For riders, identity and the saddle are tightly bound. Riding isn’t just what we do – it’s who we are. So when a fall puts you out of action, the deepest wounds often aren’t the broken bones, but the fear of rebuilding your sense of self.
That fear becomes even sharper when doctors say you might never ride again, as Irish dressage rider Milo Johnston discovered.
“I fell off a three-year-old I was backing,” he tells H&H. “I’d said before I got on, ‘This is going to be my trickiest one of the year’. But I got on her and I thought, ‘Yeah, she feels fine’.
“Then I put my leg on – and it was very not fine. She rodeoed until I fell off. I went over her front, and she reared and smacked me in the chest. I landed on the back of my head, at the top of my neck. I broke my neck in four places, my back in six, and had a small brain bleed.
“At the time, though, me being me, I said, ‘No, I think I’m okay’. I stood up and walked onto the yard, sat on a chair, and the chair broke. I hit the floor again and just cried. I was like, ‘Okay, this is really bad now. I can’t feel my feet’.”
Milo was hospitalised and later referred to the Royal London Hospital’s spinal unit.
The injury meant a lengthy break from the saddle. “Mostly in a neck brace and back brace looking super unflattering,” laughs Milo, who stays remarkably positive, even though he describes those months as the hardest of his life and still lives with ongoing pain.
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“It was absolutely horrible. I spent a lot of time inside, too scared to go outside, because I was told if I fell again or someone knocked me the wrong way, I’d potentially need life-changing surgery.
“I remember going to the London International Horse Show not long after, in a wheelchair, and being mortified. Everyone knows me as strong and tough – and suddenly I was vulnerable and scared of everything.”
For Milo, one of the scariest parts was the numbness. “A lot of the time it didn’t hurt,” he says. “There was just a lot of damage all over, but day-to-day, I couldn’t feel how much I might be damaging it further. That was terrifying.”
Doctors advised Milo not to return to riding at all. “They told me I should probably never ride again. I said, ‘Can I get a second opinion?’ They said the same thing. So I was like, well… let’s see what happens.”
Milo Johnston: “I’ve avoided talking about it for so long”
Milo threw himself into rehab, which helped both physically and mentally.
“I tried everything. I was in the gym six days a week,” he said. “It wasn’t just about healing – I’d gone from training several horses a day to lying in bed. I needed a reason to get up.”
Rehab went well, but Milo soon realised how long the road ahead would be.
“I remember when I got the all-clear to take my neck brace off,” he says. “I thought, this is it, I’m back. But then the doctor said, ‘You can take it off – but only for 10 minutes, then put it back on’. Rehab felt endless. The physical side I could fix; the mental side took much longer.”
Even after getting the all-clear, it took nearly two years before Milo felt ready to talk publicly about his accident.
“I started working with a mindset coach called Kieran Smith,” Milo explains. “I was sceptical at first, but it’s been amazing. He’s done for my mind what the doctors did for my broken bones. I couldn’t have done it without the support of my family as well.
“It wasn’t easy at first. I remember coming back and having another three-year-old to back – I was terrified. But Kieran helped me retrain how I thought about it. Instead of my ‘what ifs’ always being worst-case scenarios, he encouraged me to think, ‘What if it all works out?’”
And it did work out. Milo has since moved to Sweden to work at Gunnarlunda Dressage and has bought his own horse, with hopes of competing internationally for Ireland.
“It’s strange, because everyone asks me, ‘How did you get your confidence back?’ And I say, it sounds silly, but honestly, I fell off again after my accident and was absolutely fine. I used to think that any fall meant I’d break a lot of bones, but now I’ve come off a few times and it’s been okay – and that’s helped.
“I’d avoided talking about it for so long,” Milo adds. “I made an Instagram reel about it, but kept it in my drafts for ages, unsure whether to post it.
“Kieran asked me, ‘Well, what’s the purpose of the post?’ And I said, ‘I want anybody going through something similar to know that your life isn’t over.’”
Because if there’s one thing Milo believes, it’s this: “If I can ride a three-year-old after all this, anyone can. Anything is possible. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t.”
Milo’s style in the saddle has evolved, too.
“I’m not as brave now, and I’m weaker down my right side, but I’m a better rider for it,” he says. “I’m more sensible and tactful. I don’t just ride through things anymore. Now I’m more, ‘Let’s look and make a training plan’ – which is better for me and the horse.”
And so, Milo rides on.
“People ask, ‘How do you still do it?’ And I say, ‘I just live and I’m stubborn.’ I dream of competing for Ireland at the Olympics, and I don’t want to give that up. It’s that simple.”
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Oscar joined Horse & Hound in October 2023 and is the magazine’s dressage editor and sports manager, overseeing coverage of equestrian sport. After studying equine science at Myerscough College, he spent four years working for leading dressage rider Emile Faurie, competing at the 2015 National Dressage Championships and travelling with the yard to CDIs including Aachen and Saumur. He holds a master’s degree in Literature from York St John University (2021).
