The Limitations We Place on Others (and Ourselves)

 Yesterday, while aimlessly scrolling through social media, I came across a quote that stopped me in my tracks: "People will try to put the same limitations on you that they put on themselves."

I read it, scrolled on, but then something made me pause. There’s truth in it, but it felt a little judgmental. The wording suggested blame, as if someone was deliberately projecting their limitations onto you. So I reversed it in my head: “I put the same limitations on others as I put on myself.” Suddenly, it made more sense. And, of course, later in the day, I experienced exactly that.

This winter I have the opportunity to do some traveling to talk with farming groups about mental wellbeing. One of those invitations takes me to Gander, Newfoundland. As I quickly realized, getting there isn’t the easiest journey. It requires careful planning and, if I’m honest, a level of stress I hadn’t anticipated.

Here’s another piece to the story. Over the past few years, I’ve become more uptight about traveling. In years past, planning a trip was simple and even exciting. Airports were gateways to adventure, and flights were just another part of the journey. These days, the thought of flying sends my anxiety into overdrive. And now, there’s an added layer: my wife retired earlier this year and wants to travel with me.

In the past, I would have simply found the quickest, cheapest, and most efficient way to get somewhere and back. Now, with my wife involved, the planning process becomes a collaboration. And booking airline tickets online can test the patience of even the calmest person. So, tensions were high before we even began. Full disclosure: it was me. My stress quickly escalated, and before long, the conversation deteriorated to the point where both of us felt like walking away.

As I scrolled through endless flight options, losing my way on the website and ending up with routes that would take me anywhere but Gander, I realized something. I needed an attitude adjustment. This happens sometimes, usually too late in the process, but better late than never.

I stopped and reflected. My wife was approaching this as a trip, something to be experienced, perhaps even enjoyed. I, on the other hand, was trapped in my old way of thinking: get there, do my job, get back home. Cheap, fast, efficient. But not necessarily pleasant.

Once I recognized the difference in perspectives, everything shifted. We talked openly about what we each wanted from this trip. Suddenly, we became more adept at working together, even the website seemed easier to navigate.

It hit me then: I had been putting my limitations on my wife. My stress, my anxiety, my rigid expectations, weren’t just my own. I had unconsciously projected them onto her. By acknowledging it, I could let go of those limitations and approach the planning, and the trip itself, with curiosity, openness, and maybe even a little enjoyment.

This little episode reminded me of a simple truth about life and mental wellbeing. Our frustrations and anxieties often spill over onto those around us. Sometimes it’s subtle, sometimes it’s glaring. But when we pause, reflect, and shift our perspective, we not only free ourselves, we create space for connection, understanding, and collaboration.

So, as I continue planning this winter’s trips, I’m carrying that lesson with me. I’m trying to remember: the limitations we feel are often our own And the ones we place on others? They can be unlearned, one thoughtful conversation at a time.

Want to stay connected? Visit my website here: https://www.gerryfriesen.ca/

What Defines Us: Beyond the Negatives

 When someone asks, "How are you?" or "How has your year been?" our minds often gravitate toward the negatives. We recall the stress, the losses, the disappointments, and the moments that challenged us. It’s as if our struggles have a louder voice, overshadowing the quieter, more subtle triumphs. But do these negatives truly define us, or have we simply grown accustomed to letting them take center stage?

I’ve reflected on this tendency, particularly through the experience of my own experience with mental illness. Being open about my struggles has been both freeing and necessary. It’s part of who I am. Yet, I often wonder: is that the full picture? Does my mental illness define me, or is it just one thread woven into the fabric of my life?

Negativity has a way of sticking. It’s like Velcro, clinging to our thoughts and resurfacing when we least expect it. Positive experiences, on the other hand, often slide off like water on a duck’s back. When someone responds to the same questions with positivity like “I’m doing great,” or “It’s been an amazing year, we sometimes react with skepticism. We might think, "It must be nice," inadvertently sinking deeper into our own negative narratives. This reaction says more about our internal dialogue than about the person sharing their joy.

