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© Will Evans I’ve been trying to write this piece for a while now, but I haven’t quite been able to do it. I suppose that’s because it’s a confession of sorts, and I think it’ll be a while

yet before I fully come to terms with it all, but here goes; in the summer of 2019 I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression. It wasn’t caused by a single traumatic event in my life,

as happens with so many others. See also: Mental Health Awareness Week tackles loneliness in farming ABOUT THE AUTHOR WILL EVANS _Farmers Weekly Opinion writer_ Will Evans farms beef cattle

and arable crops across 200ha near Wrexham in North Wales in partnership with his wife and parents. It was more something that started with a creeping sense of immense sadness and a feeling

of being completely overwhelmed, which got steadily worse over a long period. I stopped enjoying the things I’d previously loved doing on the farm; nothing seemed to matter anymore. What I

know now were severe panic attacks would strike me regularly; and the first time it happened I thought I was dying. I lost the ability to laugh at anything and made excuses not to go places

and see people, as I believed they’d see through me and know what I’d become. And if I did see anyone, I became an expert at hiding it all. “I’m fine, just a bit tired,” I’d say. I felt

pathetic and self-indulgent; I knew people who had what I perceived to be “real problems”, while I had a wife I adored, four healthy children, an amazing family, great friends, my own

business – what right did I have to feel like this? The crippling anxiety about what my dad would think of me if he found out, and the thought of being not strong or capable enough to follow

in his footsteps, was with me constantly. Ultimately, I felt like I wasn’t doing anything well enough and that I was letting everyone in my life down; I convinced myself that I was a burden

to them all and they’d be better off without me. I was in a very dark and frightening place. Eventually, something my wife said got through to me, and she persuaded me to visit my doctor. I

didn’t want to go, and I remember nearly walking out as I waited to be seen, but when she called me through to her office I immediately burst into tears. I must have cried uncontrollably

for an hour as she patiently explained that I wasn’t weak or failing anyone, I was just ill, and with treatment and self-care I would recover. I walked out of there afterwards with the

knowledge that I’d taken the first and most difficult step of a long journey back to being myself again. Nearly three years later, and things couldn’t be more different. With the help of my

family and a few close friends (and some antidepressants that I took for more than a year), I got through it, and I’m a far more balanced person as a result of the experience. I’m excited

about what the future holds, and don’t take anything in life for granted. If you recognise any of this in yourself, please don’t wait until it gets worse. Reaching out for help and admitting

you’re not OK isn’t weakness. It takes courage and strength, and if I can do it, so can you. You matter far more than you know to those around you, and you’re not alone. HELP IS AT HAND If

you are struggling with mental health issues, there are several organisations available to help, including RABI (0800 188 4444), FCN (03000 111 999), Samaritans (116123), and YANA (0300 323

0400)