Dealing with depression: Farmer speaks out

Experts say depression is widespread in farming, but it’s rarely talked about. Instead, it quietly and often invisibly wrecks lives. Farm manager James Drury tells Tim Relf about his experiences – and shares his advice – in a bid to help break the stigma.

It’s a warm spring day and James Drury is off to help one of the Somerset farmers worst hit by flooding drill spring barley.

Like everyone who watched it, the Bicton College farm manager was moved by news footage of the deluge. He immediately offered to help those affected get their crops in the ground – and has vowed to return at harvest if it will make a difference.

“What a brave chap,” he says of the guy he will be assisting. “Not just to have gone through what he has, but to have accepted the offers of help. Some farmers wouldn’t do that.”

Depression is an illness

James is the first to admit it’s something he wouldn’t have been capable of doing even as recently as last autumn. He has experienced intense bouts of depression over recent years, which at points have left him unable to work, seen him estranged from his family and friends, and even led him to consider taking his own life.

“Depression is an illness, but one that people sometimes can’t see. If I’d broken my leg and you had met me, you would have known exactly what was wrong with me – but if you had met me a few years ago you wouldn’t have.

In many ways I wish I’d had a ‘physical’ illness instead – even, God forbid, a serious one like cancer – because more people might have understood what I was going through.”

James’ depression has come in peaks and troughs, but he traces its origins to 2008-09 when the farm he was managing in Scotland was put on the market.

It was a job he loved so was “gutted” and, although he secured employment elsewhere, he soon felt it wasn’t a great move. By 2011, an unhappy work and personal life really began to take their toll.

Effects of depression

“I was working, but not coping. I lost my ability to make a decision, I simply didn’t have the energy. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, not even a conversation. I’d spend hours and hours in my truck, driving round, terrified. I was an emotional wreck and avoided everybody and everything, even my family. You get to a point where you simply can’t function. I became a person I didn’t know. I basically had no desire to carry on.”

Crisis point

In September 2011 – unsure where to turn – he found himself facing a stark choice: run away or ring the Samaritans. “I thought they’d be my saviour. We talked for 45 minutes, but I thought at the end of that exchange: That’s solved nothing.”

The following year, still deeply unhappy, constantly on edge and unable to understand what was happening to him, he went to see a doctor. “She said I was depressed and signed me off work. I began taking antidepressants and thought everything was going to change overnight. It didn’t.”

James does not know to this day what, if anything, specifically “triggered” what he describes as “the ultimate downward spiral” in 2012, by which time he was living with his wife and two children in Devon.

He hired a car and decided to go and stay with his parents in Kent, but instead “went Awol”, driving out on to Exmoor, switching his phone off and spending 24 hours there in the car. He was wrestling with a decision: to carry on, or not to.

“I needed that time on my own to come to terms with what was happening and make a decision on my own. Eventually, I decided I wanted to get better.”

When he came down off the moor, his phone was full of messages, including from Cullompton Police, as he’d been reported missing. “I went to the station in a right state and made it clear that I wasn’t leaving until the help I thought I needed was forthcoming.”

Counselling

They took him to A&E, he was assessed by specialists and promised a course of intensive counselling with a trained mental health professional. They were eight sessions that, according to James, changed his life.

“I’d had years of bottling up problems and not sharing them with anyone, but I began to understand the value of opening up and talking to people.

“Talking was the biggest healer. It helped me compartmentalise all my various questions and problems, tackle them one by one, rather than me being left with this muddled sense of being overwhelmed.

“It’s a strange analogy, but imagine the biggest spot you ever had as a teenager – it gets bigger and redder and more sore, then eventually it pops and all the crap comes out. Once I’d taken that step, I was on the road to recovering.”

Coping strategies

Counselling also taught him coping mechanisms. “Depression is an illness you have to manage by understanding how it affects you, how you can manage the types of things that can send you back to that place, and by recognising what the signs of it coming back might be.