Acknowledging hardships is important. It validates our experiences and helps us process emotions. But dwelling solely on the negatives can create a distorted view of reality. It’s like reading only the sad chapters of a book and assuming the whole story is bleak.

So, what do we want to define us?

Perhaps it’s not about ignoring the negatives but balancing them with the positives. The resilience we build, the small victories we achieve, the moments of connection and joy, are just as defining as the struggles. When I think about my own journey, yes, mental illness is part of it. But so is the courage to speak openly, the relationships I've nurtured, the work I've done, and the growth I've experienced.

Imagine if, when asked how our year has been, we paused to consider the full spectrum of experiences. What if we highlighted not just what went wrong, but also what went right? The lessons learned, the kindness received, the strength discovered in unexpected places.

We are complex beings, shaped by both light and shadow. Our challenges are chapters, not the entire book. At the end of the day, we get to choose which parts of our story hold the most weight. I choose to be defined not just by my struggles, but by how I've grown through them, the people who’ve walked beside me, and the hope that keeps me moving forward.

So, the next time someone asks, “How are you?” take a moment. Acknowledge the hard parts if you need to, but don’t forget the good. Because you are more than your negatives. You are the whole story.

It May Not Be Too Good to Be True, But It's Good Enough

I was involved in a webinar recently  with The Do More Agriculture Foundation to talk about all things mental health and in particular my own journey. We discussed my alias, The Recovering Farmer, and what that really meant. If we look at the definition of recovering, it means to return to a previous level of health, prosperity and equanimity. After I explained where I am at with that (health, prosperity, and equanimity), I made the comment that I am still in recovery and will be for the rest of my life.

After the webinar, a participant reached out and thanked me for that comment, that I am still in recovery and will be for life. It gave her encouragement knowing she was not alone and could relate to that. That got me thinking about something I had written some time ago but never posted on my blog.

I was watching a TV show where a couple was discussing their friends’ marital relationship which was not doing well. In an effort to explain their own relationship, the husband said “it may not be too good to be true, but its good enough.” Instantly my mind went to my mental health and I drew a comparison: my mental health may not be ‘too good to be true’, but it’s ‘good enough’. Let me explain.

This winter has been a season of discovery—again. I say ‘again’ because, like so many times before, I’ve found myself searching for ways to improve my mental health, hoping to feel better, hoping for something that finally ‘works.’ And as the months have passed, I’ve come to a realization: good enough might be the best I can achieve.

At first, that thought felt like I was giving up. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized that accepting ‘good enough’ isn’t about settling—it’s about being realistic, being kind to myself, and recognizing that progress doesn’t always look like perfection.

For years, I searched for the one thing that would fix everything. I wanted that breakthrough moment, the magic bullet that would make the struggle disappear. Every time I tried something new—whether it was therapy, medication, mindfulness, or another strategy—I hoped it would be the answer. And every time I realized that none of them were perfect solutions, I felt like I had failed. I also realized again that high expectations lead to future resentment or in my case, feelings of failure.

That feeling of failure was discouraging. I’d get frustrated, wondering why nothing was ‘working.’ I’d hear stories of people who turned their lives around with one decision, one treatment, one mindset shift, and I’d wonder what was wrong with me. Why wasn’t it that simple for me?

What I’ve come to understand is that there is no magic bullet. There never was. And expecting to find one – and only one -- only made the journey harder.

Once I let go of the idea that I needed a single, perfect solution, I started to see things differently. Maybe I wouldn’t find one answer, but I had already found many things that helped in small ways. Some days, those things worked better than others. Some days, I still struggled. But instead of looking for the ultimate fix, I started focusing on what actually helped, even if it didn’t solve everything.

I realized that ‘good enough’ was still movement in the right direction. And that mattered.

