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.

Supporting Others: Insights from Someone Who’s Been There

One of the questions I’m often asked is how to support someone who’s struggling with their mental health. Honestly, I find it hard to answer because, in my own journey, I’ve been the one needing support. Surely, there are others with the expertise and experience of walking alongside those in need.

And then this week I had a conversation with a friend and colleague Merle Massie, the new Executive Director of DoMoreAg. Merle certainly has the expertise as she has walked with and supported those that have struggled. She gave me 3 points that she has in mind when she finds herself in those situations and they resonated with me. With her permission I want to use them and build my own thoughts around them.

First and foremost, we need to park what we think we know. While this sounds straightforward, in practice, it can be profoundly challenging. I recognize that I carry with me a collection of beliefs and biases—formed through my experiences, shaped by my upbringing, and reinforced along my journey. These perspectives feel natural, even essential, to how I see the world. But should I impose them on others? Absolutely not.

Too often, I find myself realizing—sometimes painfully late—that while my understanding may hold some truth or relevance, it doesn’t always address the unique needs or circumstances of the person I aim to support. My preconceived notions become a barrier rather than a bridge. This not only undermines my ability to help but also prevents me from truly connecting with and understanding others in their own context.

Secondly, we need to activate our of curiosity. In my work, I often encourage people to transform judgment into curiosity, particularly when navigating conflicts. But this principle extends far beyond conflict resolution—it’s just as essential when it comes to supporting others.

Curiosity is a powerful tool. When we approach others with genuine interest and a desire to understand, we open the door to deeper connection and insight. It allows us to see beyond surface-level assumptions, to truly grasp what someone is experiencing or feeling. Through curiosity, we gain the ability to ask thoughtful questions, to listen without interruption, and to appreciate the unique perspectives and struggles of others.

This shift from judgment to curiosity isn’t always easy—it requires intention, humility, and a willingness to let go of our own narratives. But when we choose curiosity, we create space for empathy and understanding to flourish, enabling us to offer the kind of support that truly meets people where they are.

Thirdly, we need to strive to be a flashlight—illuminating the path for those who need help and guiding them where they are, not where we think they should be. Too often, I find myself defaulting to the role of a streetlight, shining brightly in one fixed spot and expecting those who are struggling to find their way to me. It’s a comforting notion to think that simply being available is enough, but in reality, it often isn’t.

This act of meeting someone where they are—of bringing the light to their darkness—requires compassion, patience, and a willingness to step into their world. It’s about being present and intentional, showing that they are not alone and that there’s a way forward, no matter how overwhelming the journey may seem.

I will never forget and will always be thankful for the day a neighbor did all of the above for me. I was in a dark place, not sure if the sun would ever shine for me again. He sat and listened to me that day. There was no judgement, he normalized and validated what I was saying and by doing that shone his flashlight on the path in front of me giving me the ability to move forward. I know it works. It may work for you as well. Make it a good one.

My Check Engine Light Is On

 Just before Christmas I went for a complete physical. As the doctor went through his routine, and I knew it was coming, he asked me to drop my pants and lay sideways on the examination gurney. The dreaded prostrate check. I apologized profusely that he had to do that, notice how I cared more for him than I did for myself. He just laughed and said I should think about it as an oil change. That actually made me laugh because, as some of you know, that is something I avoid as well.

Perhaps I should explain. It seems that whenever I take a vehicle in for an oil change, there are countless other issues that they seem to find. Sure, they advertise oil changes for a mere $79.99. So that’s all I will spend, right? Nope. I can never escape those places without shelling out at least $1,000. So no wonder I avoid oil changes. Is that my fear in seeking out help for my mental wellness? A fear that it will be something bad? Perhaps, but I digress.

The night before going for my follow-up appointment I told my wife that I was going to find out how long I had. When I told the doctor about that comment, he laughed and said I was good for another 100,000 miles, if I didn’t speed. Initially I was happy about that but now I wonder what that really means.

We all know that if we own any type of vehicle or equipment, regular maintenance is a good thing. In fact it’s not just a good thing, it is required if you want to ensure any kind of longevity in performance. Now a days, vehicles, tractors and sundry equipment come with any and all kinds of warning lights. My favorite is the “check engine” light that comes on frequently in the vehicles I drive. That warning light comes with its own challenges because it covers a variety of potential problems. It requires a visit to a garage where you now watch them hook up scanners and normally stand and scratch their heads because they are stumped.

When my kids started owning their cars I would often get phone calls. Dad, they would say, my car broke down. I would ask them what the problem was and they would say a warning light came on and based on their owner’s manual it was the “check engine” light. Usually I would just laugh and tell them I would be much more concerned if it wasn’t on. Obviously I had become somewhat cynical.

I have found that my mental health also needs maintenance. In essence my “check engine” light comes on. Unfortunately, just like I do with my vehicles, I tend to ignore it. Hope that I will wake up one day and it will have gone off.

This winter that “check engine” light has been on for a little too long so I decided to seek the help of my favorite “mechanic”, my naturopath. We chatted about how things had gone since our last appointment. As I told her about my ups and downs she informed me that I have an exquisite sensitivity to dopamine. That almost sounds exotic, like something I should cherish.  

