From the outside, it looked like resilience.
A working farm.
Nine children still laughing.
Two ex-partners calmly sharing Christmas under the same Yorkshire sky.
But behind the stone walls of Ravenseat Farm, Amanda Owen was quietly unravelling.
Now, for the first time, the woman Britain knows as the Yorkshire Shepherdess has revealed the devastating truth about the months following her split from husband Clive Owen — a period marked not by liberation, but by physical collapse, fear for her life, and a hidden eating disorder that left her family deeply alarmed.
A Separation That Looked Calm — But Wasn’t
When Amanda, 51, and Clive, 70, announced the end of their 22-year marriage in 2022, they presented a united front. They continued to run Ravenseat together, co-parented their nine children, and carried on filming — first Our Yorkshire Farm, now Our Farm Next Door.
Amanda moved into a nearby cottage.
Clive stayed in the farmhouse.
The children drifted freely between both homes.
To viewers, it appeared practical. Almost peaceful.
It wasn’t.
“I Just Shut Down”
In a candid new interview, Amanda describes the aftermath of the split as “cataclysmic.”
“I just shut down,” she admits.
“Physical and mental health are completely intertwined — and anxiety, depression, paranoia, agoraphobia and an eating disorder all became one.”
The emotional collapse was compounded by relentless public scrutiny and the breakdown of a brief later relationship, which she says intensified the sense of being watched — and judged.
As her weight dropped rapidly, online abuse followed.
“I was called a ‘bag of bones’,” she says quietly.
“I still get trolled. Edith deletes a lot of it for me.”
Some nights, the pressure became unbearable.
“I remember sitting in the sheep pens in the dark, hiding,” she recalls.
“It’s like having a post-mortem before you’re dead.”
The Night Everything Turned Dangerous
The situation soon became far more serious than exhaustion or heartbreak.
Amanda recalls suffering a swallowing disorder — and one terrifying Valentine’s night when she suddenly began vomiting blood.
“It was absolutely frightening,” she says.
On another occasion, she collapsed while out gathering sheep and had to be rescued by family members. Hospital visits became frequent.
Clive, watching from the sidelines, feared the worst.
“It was the scariest time,” he admits.
“There were nights I worried I wouldn’t see her the next morning.”
Living Apart — But Healing Together
Today, something has shifted.
The tension that once filled the farm has eased. Amanda and Clive now tease, bicker and laugh like a seasoned double act — a dynamic viewers once adored, now rebuilt on distance rather than dependency.
“Having space has been a blessing,” Amanda explains.
“Before, we lived together, worked together, raised the kids together — everything overlapped.”
Clive agrees.
“I think we actually get on better now,” he says — adding that separation has even forced him to learn how to cook.
They still share daily routines, meals, and farm work.
“It wouldn’t work if we did handovers at McDonald’s,” Amanda jokes.
The Children at the Centre of Everything
Their nine children — from eldest Raven, 24, to youngest Nancy, nine — remain the core of every decision.
Some have already forged their own paths. Others juggle school, work and farm life. All, Amanda says, were deeply affected by watching their mother struggle — even when she tried to hide it.
“They’re resilient,” she says. “But they saw more than I ever wanted them to.”
A Fragile Recovery — And a Hard-Won Calm
Amanda is careful not to romanticise recovery.
“I’m not fixed,” she says.
“I still wobble. But I’ve turned a corner.”
With medical support, she believes she is finally out of immediate danger — stronger, clearer, and learning to protect herself from the noise that once overwhelmed her.
“The lack of control over what would be written next made me ill,” she admits.
“It got into my head — and my body followed.”
Christmas at Ravenseat
This Christmas will be chaotic, imperfect, and deeply familiar.
The animals will be fed first.
Seats will be improvised — a washing basket here, a milk churn there.
Someone will forget something essential.
And that, Amanda says, is exactly the point.
“When the kids remember Christmas, it’s never about presents,” she smiles.
“It’s about the disasters. The frozen pipes. The stories.”
As for Amanda and Clive?
“No, we won’t stop bickering,” she laughs.
“If we ever do — something’s very wrong.”
After the darkest chapter of her life, the Yorkshire Shepherdess is still standing.
Not untouched.
Not unchanged.
But here — and finally telling the truth.