There are things that help me manage my mental health—not perfectly, not permanently, but enough to keep me going. Writing has given me an outlet. Talking with others who understand has helped me feel less alone. Humor has let me laugh even on the hardest days. Therapy has provided guidance. And as my doctor told me, often  it’s a compilation of all the small things that shift the mindset. None of these things are the answer, but together, they are an answer. And that’s enough.

I used to think that anything short of feeling great wasn’t good enough. But now I see that feeling okay—feeling better than before—is still a win. Accepting that has lifted a weight off my shoulders. Instead of feeling like I’m failing, I see that I’m managing. And that’s something to be proud of.

Let me be clear. This is how I experience my journey. It may be different for others. If you’ve ever felt like you’re searching for an answer that doesn’t seem to exist, I hope you can take comfort in this: You don’t need a magic bullet. You just need what works for you, even if it’s imperfect. Keep using the tools that help, keep seeking new ones, and keep reminding yourself that progress isn’t about perfection.

It may not be too good to be true—but it’s good enough. And that’s more than enough for me. 

Hacked and Hooped

 My wife and I had made plans to get away for a few days—a little escape from the usual chaos. We even booked a resort that offered a spa pass. Now, I’m not much of a spa guy, but somehow, I got roped into that part of the deal. I could say more about it, but for the sake of my dignity, I won’t.

The plan was simple: I had a mediation in the morning, and then we’d hit the road. Bags were packed, the car was ready, and my wife was looking forward to a few days of relaxation. What could possibly go wrong? Well, as most people know, the best-laid plans are really just an invitation for disaster.

When I walked out of my mediation, the office staff approached me with a look I can only describe as concerning. Had I, they wondered, meant to send everyone an email in the middle of the mediation? Unless I had suddenly developed the ability to mediate and type at the same time, the answer was a hard no. That’s when it hit me—I had been hacked. Or at least, my computer had.

In a flash I knew what had happened. The day before had been busy with lots of tasks that needed completing. Late afternoon I received an email that looked legitimate from a trusted contact. To save myself some embarrassment I will just say the rest is history.

Suddenly, the relaxing getaway took a backseat to digital disaster control. I rushed home to find my wife, bags in hand, ready to hit the road. Unfortunately, we weren’t going anywhere until I sorted out the cyber mess. Thankfully, I had an IT guy who answered my distress call.

Now, let me tell you, watching someone untangle a hacked computer is about as enjoyable as watching paint dry. It took an excruciating hour and a half to wrestle control back from the faceless hacker who had so rudely hijacked my email. It’s terrifying how easily these cyber bandits can infiltrate your system and create havoc. By the time my IT guy declared victory, I felt like I’d just run a marathon in the middle of a heatwave.

With the crisis (mostly) averted, we finally hit the road. My wife drove while I tackled my next task: sending an apology email to everyone who had received the nefarious message from my compromised account. I stopped counting at 125. Nothing says “relaxing vacation” like issuing a mass warning about cyber fraud from the passenger seat.

Technology and I have always had a complicated relationship. Any IT issue sends my stress levels skyrocketing. On one hand, I’d love to throw my computer, my phone, and every other device through the nearest window. On the other hand, I have to admit, these gadgets do make life easier—when they work. Quite the paradox.

At the time, it felt like a disaster. But looking back, I realize these stressors always seem like the end of the world in the moment. The key is to take a deep breath, tackle the problem as soon as you can, and move on. More often than not, the stress fades quicker than expected, and there’s always a lesson to be learned. In this case, I learned, again, that stress can cause distractions which can cause issues. Oh, and maybe be careful on which emails I open even if they seem to be from a trusted contact. In the end, the stress of being hacked faded faster than I expected. The getaway turned out to be just what I needed—though I still have mixed feelings about the spa.

