Farming is lonely. Nobody told you that.

You're surrounded by people.

Customers at market. Family at home. Maybe employees or neighbors or fellow vendors.

And still, you feel alone.

Not alone like nobody's around. Alone like nobody gets it.

Nobody told you farming would be this lonely. But here you are.

The loneliness nobody talks about

It's not the kind of loneliness that comes from isolation. You're not isolated. You're busy. You're constantly around people, animals, tasks, demands.

It's a different kind of lonely.

The kind where you're holding everything together and nobody sees it.

The kind where you're making impossible decisions and there's no one to make them with.

The kind where you're drowning and everyone thinks you're thriving.

You smile at market. You answer "great!" when people ask how the season's going. You post the golden hour photos.

And inside, you're wondering if anyone actually knows what this costs you.

You're the only one who sees the whole picture

Your partner sees part of it. Maybe.

Your family sees another part. Your customers see the pretty part.

But you're the only one who sees all of it. The 2am worry. The financial stress. The thing that broke that you can't afford to fix. The decision you've been avoiding. The weight of it all.

You carry the whole picture. And that's lonely.

The mental load isn't just heavy. It's invisible. And invisible weight is the loneliest kind.

Because when something goes wrong, you can't fully explain it to anyone. They don't have the context. They don't know all the moving pieces. They can't feel what you feel.

So you carry it alone.

The loneliness of being the strong one

You're the one who holds it together.

The one who figures it out. The one who doesn't break down. The one everyone leans on.

And because you're so good at holding it together, nobody thinks to ask if you're okay.

You're running on fumes and nobody sees it. Because you've gotten too good at looking fine.

They assume you've got it handled. They assume you don't need help. They assume the strong one is fine.

But the strong one is tired. The strong one is lonely. The strong one would love for someone to show up and say, "What do you need?"

Instead, you keep holding. Because that's what you do.

Your friends don't get it

You used to have friends outside the farm. Maybe you still do — technically.

But the gap has grown.

They talk about weekends. You don't have weekends.

They talk about vacations. You haven't taken one in years.

They complain about their boss. You ARE the boss — and that comes with its own weight they can't understand.

You've stopped trying to explain. It's easier to just nod and change the subject.

And slowly, without anyone meaning for it to happen, you've drifted. They stopped inviting you because you always said no. You stopped reaching out because you didn't have the energy.

Now there's this distance. And it's lonely.

Your family doesn't get it either

They love you. They support you. They believe in what you're building.

But they don't get it.

They see the farm. They don't see the weight of it.

They see you working. They don't see the mental load that follows you into bed at night.

They say things like "you're so lucky to work outside" and you want to scream. Or cry. Or both.

It's not their fault. They're not in it with you every day. They can't see what it costs.

But it's lonely when the people closest to you can't see the whole picture.

Other farmers get it. Sort of.

You'd think other farmers would understand. And in some ways, they do.

They know the chaos. They know the exhaustion. They know the gamble of weather and markets and animals.

But sometimes even that feels competitive. Comparing struggles. Measuring who has it worse. Not wanting to admit you're drowning when they seem to be swimming.

Or you're just too tired to reach out. Too busy to build the friendships that would actually help.

So you stay in your own little world. Alone.

The loneliness of decisions

This might be the loneliest part.

The decisions that keep you up at night. The ones that don't have a clear answer. The ones where you're guessing and hoping and praying you got it right.

Do you expand or stay small? Do you hire or keep doing it yourself? Do you drop the market or give it one more season? Do you raise prices and risk losing customers? Do you keep going or walk away?

Nobody can make those decisions for you. And nobody will fully feel the consequences the way you will.

The unmade decisions pile up. And you're the only one who feels their weight.

That's lonely.

You're not broken for feeling this way

I want you to hear this: loneliness doesn't mean something is wrong with you.

It means you're carrying something heavy. It means you're doing something hard. It means you're in a role that very few people understand.

You're not broken. You're not failing. You're not bad at relationships.

You're just in the loneliest job nobody warned you about.

What would help

I'm not going to pretend there's an easy fix. But there are things that help.

• Find your people. Other farmers. Other small business owners. People who actually get it. Online or in person. They exist. They're looking for you too.

• Stop performing “fine”. The next time someone asks how you're doing, try telling the truth. Not the whole truth — just a crack in the door. "It's been a hard season." See what happens.

• Let one person in. You don't need everyone to understand. You need one person. A friend. A coach. A therapist. Someone who can hold space for the whole picture. Thriving farmers have figured out they can't do this alone. They've built support around themselves. Not because they're weak but because they're wise.

• Ask for what you need. People can't read your mind. Your partner doesn't know you need a break unless you say it. Your friend doesn't know you're struggling unless you tell them. Ask.

• Stop waiting for permission. You don't need someone to notice you're drowning. You can reach out first. You can say "I need help." You can admit you're lonely without it meaning you've failed.

You're not meant to do this alone

Farming feels like a solo endeavor. You against the weather. You against the market. You against the list that never ends.

But it was never meant to be this lonely.

Humans need connection. They need people who see them. They need someone to say "I get it" and actually mean it.

You deserve that too.

Not because you've earned it. Not because you've finished everything on the list. Just because you're human.

And humans aren't meant to carry this much alone.

The invitation

Farming is lonely. Nobody told you that.

But now you know you're not the only one feeling it.

The isolation is real. The weight is real. The longing for someone to truly see you — that's real too.

You don't have to keep carrying this alone.

Reach out. Let someone in. Find your people.

The farm needs you. But you need connection too.

If this resonated, you might also want to read:

You're the strong one and you're exhausted by it — What happens when you need someone to carry you for once

You've lost friends to the farm — The slow drift that nobody talks about

Nobody asks how you're doing anymore — They just ask about the farm

You're doing a good job. Even when you're lonely.

If you need someone in your corner who actually gets it, I'm here. You can schedule a free chat with me anytime at www.FarmCoachKatia.com/work-with-me.