I’M A FARMER’S DAUGHTER—AND SOME PEOPLE THINK THAT MAKES ME LESS

 

I’m a Farmer’s Daughter—And Some People Think That Makes Me Less
By [Your Name]

I was raised on land that my family has tilled, harvested, and loved for generations. Our mornings started before the sun peeked over the fields, and our dinners often ended with the dirt of the day still under our fingernails. As the daughter of a farmer, I grew up not just watching hard work—I lived it.

But somewhere along the way, I discovered a strange truth: to some people, my background made me seem less.

Less cultured.
Less educated.
Less ambitious.
Less enough.

It started subtly. Classmates at college would raise an eyebrow when I mentioned I knew how to drive a tractor before I learned how to parallel park. Some laughed when I said I had never had store-bought eggs until I was a teenager. Others assumed I was politically conservative, uneducated, or even backwards—based solely on my rural roots.

It didn’t matter that I graduated with honors. Or that I could debate philosophy just as easily as I could discuss soil pH. Or that my sense of the world had been shaped by watching nature’s rhythms, by understanding what it meant to be responsible for the land and the life on it.

Still, the stereotypes stuck.

What they didn’t see were the long days spent mending fences, hauling feed, tending animals. The quiet strength it takes to withstand a drought. The resilience it takes to rebuild after a storm flattens your family’s hard work. The deep, unwavering connection to place—and to purpose.

I’ve learned not to apologize for where I come from.

Because being a farmer’s daughter taught me values that can’t be bought or taught in a classroom. It gave me a deep respect for labor, a love for the land, and a sense of grit I carry into every aspect of my life. I can run a meeting and muck a stall. I can wear heels or work boots—and know when each is needed.

And maybe that’s the part that unsettles some people. That my story doesn’t fit into their expectations. That I refuse to be boxed in by someone else’s definition of “success” or “worth.”

So let them underestimate me. Let them make assumptions.

I’ll just keep proving them wrong—like farmers do, season after season.