The Hidden Risk: How Mental Health Impacts Farm Safety

 Canadian Ag Safety Week serves as an important reminder that farm safety isn’t just about machinery, equipment, and protocols—it’s also about the people who make farming possible. The reality is that farming is one of the most dangerous occupations, and while we often focus on the physical risks, we rarely talk about the hidden danger: mental health. When stress, anxiety, and exhaustion take hold, the consequences can be just as serious as a mechanical failure.

I’ve experienced this firsthand. I remember many occasions when I was working on the farm, distracted by various stressors, and safety became secondary. One day, when I needed to get some baling done, the tractor wouldn’t start. In my haste, I did what many have done before—I took a screwdriver to direct-start the tractor at the starter. What I failed to check was whether the tractor was in gear. It wasn’t. The moment it started, it lurched forward. Thankfully, it was in the lowest gear, giving me just enough time to step aside. That moment still sticks with me. It could have ended very differently, and I often look back and think, "That was too close for comfort."

When stress, anxiety, and depression set in, they impair our ability to make sound decisions. Fatigue leads to slower reaction times, distraction increases the likelihood of mistakes, and unchecked stress can cloud our judgment.

Farmers deal with countless factors outside of their control—commodity prices, weather, equipment failures, and market uncertainty. This constant unpredictability wreaks havoc on our minds, leaving us feeling powerless. And yet, the pressure to “push through” remains. There’s an unspoken expectation in agriculture that you work until the job is done, no matter the toll it takes on you. But at what cost? When exhaustion sets in, mistakes happen. A missed step, a moment of inattention, or a delayed reaction can turn into a life-altering accident.

The culture of farming has long been one of resilience, but resilience doesn’t mean suffering in silence. We need to start having open conversations about mental health in our farm communities. Checking in on our neighbors, employees, and family members is just as important as checking the oil in our tractors. A simple, “How are you really doing?” can make a world of difference.

That’s where organizations like the Manitoba Farmer Wellness Program (MFWP) come in. MFWP provides accessible mental health support tailored specifically for farmers. Seeking help isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s a proactive step toward ensuring both personal and farm safety.

Mental health isn’t just a personal struggle—it’s a safety issue. A farm can’t run without its farmer. If we truly want to prioritize safety in agriculture, we need to start by taking care of ourselves and each other. So this Ag Safety Week, let’s commit to looking out for one another. Because without the farmer, there is no farm.

Manure Happens: Turning Life’s Messes into Growth

 Although temperatures have finally started going in the right direction, there were a few weeks where it was rather harsh. Winter struck hard as temperatures plummeted. And, of course, that is when all things seem to go wrong. One of our vehicles had to go to the garage for some warranty work. That meant trying to start another one that normally stays buried in the snow over winter. Needless to say, it did not start and disappeared on the back of a tow truck. That simply meant that I would not be going any where for a day or two. In the midst of all of that our hot water tank decided it no longer needed to do what its designed to do. It being the weekend left me few options.

I found myself thinking back to my farming days when these things would happen. I realized I was a tad more relaxed than I would have been back in the day. When things break down on the farm they get dealt with asap.

To put it bluntly, s**t (manure) happens. If you’ve spent any time on a farm, you know that manure is unavoidable. It piles up in the barn, gets tracked on your boots, and somehow always seems to find its way into places it shouldn’t be. But as much as we might complain about it, we also know that manure isn’t just a mess—it’s fertilizer. It nourishes the soil, making way for new growth. And just like on the farm, life has its own way of dumping messes on us. The trick is figuring out how to turn them into something useful.

Manure happens. It’s part of farming, and it’s part of life. No matter how careful you are, there will always be challenges, setbacks, and unexpected hurdles. Instead of fighting against the mess, learn to expect it. Knowing that difficulties are inevitable can help you stay calm when they show up.

On the farm, you don’t clean up manure with your bare hands. You grab a shovel, a pitchfork, or a tractor, depending on the scale of the mess. In life, the same principle applies. When challenges arise, having the right tools—whether it’s knowledge, support from others, or a good sense of humor—can make all the difference in how you handle them.

