being here 🤍

Practice doesn’t mean perfect. It means staying willing to learn.

I’ve always liked that reminder because it leaves room for growth without taking away from the work, training, care, and experience people already bring.

And I’ve been on both sides of that table.

I’ve been the practitioner doing my best with the information in front of me.

And I’ve also been the person receiving care, hoping someone would listen, explain, collaborate, and keep looking at the bigger picture.

I think that perspective matters.

Because in every field, people keep learning.

Practitioners.
Doctors.
Vets.
Trainers.
Patients.
Owners.
Families.

Not because people don’t know enough.

Because care keeps evolving.

And when we can respect the work each person brings, while still staying open to learning from each other, the whole picture gets better.

That’s the practice.