The past year has been a year I may want to forget, but I need to remember. Readers of the Irish Farmers Journal will know how spring 2018 affected me and anyone who saw me on the Late Late Show recently will know how I can still feel the emotion of it 12 months later.

Looking back on that first Friday in April 2018, the day I wanted to sell my entire dairy herd because I was completely burned out, it would be easy to just focus on that moment, but in reality the pressure was building since the previous summer.

Losing three animals to TB out of 400 sounds like I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Unfortunately, the bigger problem was I was suddenly stuck with 100 animals that were supposed to be sold in August/September plus autumn calvings still to come. I knuckled down to get cull cows fattened before the other stock needed housing and sourced the extra feed I’d need.

Two clear tests followed, leaving no clue where the infection came from, or whether it even was an infection. I cleared the decks of surplus stock a few days before Christmas, having had buyers already lined up. I was tired, but it was job done and pressure off.

The country went daft stockpiling bread and milk again

As everybody knows, then the spring came in name only. Ophelia in October 2017 was still fresh in the mind when we got the “Beast from the East” snow in February/March last year. The country went daft stockpiling bread and milk again.

Those two events on their own weren’t a problem. As humans, we have adrenalin and a community to deal with a sudden crisis. A crisis doesn’t cause burnout – monotony and loneliness does.

It is true that the events of 4 April 2018, that day when my world came crashing down, are what people can focus on. Dramatic events bring on the adrenalin; it even makes good TV.

As farmers, irrespective of gender, we are expected to be physically strong and just get on with it.

From the outside, people could see I was busy, like every farmer. Because of my IFA position, I was getting calls for interviews about the weather and the fodder crisis.

I was getting comments like “I don’t know how you have the time and energy to cope with everything you’re involved in outside of the farming”.

The reality was that the “outside of farming” stuff was what was keeping me sane. The farming drudgery from the constant rain and associated workload was sapping my energy. The weight of responsibility to my stock and business was draining my mental energy.

Watching my neighbours with empty grass fields and unplanted crops only increased the feeling of hopelessness as I imagined the whole country going down the tubes like me.

I now know that this support is just as important to provide the mental strength to know you can cope with a crisis

I know the importance of a good support network in a crisis. Whether it’s cattle breaking out or a sudden illness, there is always someone you can call for help.

I now know that this support is just as important to provide the mental strength to know you can cope with a crisis.

I lost my dad unexpectedly this January. The extended family and neighbours mobilised instantly, like we take for granted in a rural area. It was a week, two weeks later, that I really found the support network that no one should ever take for granted. The people who had been ringing or calling for a chat to make sure I was OK in the spring of 2018 returned to ask the same question again.

Farmers are great in a crisis. I had been advising people about the importance of asking for help and looking out for our neighbours. It turns out that was good advice.