Anyone who’s worked with livestock knows that if you ignore manure, it only gets worse. The same goes for life’s problems. Ignoring stress, conflict, or responsibilities only leads to bigger messes down the road. The best approach is to deal with things as they come—clean up small problems before they turn into overwhelming ones.

Manure does stink. I remember those days where I worked in the barn all day, cleaned up as best I could, and then went to a social event. I found myself continuously sniffing. Is that manure I smell? Did I miss a spot? But manure can also serve a purpose. Its fertilizer. It helps things grow. Likewise, life’s difficulties, though unpleasant, often lead to growth. Hard times build resilience, failures teach valuable lessons, and struggles shape who we become.

I suspect anyone that farms with livestock would have some funny stories to tell about manure. Let’s be honest—sometimes manure is just plain funny. Farming teaches you to laugh at the messes, because if you didn’t, you’d go crazy. The same is true in life. Finding humor in tough situations doesn’t mean ignoring their seriousness, but it does make them easier to handle. Laughter is a great coping tool, and sometimes, a good joke is exactly what’s needed to get through the stinkiest of times.

At the end of the day, manure happens. It’s messy and it’s frustrating, but it’s also necessary. Whether on the farm or in life, the key is to find ways to turn the mess into something meaningful. Because when you step back and look at the big picture, you’ll see that all those messy moments were actually feeding something bigger—your growth, your strength, and maybe even your next great harvest.

Analysis Paralysis

 I was chatting this week with a colleague who used the term analysis paralysis in reference to the stress created by “unknowns”. Farming has always been a business of uncertainty. Weather, markets, equipment breakdowns—you name it. But lately, there’s been another layer of stress added to the mix: tariffs. These unpredictable trade barriers are making an already challenging industry even harder to navigate. And for many farmers, that’s leading to a frustrating and exhausting condition—analysis paralysis.

When every decision feels fraught with danger, making the right call becomes overwhelming. Should you invest in equipment now, or wait? Should you sell your grain at today’s prices, or hope for a better deal? Should you expand, contract, or hold steady? The stress of tariffs and other external pressures creates a situation where no choice feels like a good one, and instead of moving forward, you find yourself stuck.

This paralysis isn’t just frustrating—it’s debilitating. It’s the fear of making the wrong decision when every option comes with significant risk. And in farming, where profit margins are already razor-thin, even a small misstep can have serious consequences. The unknowns of today and tomorrow—shifting trade policies, changing costs, and unpredictable supply chains—only amplify that stress.

I remember a time when I was still farming, and hog prices had taken a nosedive. Every day, I found myself staring at market reports, trying to predict whether things would improve or get worse. Should I sell now and cut my losses, or hang on and hope for a rebound? Feed costs were rising, bills were stacking up, and I was stuck in a cycle of overthinking. The stress of not knowing what would happen next kept me up at night, and no matter how many scenarios I played out in my head, none of them seemed good.

Looking back, I realize that I wasn’t just weighing options—I was paralyzed by them. Every path felt like a gamble, and the fear of making the wrong decision stopped me from making any decision at all. Eventually, I had to accept that there was no perfect answer. I made a choice, and while it wasn’t easy, at least I was moving forward instead of standing still.

When we’re under constant stress, our ability to make sound decisions suffers. The human brain isn’t wired to operate at peak performance under long-term pressure. Instead, we fall into patterns of overanalyzing, second-guessing, and sometimes avoiding decisions altogether.

This type of stress can also lead to reactive decision-making—choosing the path that seems easiest at the moment rather than the one that aligns with long-term goals. It’s a survival instinct, but in farming, short-term fixes often create long-term problems. When we let stress dictate our choices, we may lock in losses rather than finding opportunities to thrive.

