The 500-Kilo Mirror

My first thought wasn’t particularly heroic. Nor was it strategic, thoughtful, or—certainly not—fit for a leader.

It was: I really want to stroke that fluffy chin.

Standing before me was a horse. Large, calm, attentive. One of those 500-kilo «colleagues» who neither read an organizational chart nor respond to polite PowerPoint phrases. No «Could you maybe, if it works for you?» No «We’d like it if you might head toward the buoy.» A horse doesn’t listen to declarations of intent. It listens to attitude.

And that was exactly the point.

To some, horse-assisted coaching might initially sound like fresh country air, petting sessions, and a nice break from the daily office routine. Like something you do when the seminar room has gotten too stuffy and the coffee machine has stopped working. But anyone who took part in this half-day coaching session with Nadia Lattmann quickly realized: This is no pony farm. At least not in a figurative sense.

It’s leadership development. Only more authentic.

More Than Just a Trip Out of Town

Since April 2026, Nadia Lattmann has been expanding MANRES’s offerings as its first franchisee. She brings more than 20 years of experience in the financial sector, many of those years spent in leadership roles, sales, and employee development. She also has a background in competitive sports, mental coaching, and her many years of working with horses. An unusual combination? Perhaps. An effective one? Very much so.

For it is precisely at the intersection of clarity, presence, self-leadership, and relationships that what MANRES has been dedicated to for 35 years takes shape: the development of people, teams, and organizations. MANRES combines psychology with the practical logic of business management. Nadia Lattmann now adds a format that doesn’t just explain this connection—it brings it to life.

The setting: an indoor riding arena. The group: about 20 people, divided into two teams. The coaches: present, clear, attentive. The main characters: Snip, Buster, Dolly, and Mighty. Four horses, four personalities, four mirrors on hooves.

When Leadership Becomes Visible

The first task sounded harmless: «Get to know your new colleague.»

Except that this colleague wasn’t sitting at the table, didn’t have a resume with her, and didn’t follow any small-talk script. She stood in the arena, perhaps chewing, perhaps looking away, perhaps coming closer, or simply standing still.

Two people watched; one person approached the horse. How did that person approach? Directly or cautiously? Did they speak? Did they wait? Did they seek contact? Did they take the lead, or did they hope that leadership would somehow happen on its own?

Suddenly, what often remains hidden in the office became visible: who connects immediately; who observes first; who seeks closeness. Who needs distance. Who takes the lead. Who waits and sees. Who thinks they’re communicating clearly, while the other person has long since understood something else.

One participant later described it this way: «The horse mirrors how we lead. Whether we truly take on this leadership role.»

That sounds simple. Until the horse doesn’t cooperate.

In a later exercise, the horse was to be guided around buoys. First a straight line, then a figure-eight. Head, heart, and hand: That’s how the model was broken down. Head: Do I have a plan? Heart: Am I truly convinced of what I want? Hand: Have I practiced, repeated, and trained?

For humans, this sounds like a leadership model. With a horse, you can see immediately whether it works.

If you don’t have a plan, you get movement without direction. If you lack inner conviction, you get a horse that politely stands still. If you lead too tightly, you become a micromanager with reins. Those who give too much freedom without providing guidance lose the connection. And those who believe the problem lies with the horse are faced with perhaps the most important leadership question of the day:

Did the horse not do what you wanted, or did you fail to communicate clearly?

That’s the moment when everything goes quiet. Not an uncomfortable silence. More like that productive silence in which insight takes hold.

I was already familiar with horses. And I wasn’t afraid—I was curious. What surprised me wasn’t the size of the animals, but the precision of the feedback. “How well it reflects our human behavior… I’d always heard about it, but never experienced it like this.”

Another scene was even more striking.

One person in the group had a deep fear of horses. So deep, in fact, that the first encounter was anything but straightforward. From the outside, all you could see at first was distance. The coaches reacted calmly. One of them stood between the horse and the person, providing protection, security, and space. No pressure. No drama. Step by step, trust grew.

