The Power of Nonverbal Communication: How Horses Speak Without Words

Sometimes, I think horses must look at us like we’re shouting in a foreign language with wild hand gestures, hoping they’ll magically understand. And honestly? That’s not too far off. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve walked into a pasture thinking I was being calm and clear, only to get the equine equivalent of a blank stare. Or worse—the “I’m outta here” swish-and-turn.

But here’s the thing: horses do have a language. A rich, nuanced, deeply intelligent one. It’s just not verbal. It’s not loud. And it’s definitely not about dominance or force. It’s a language of breath, posture, muscle twitches, blinking, chewing, tiny shifts in energy that speak volumes—if we’re paying attention.

And when we do pay attention? When we actually start to learn their language?

They notice. And they appreciate it.

A Horse’s Native Tongue

Authors like Sharon Wilsie (Horse Speak) and Rachael Draaisma (Language Signs and Calming Signals of Horses) have done a beautiful job translating what horses are saying with their bodies. Not just the obvious stuff—ears pinned, tail swishing—but the subtle signals. A single nostril flare. A pause with the head low. The way a horse might lean ever so slightly away, or blink softly while exhaling.

These aren’t just random movements. They’re intentional, relational messages. Draaisma’s work especially shines a light on what she calls “calming signals”—the ways horses regulate themselves and communicate boundaries, curiosity, trust, and peace. Wilsie’s Horse Speak dives into a lexicon of postures and gestures that horses use to connect and sort things out in their social lives.

In other words, they’re constantly talking. We just weren’t taught to listen.

Learning to Listen Differently

When I first started working with mustangs, I had to unlearn a lot. My instinct was to do something when a horse didn’t respond the way I expected. But the more I slowed down—really slowed down—the more I started noticing the layers in their language.

A sideways glance wasn’t indifference—it was information. A step away wasn’t rejection—it was an invitation to notice my own energy. A lick and chew? That’s not just digestion—it’s processing. Integration. A signal of release.

One of the most powerful moments I ever had was learning the breath exchange from Horse Speak. According to Sharon Wilsie, horses greet each other by exchanging breath—nostril to nostril—offering three short, soft breaths. It’s like saying, “Hello, I see you. I’m safe.” And we can do the same. I had always known that horses will exchange breath with you, especially in our meditation circles, but I didn’t know that I could initiate this greeting myself! If a horse is open to it, you can gently offer three breaths toward their nose—slow, short puffs. Sometimes they breathe back. Sometimes they pause and blink. But more often than not, something shifts. It’s a moment of mutual acknowledgment, in the language they were born speaking.

The first time I tried it, I hoped I was doing it right. As Lakota Moon took a step closer, lowered his head, and let out the deepest sigh, that was it. We were in conversation—and I hadn’t said a word.

What Horses Can Teach Us About Humans

It makes me think of The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. We all want to be understood, right? But if I’m trying to show love through words, and you only receive love through quality time, there’s a disconnect. The message might not land, even if the intention is good.

It’s the same with horses.

Take something as simple as looking away. As humans, we might interpret that as disinterest or dismissal. But according to Rachael Draaisma, it often means the exact opposite. When a horse turns their head slightly to the side, they may be saying, “I’m not a threat.” It’s a gesture of peace, of emotional regulation, of invitation. They're showing you that they’re calm—and hoping you’ll meet them there.

The more we understand these kinds of signals, the more attuned we become—not just with horses, but with people too. We begin to recognize that body language is its own rich, nuanced vocabulary. We start listening more deeply to our partners, our friends, our families. We notice when someone says “I’m fine” with their mouth, but “I’m overwhelmed” with their body. We become better communicators—not because we talk more, but because we understand more.

Let the Horse Be the Teacher

There’s such humility in admitting that a thousand-pound animal, without uttering a single word, might be more emotionally fluent than we are. But there’s also freedom in that. Because it means we can learn. We can practice attunement. We can become bilingual in a whole new way.

And when we do, horses meet us there.

They soften. They breathe. They engage.

Because finally—finally—we’re speaking their language.