So, what can be done? While we can’t eliminate tariffs or other uncertainties, we can develop strategies to manage stress and move forward with confidence.

1. Focus on What You Can Control – Tariffs and trade policies are outside of your hands, but budgeting, planning, and risk management are not. Taking proactive steps in the areas you can influence helps bring back a sense of control.
2. Seek Trusted Advice – Having a solid support network of fellow farmers, financial advisors, and industry experts can provide much-needed perspective. Sometimes, just talking through a problem with someone else makes the right choice clearer.
3. Set Decision Deadlines – Overanalyzing can keep you stuck indefinitely. Instead of waiting for the “perfect” time, set deadlines for your decisions and commit to moving forward.
4. Take Care of Yourself – Stress management isn’t just about business strategy; it’s about personal well-being. Exercise, rest, and time away from constant decision-making help reset the mind and improve clarity.
5. Accept That There Is No Perfect Decision – Every choice comes with some level of risk. Accepting that reality can help shift your mindset from fear of failure to confidence in adaptability.
6. Reach Out for Professional Support – Sometimes, the weight of uncertainty and stress becomes too much to manage alone. Speaking with a counsellor who understands agriculture, such as those at the Manitoba Farmer Wellness Program, can provide valuable tools and support. Seeking help isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s a way to gain clarity, manage stress, and build resilience.

Farming is tough, and today’s uncertainties make it even tougher. But being stuck in analysis paralysis won’t change the challenges ahead. The key is to acknowledge the stress, manage it, and move forward—one decision at a time.

The Buzz About Teamwork: Lessons from the Hive

 Last weekend, I had the privilege of speaking to a group of Manitoba beekeepers. Like all areas of farming, their industry faces significant challenges, making the conversation around mental well-being especially relevant.

Bees—especially honeybees—are fascinating creatures, and if you ever have the chance to learn about them, I highly recommend it. Their world is full of intricate behaviors and remarkable teamwork. While I could go on about their many incredible traits, I want to focus on one key lesson we can take from them: the power of collaboration.

In a beehive, every bee has a job. Some gather nectar, others tend to the queen, and some guard the entrance. No one bee does it all, but together, they create a thriving, productive hive. In life and work, the same principle applies. Recognizing our strengths—and the strengths of others—makes for stronger teams and better outcomes.

Bees don’t just work side by side; they communicate constantly. Through dances, pheromones, and vibrations, they share information about food sources, threats, and hive health. Without this, chaos would ensue. Whether in business, family, or friendships, clear and open communication keeps things running smoothly and prevents unnecessary misunderstandings.

One bee alone doesn’t make much honey, but thousands working together create enough to sustain the hive and beyond. It’s a reminder that small, consistent efforts—especially when done collaboratively—lead to meaningful results. Whether it’s building a business, tackling a community project, or simply supporting each other, teamwork amplifies our impact.

Bees instinctively defend their hive because they know their strength lies in the colony, not in individual survival. They work together to fight off threats, maintain their home, and ensure the survival of the next generation. In life, protecting our communities—whether family, workplace, or social networks—creates resilience and long-term success.

Of course, collaboration isn’t always smooth. Just like working with others, sometimes you get stung—by disagreements, frustrations, or setbacks. Anyone who has spent time around bees knows that stings are just part of the process. But rather than avoid the hive altogether, beekeepers learn to respect boundaries, stay calm, and keep working toward the greater good. The same applies in life: setbacks and conflicts are inevitable, but they don’t have to derail us. Instead, they can serve as reminders to communicate better, be patient, and stay focused on the bigger picture.

Bees may be hard workers, but they also know the importance of rest. They rotate tasks, take breaks, and work in harmony with nature’s cycles. Burnout doesn’t exist in a well-functioning hive. This is a valuable lesson for us: rest is not a luxury, it’s essential for productivity and well-being.