“If it rained and I couldn’t get out combining, that used to eat me up. I was always worried about people looking at me, and saying ‘he’s not coping’ so I’d do stupid things like working until 3am. I don’t let myself get totally consumed by work anymore. I take more of a c’est la vie attitude; I try to keep things in perspective.

“It’s about getting some fun back in your life, and you have to be quite disciplined in that respect. It’s amazing how much better taking a break or even just taking the dog out for a 20-minute walk can make you feel.

“It’s important to make time to be with friends and to talk about things other than work. I went to the theatre to see Mamma Mia recently. That was the type of thing I enjoyed doing before I was ill. Two years ago, I’d have found any excuse in the world not to go. But I absolutely loved it.”

James is also sure that without the counselling he would not have got a job at the highly respected Devon agricultural college, Bicton, which he started last November.

Having such great support from the college’s management team has made him conscious of how isolated and unsupported many farmers can feel, especially concerning mental health issues.

“There’s still a huge gap in understanding in the workplace,” he says. “Just look at how some people describe it – they still use expressions like ‘gone cuckoo’.

How many farms have an occupational health policy? How many employees could go to the boss and describe how they’re feeling? It’s partly because of the small nature of businesses, but there’s a culture of never opening up.”

Support

James is keen to support others facing a similar situation. “While it still feels very recent and I do find it very painful to talk about, I really want to help other people who are experiencing depression. Once, I wouldn’t share anything with anyone, but I’m prepared to speak about my experiences now.”

As well as hoping to help rural support groups such as the Farming Community Network, he’s keen to raise awareness in whatever ways he can. “Nobody should have to face this alone.”

He wonders if there’s a benefit in setting up a new support network, specifically aimed at farmers in the South West. Maybe enlisting the help of a high-profile figure in farming to help him spread the message? Giving talks at agricultural shows and events?

“The Samaritans do some incredible work, but they couldn’t help me because they didn’t understand the specific issues I was facing. If I could have spoken to a farmer, they’d have understood what it was like to have potato fields like the Somme and that would have helped.

“They wouldn’t have been able to solve it, but having someone at the end of the phone who at least appreciated the impact that things such as weather can have on you would have been a breath of fresh air and really made a difference.

“I’d urge anyone feeling like I did to talk to someone who they feel they can confide in. It might be your wife or husband, but it could be anyone. Ask them to help you get through it.

“Similarly, if you think a family member has depression, gently and gradually push them in the right direction by encouraging them to see their GP or by getting them to talk about it. If I’d admitted I needed help earlier, I wouldn’t have got into the mess I did. Don’t let yourself get to the place where you can’t be helped. If you get to the point where you recognise you need some help, you’ve turned a corner.”

One question James cannot ultimately answer is what “caused” his depression. “I wish I could put my finger on it, but I can’t. It was a combination of many things that got gradually worse and snowballed.

No shame

“It’s awful to think that you can get to the stage where you think people will be better off without you. The only reason I didn’t do the most stupid thing was because of my children. I was on a knife edge, but I got the help I needed eventually and that began to make sense of everything.

“Of course I’m sorry for what happened, but I don’t feel any shame in it. I did the best I could, but the truth is I wasn’t able to manage it. I’m content with myself about that.”

Nowadays, although he still carries some “deep emotional wounds” and his illness has taken its toll on his family life and friendships, he has found some happiness again.

“My mum once said that in every photo of me for years, I look troubled or unhappy. I had lost the enjoyment in life, but I’ve found it again now. There is light at the end of that long, black tunnel.”

James enjoys riding, reading, spending time with friends and loves his job at Bicton – being involved in a progressive, ever-evolving college farm. “Every day is different and exciting.

“In my own small way, I wanted to give something back to the industry I love. If I can help foster young people’s interest in agriculture and they can learn a little from me, then I’m determined to.

“I’ve also always said I’ll win a Farmers Weekly Award one day — and one day I will.”