In essence she was telling me, reminding me that there are tools I have that help in keeping the check engine light off. It requires an effort. It requires a certain dedication and a will to feel better even if it creates some discomfort. It also reiterates the fact that we need to occasionally seek help from a professional, someone who can help in keeping the “check engine” light off. Make it a good one.

Reaching Out

 Over the course of the last number of years, as I have shared stories about my journey, I have been approached by those who find it curious that I have the freedom to talk about mental illness and how it has impacted me. And then last week I had an ah ha moment. But first let me share how I got there.

In 2003 I was a hog producer. I was chairman of Manitoba Pork Marketing and I was an active mediator with the Manitoba Farm Mediation Board, dealing primarily with hog producers. The hog industry was in turmoil, creating financial stress for everyone. On a daily basis I was dealing with that stress on my own farm and also with the people I was dealing with in my other work.

As that stress started getting to me my behaviours changed. I could do nothing right and neither could anyone close to me. My coping skills were not good. Relationships began to suffer. And eventually that overwhelming stress pushed me into the labyrinth of mental illness, where I experienced significant anxiety and eventually slipped into depression.

At the time there was still a stigma attached to mental illness, there was little knowledge of resources I could use and the ones that I did use were lacking in knowledge of the intricacies of agriculture. It was difficult to find a path forward.

That is why I am so passionate about the Manitoba Farmer Wellness Program. Over the years the stigma has been reduced. Great strides have been made in building awareness. And the message, you are not alone, is loud and clear. Had I had the opportunity to participate in such a program my life could well have been different.

People have also suggested to me that they do not require counselling because they are not experiencing mental illness. Sure, they admit, stress can be overwhelming. My message to them is, be proactive. Through counselling you gain the tools necessary to cope better, to find ways of dealing with that stress before it manifests itself in something much more difficult to deal with.

Back to my ah ha moment. During that interview I came to the realization that “talking about it” has given me freedom. Sounds strange, I know. But there is a freedom in being able to come out of isolation, to be able to talk freely about those things that are dragging me down, to be able to articulate the darkness that can so easily overwhelm.

There is a new reality. That reality is that one out of three people suffer from mental illness. That reality is that as strong as we think we are there are issues that will kneecap the best of us. That reality is we need to find someone that we can talk to. That reality is we need support. That reality is that we live a secret life and want release. Booking an appointment with a Manitoba Farmer Wellness Program counsellor can help you in finding that freedom. Its okay not to be okay. Its okay to reach out. Talking about it is a freeing, life giving experience. Book an appointment today at www.manitobafarmerwellness.ca . Make it a good one.

Feeling Good About Self

 It seems that most anytime I go on social media there are reminders of some sort. I suppose along with most everything in my life these days I need reminders. And so it is with the CMHA mental health week. Its good to be reminded.

The focus this year is on empathy. I like that. I am always reminded of, and you have heard it before, when a neighbor dropped by and showed me empathy. It was a dark time in my life. I had been on meds for my mental health but thought I was doing okay so went off them. Then I experienced a traumatic event that pushed me towards the abyss.

A few days after that event, a neighbor dropped by to check on me. That, in itself, was encouraging. For some strange reason I took advantage of an opportunity. I began talking. And for close to an hour my neighbor sat and listened. He did not try to provide any type of advice, but showed understanding. He wasn’t judgemental, rather he normalized and validated what I was experiencing. That truly was empathy. That provided the encouragement for me to continue my journey.

Empathy simply means to have the ability to understand or be able to identify with others. When others share with me, I have a tendency to jump in and try to fix their issues. Often I may be judgemental and impatient. When I do these things, I am probably missing what that person needs, just a desire to be understood. To know they are not alone. I need to change that approach. I must focus on understanding how the person feels and why they feel that way. And take the time to reflect. Just like my neighbor did.

However, there is another important message in here. If you are struggling, if life overwhelms or there is just too much stress to face life, you also need to make sure you practice empathy for yourself. Sounds weird, right?

If you are anything like me, you spend an inordinate amount of time beating up on yourself. I have this uncontrollable way of letting my mind run rampant with negative and morbid thoughts. And because I know better than to allow those thoughts, I start bemoaning the fact that I have these negative thoughts and that I am such an idiot for thinking them and such a loser for thinking that I am an idiot and because I am an idiot there is no wonder I am useless at this thing called life. Notice how quickly I can get myself in trouble?

Try using self-empathy. The theory is quite simple. As mentioned above, we have an innate desire to be understood by others particularly during periods of distress. We never outgrow that. Our pain and anxiety reduces the more others understand and care. Our physical health improves when others show they care, when they show they understand, when they reach out to help. Using that same principle on ourselves is just as important.

Let this week be a reminder to show empathy not only for others but for yourself as well. Empathy promotes a feeling of emotional connection between individuals, groups, families and communities. Make an effort to tune in before you weigh in. Be there for others. And most importantly, be there for yourself. Make it a good one.