And then something happened that would hardly have been visible with such clarity in a seminar room: The person moved from keeping their distance to making contact. From «I don’t know» to giving it a try. From hesitation to taking the lead. Later, during an exercise, they really came into their own. Energy, voice, presence. The horse responded.

You could see how someone not only understood leadership but also experienced it.

Honest Feedback Without an Agenda

That is precisely where the power of this format lies. Horses are unfamiliar with office politics. They know nothing of titles, job roles, or strategic initiatives. They aren’t interested in whether someone is a «Head of,» a «Partner,» or a «Senior something-or-other.» They react to what’s there: presence, tension, clarity, trust, uncertainty, and consistency.

That’s what makes their feedback so hard to dismiss and, at the same time, so easy to accept. A horse doesn’t want to embarrass anyone. It has no hidden agenda. It returns what it receives.

The coaches repeatedly applied these experiences to their everyday professional lives. What does it mean to build a relationship? How do I give feedback? How do I set boundaries? When am I being clear, and when am I being politely vague? When am I truly leading, and when am I merely expressing a wish in management jargon?

Among other things, the group worked with following three themes: perception, impact, and desire. What did I specifically observe? How did it affect me? What behavior do I hope to see in the future? A simple model, but it took on real weight in the arena. Because here, feedback wasn’t abstract. It had hooves, breath, and sometimes the charming stubbornness of a horse that says, “I understood your message. It just wasn’t clear.”

A personal turning point came when I was asked to lead the “Eight” myself. I thought I knew horses. I thought I knew what to do. I thought so.

The horse wouldn’t turn.

I thought, “I’m doing this right, aren’t I? How is this supposed to work?”

The coach paused—not to criticize, but to analyze. The plan was there. So was the movement. But what was missing was practice, inner conviction, and coordination. So I practiced. I switched hands. I adjusted my posture. I tried it again. It got better. Not perfect, but effective.

That, too, is leadership: not about shining, but about learning. Not about being able to do everything right away, but about noticing where clarity is lacking. Not about blaming the other person, but about recognizing your own sphere of influence.

From the Arena to Everyday Business Life

In the end, both groups were brought together. The question was: What are the next steps for the leadership team?

One theme had emerged time and again from the work with the horses: Clarity. Strategy. Decision-making. Leadership. During the discussion, it became clear that the company was currently pursuing 35 goals. 35. That’s a lot. Maybe even too many for people. Certainly too much for horses.

So a down-to-earth insight emerged from the arena and was applied to everyday business life: We need three clear corporate goals for 2026. Not 35 different directions. A North Star.

And so, an exercise with buoys turned into a strategic leadership question.

And this is exactly where it becomes clear why horse-assisted coaching with Nadia Lattmann isn’t just a nice experience. It’s experiential learning with a clear mirror. It connects the mind, heart, and hands. It creates insights that don’t just end up in a notebook, but in the body. You don’t just remember what was said. You remember what it was like when the horse stopped. When it followed. When it stepped aside. When it placed its trust in you.

“They’ll talk about this for weeks, months—maybe even their whole lives,” I thought.

My conclusion in three words? Adventurous, fun, profound… And enlightening.

Perhaps that’s the greatest compliment one can pay to this format. It doesn’t explain leadership in a way that’s more complicated than it actually is. It makes it visible. And sometimes that visibility begins with a rather simple thought when faced with a very large animal:

I want to stroke that fluffy chin.

A few minutes later, you realize: That fluffy chin isn’t just something to cuddle. It’s a mirror. And whoever looks into it often sees more than they expect.

What do I take away from this experience for myself? Get straight to the point.

Don’t beat around the bush. Don’t hope that the other person already understands what you mean. Instead, know where you’re going. Radiate it. Communicate it. And then get going.

The horse notices it.

So does the team, by the way.