The end result of all this teamwork? Honey—one of nature’s most perfect and enduring foods. It’s proof that when individuals come together with a shared purpose, they create something far greater than the sum of their parts. Whether on the farm, in the workplace, or in our personal lives, the best things are rarely accomplished alone.

Next time you see a bee buzzing by, take a moment to appreciate the wisdom of the hive. They remind us that true success isn’t about going it alone—it’s about working together, learning from the stings, and building something that lasts.

The Rock That Changed Everything

 There’s a story in The Recovering Farmer about a hidden rock in the road—one that created significant issues. But as it turned out, that rock saved us from something much worse. I won’t give away the whole story here (you’ll have to read the book for that), but let’s just say it taught me a lesson I didn’t see coming: sometimes what trips us up is actually what saves us.

Life, whether on the farm or beyond it, has a way of throwing these unexpected rocks in our path. Some are small stumbles, others feel like full-scale disasters. And in the moment, when you’re flat on your back (or face-first in the mud), it’s hard to see anything but failure, loss, or frustration.

Setbacks hit in different ways. Physically, there’s the exhaustion, the tension in your shoulders, the gut-punch of things not going as planned. Mentally, it’s even heavier. Doubt creeps in. The mind replays every wrong turn. You start questioning if you’ll ever get up again, or if it’s even worth trying.

I’ve been there. More times than I care to count. Farming, finances, family, mental health—life has knocked me down in ways I never saw coming. And in those moments, it felt impossible to believe that anything good could come from the mess.

I have also sometimes heard people say, "What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger." I’ve never fully agreed with that. Sometimes, what doesn’t kill you just leaves you exhausted, broken, or questioning everything. I talk about this in The Recovering Farmer—because the truth is, not every struggle makes us stronger. Some just change us. And maybe that’s the real lesson: strength isn’t about never falling. It’s about figuring out how to stand again, even when you’re not the same as before.

There’s an old saying: When the barn burns down, you can see the sky. I used to think that was just some poetic nonsense. When you're standing in the ashes of what was, it doesn’t feel like a blessing—it feels like loss. But over time, I’ve learned that loss clears space. It forces us to rebuild, to reimagine, to see possibilities we never noticed before.

Every fall I’ve taken—every setback, every so-called failure—has shaped me in ways I never expected. They’ve pushed me toward growth, toward understanding, toward the work I do now. Without them, I wouldn’t be here. And maybe that’s the real lesson: falling isn’t the end. It’s just part of the process.

If you’re feeling like you’ve hit the ground hard, I won’t give you some false promise that everything will magically work out overnight. Getting up takes time. Sometimes it takes help. But I can tell you this—just because you’re down doesn’t mean you’re done.

So take a breath. Look around. And when you’re ready, start looking for the sky.

Laughing Through the Mess

 In my presentations I often emphasize the importance of laughter. And as I experienced, farming, like life, is full of moments that can either break you or make you laugh. Sometimes it does both at the same time. Anyone who has worked in agriculture knows that if you don’t develop a sense of humor, you might not make it through. But humor isn’t just about cracking jokes and swapping stories at the coffee shop—it’s a survival tool, a coping mechanism, and sometimes, a mask for things we don’t always want to talk about.

Anyone who has spent time on a farm has a story that sounds ridiculous to outsiders but makes perfect sense to those who have lived it. The day you get chased by an angry cow, being up to your elbows in something unpleasant (and it’s never just once), or watch your carefully stacked hay bales come crashing down—those are the moments that test your patience and fuel the best stories later on.

Humor takes the sting out of those frustrating, exhausting, and downright absurd moments. Instead of crying over a broken-down tractor in the middle of harvest, you shake your head and say, “Of course it happens now.” Instead of losing your mind when your livestock stage a great escape, you laugh about how they outsmarted you—again. Farming is unpredictable, and if you don’t learn to laugh at the mess, you’ll spend too much time drowning in it.

