From the Editor: Cutting through the noise on rural wellbeing

We talk about rural mental health more than we used to.

That is a good thing.

For too long, farmers, growers, contractors and rural families were expected to simply get on with it. To push through the hard seasons, the bad prices, the sleepless nights, the droughts, the floods, the debt, the succession worries, the family pressure, the loneliness, and the weight of being needed by everyone and everything.

So yes, the fact we are talking more openly about mental health and wellbeing in rural New Zealand matters.

But talking is only part of it.

The statistics are still confronting. Hauora Taiwhenua Rural Health Network’s 2024 Rural Health Snapshot found the rural suicide rate was 64 percent higher than urban rates. Rural communities also face higher preventable mortality, lower healthcare use, lower vaccination rates, and far greater barriers to accessing care, particularly in more remote areas.

These are not just numbers on a page. They are people. They are families. They are neighbours. They are the ones who always turn up for everyone else, but may be struggling quietly themselves.

And it is not as simple as telling people to “reach out”.

That phrase is well meaning, but in rural communities it can be complicated. Reaching out might mean driving hours to an appointment. It might mean trying to find privacy in a town where everyone knows everyone. It might mean taking time off farm when there is no one else to do the work. It might mean overcoming a lifetime of being taught to keep your head down and carry on.

It might also mean not knowing who to trust.

The rural mental health space is busy now. There are campaigns, slogans, podcasts, events, speakers, courses and social media pages. Much of it is valuable and comes from a good place. But noise is still noise, even when it is well intentioned.

When people are vulnerable, support needs to be safe, practical and qualified.

Those with lived experience can play an incredibly powerful role in reducing stigma and helping others feel less alone. But lived experience is not the same as clinical expertise. A good story can open a door, but it should not replace proper care. People who claim to be experts, without the training or safeguards to back that up, can unintentionally do more harm than good.

That is why it is encouraging to see initiatives that connect rural people with qualified support in ways that actually fit rural life.

The new partnership between Farmlands, Rural Support Trust and ignite is one example. It gives farmers and growers access to free mental health support through a platform that offers online and in-person options, helping remove some of the barriers of distance, cost and time away from the farm.

What I particularly like about this approach is that it recognises wellbeing is not one single thing.

Mental health does not sit in a separate box from physical health, financial pressure, relationships, sleep, nutrition, movement, purpose or community. It is all connected.

When someone is under pressure for long enough, it shows up everywhere. In the body. In the mind. In the way we eat, sleep, move, work, parent, communicate and cope.

That is why looking after ourselves cannot be treated as a luxury, or something we get to once the work is done.

In farming, the work is never really done.

There will always be another job, another bill, another weather event, another animal needing attention, another person depending on you.

But valuing yourself enough to take time for a walk, a proper meal, a conversation, a doctor’s appointment, a counsellor, or simply a pause, is not selfish. It is maintenance.

We accept maintenance as essential for machinery, vehicles, water systems, fences and stock. Yet too often, the person holding the whole operation together is the last thing to be serviced.

That has to change.

Farming Through the Fog, our annual mental health feature, was created because rural people deserve space to speak honestly about the hard stuff, without shame and without being reduced to statistics.

It is not about portraying farming as bleak. Rural life can be deeply rewarding, grounding and full of connection. But it can also be isolating, relentless and heavy. Both things can be true.

We owe it to our communities to keep having these conversations, but we also owe it to them to make those conversations useful.

That means pushing for better rural health policy. It means recognising rural communities have unique needs. It means funding services that can reach people where they are. It means supporting local Rural Support Trusts and other trusted providers. It means being careful about who we platform as experts. And it means remembering that wellbeing is not just crisis response. It is prevention, connection and daily care.

The fog does lift.

But for many people, it lifts faster when someone walks beside them who knows the terrain.