When I was about 14 years old, I remember an elderly neighbour having a discussion with my Dad about the trials and tribulations of getting older.

I recall her asking, “Tom, how come things are always far worse at night?”

I can’t remember how he responded, but I do know exactly what I thought of their pathetic ramblings.

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Older people were, basically, a weird bunch of incompetent slackers who seemed to have nothing more important in their lives than discussing all sorts of banal issues. They never mentioned tractors, daily liveweight gains, rugby, or how much work they had done that day.

You’ll struggle to believe this, but lo and behold, I think I’m turning into one of them.

I mention sleep patterns because it is a huge subject, and ties in strongly with the stresses and anxieties associated with our farming lives.

I have tentatively talked about sleep (or lack of it) with a few people (women tend to be far more open, honest and empathetic than men) and it seems that the older you get, the more broken your sleep patterns often become.

Whirlwind

In my case, I am usually sound asleep by about 10.30pm and this is proper dead-to-the-world stuff. If someone wakens me, I hardly know where I am or what day it is.

But come 2am, Derek’s brain suddenly sparks into life and his whole agricultural life turns into one big whirlwind of insurmountable problems.

For some reason, the advancing years have seen my nighttime planning for the days ahead changing from expectant hope (tinged with a bit of excitement) to a much more forlorn and negative view of what lies ahead. And this is why I mentioned old Margaret’s question to my father: I now know exactly how she felt.

Of course, the ridiculous nature of the dark thoughts at night rarely, if ever, come to pass and more often than not I find myself laughing when those worries disappear like snow off a ditch come daylight. Are some of us simply programmed to get anxious once we go to sleep?

Confession

The reason for my confession is that I’ll bet there are hundreds of farming folk all over the country who are experiencing the same sleep-induced anxieties as me.

And furthermore, I’m equally certain they, like me, feel like a bit of an eejit for letting daily issues affect their night’s sleep and they possibly think they’re the only person in the world who suffers from this.

Health

It’s now a daily occurrence to open a newspaper or listen to the news and hear something about how to look after both your physical and mental health. This is becoming a more widely recognised problem within our farming industry, and the common theme is that it is good to talk. Farmers should share some of the stuff churning through their heads and this is supposed to make them feel a bit better or serve as a first step on a pathway towards repair.

But I feel strongly that the ‘it’s good to talk’ mantra is hugely flawed and can actually do more harm than good.

Have you ever noticed how the responses can vary when you tell another farmer about, say, one of your ewes dying, or a batch of lambs not performing satisfactorily?

One guy could tell you how he had exactly the same problems, and maybe even worse than you. You’ll come away from that conversation feeling not so bad about yourself, and things just don’t look quite so bleak after all.

But the other side of that coin is when the recipient of your woes retaliates by letting you know he or she has never had those issues, and all their lambs are thriving like goslings. Now, how do you feel?

My issue is that it is only good to share your worries or anxieties with someone who is either sympathetic, empathetic or simply has one ounce of wit and common sense to read the situation and respond accordingly.

A sense of humour is a definite asset too, and a spot of dark, deadpan irony can often help (I consider gallows humour to be a much-underrated pastime).

So, despite all the urgings to go and talk to someone if you’re feeling low, anxious, or a bit worried, make sure and pick the right person.