As much as humor helps lighten the load, it can also be a convenient way to avoid talking about deeper struggles. It’s easier to tell a funny story about how a pig knocked you over than to admit you’re exhausted and running on empty. It’s easier to joke about how “farmers don’t get vacations” than to acknowledge the toll of never taking a break.

In agriculture, there’s an unspoken rule about toughness—keep going, don’t complain, don’t show weakness. And sometimes, humor becomes a way to deflect, to make sure no one asks too many questions. But the truth is, farming can be isolating. The long hours, financial pressures, and unpredictability add up. Laughter can keep us going, but it shouldn’t be the only tool in the box.

There’s power in humor, but there’s also power in honesty. It’s okay to laugh at the absurdities of farming, to trade stories about the disasters that somehow turned out okay. But it’s also okay to admit when the weight of it all feels too much.

If you’re using humor to cope, great—just make sure you’re not using it to cover up something that needs attention. The best thing about farming is the community, the people who understand exactly what you’re going through. And while a joke can bring people together, so can an honest conversation.

Laughter is a gift. It gets us through the toughest days, reminds us not to take everything too seriously, and gives us stories that last a lifetime. But it’s important to remember that humor isn’t a replacement for real conversations. Sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is not just laugh about the mess but talk about it too.

So keep laughing—just don’t be afraid to talk when you need to. Because in farming, as in life, we’re all in this together.

A Super Power

 I've been told that my mental illness has given me a superpower. At first, that felt strange. How could something that brought so much struggle, doubt, and darkness be seen as a gift, let alone a superpower? But over time, I've come to realize that there’s truth in that statement.

Living with mental illness isn’t easy. It’s a battle that often takes place behind closed doors, hidden from the world. The stigma, the fear of judgment, and the weight of societal expectations can make it feel isolating. But somewhere along my journey, I made a choice: to talk about it. To be open. To share the parts of my story that I once felt compelled to hide. And that’s where the superpower comes in.

Openness is transformative. When I wrote The Recovering Farmer, I didn’t set out to be a hero. I simply wanted to tell my story, to put words to experiences that had shaped me in ways both painful and profound. But what I discovered is that vulnerability has a ripple effect. When you speak your truth, you create space for others to do the same. People began reaching out, saying, "I thought I was the only one," or "Your story helped me find the courage to talk about my own struggles." That connection—that shared humanity—is powerful.

Mental illness has given me a deeper sense of empathy. I don’t just hear people’s struggles; I feel them. I understand the language of pain, the weight of invisible burdens, and the courage it takes to simply get through the day. This empathy allows me to connect with others in authentic, meaningful ways. It helps me show up, not with pity, but with genuine understanding and support.

Resilience is another part of this superpower. Living with mental health challenges means facing obstacles that can feel insurmountable. But each time I navigate those dark moments, I discover a strength I didn’t know I had. It’s not the absence of struggle that defines resilience; it’s the decision to keep going, to keep showing up, even when it’s hard.

There’s also a clarity that comes from facing your own mental health head-on. It strips away the superficial and forces you to confront what truly matters. It has taught me to value authenticity over perfection, connection over image, and compassion over judgment. It’s helped me become a better listener, a more present friend, and a more compassionate human being.

In sharing my story, I’ve learned that what feels like weakness can actually be a source of strength. The very thing I once wanted to hide has become the bridge that connects me to others. It’s not about being fearless; it’s about acknowledging the fear and speaking out anyway.

So, yes, my mental illness has given me a superpower. Not because it makes me invincible, but because it has made me real. My perception has shifted. In the past, I might have questioned "why me?" or found myself slipping closer to the abyss. Now, I see my illness as having given me a perspective that brings me a sense of comfort and strength. It taught me the power of vulnerability, the strength in sharing, and the beauty of authentic connection.

If you’re struggling, know this: your story matters. Your voice matters. And sometimes, what feels like your greatest struggle can also be the very thing that helps someone else find their strength.