The Loneliness of Being “Fine”

“How are you?”

We get asked this nearly every day by someone - could be a family member, a neighbor, a coworker, or a complete stranger. Some of us have a nearly identical answer no matter who asks us.

I had a colleague who would almost always answer “living the dream!” whenever I asked her how she was doing. I never knew whether that was what she really thought or if that response was a bit snarkier, with a note of sarcasm. I didn’t know her well enough to ask about the deeper meaning behind it; I just nodded and said, “Good to hear.”

This exchange was nearly the exact same every time. Kinda weird, eh? Considering she couldn’t have felt that way every time I asked, she just wanted to keep it to herself.

What do you say when someone asks you, “How are you?” Are you honest with them and tell them if you’re completely exhausted, curiously cranky, or ready to crawl back into bed if you could?

As for myself, my go-to is the standard “I’m fine,” without skipping a beat, to almost anyone who poses that question to me. When, honestly, there are so many days I’m anything BUT “just fine.” It’s just so much easier and faster to breeze through the conversation while quickly passing by each other that I rarely veer away from lying (not a big lie, more like a teeny tiny white lie).

Years ago, I started listening to a particular author/podcaster who changed my perspective on the automatic response I was guilty of giving. I had no idea at the time what a life-changing habit I would pick up from her. But it’s truly been transformative.

A few years ago, her world completely fell apart when her husband passed away from cancer. It was a truly devastating event that left her angry, crushed, heartbroken, mad, and every other emotion that comes along with the grieving process when you lose someone you love more than anything else in this world.

She, too, had taken the path of least resistance throughout her life whenever someone would ask how she was doing. She’d force a small smile and say “fine.” Again, it was just so much easier on her (and them) if she didn’t acknowledge how she was REALLY feeling and instead made her response simple: “Fine.” At a certain point in her grief, she didn’t want to just pretend everything was fine, because it honestly wasn’t.

“She decided it was better to be open about how she was feeling, normalizing the fact that she had every right to feel the way she did, no matter what that looked like in that moment.”

It was understandable why she would want to cover her head with a blanket at work and sob because of all she’d been through. And there was nothing wrong with expressing that to her closest colleagues. She put her own feelings on the table and showed others why it’s okay to feel any way and not feel bad about it.

Now, I won’t say that after listening to her for a year or two, I decided “good for her, I’m gonna do that too.” No, I kept telling everyone I was “fine,” slowly feeling more and more alone as I did so.

It honestly wasn’t until a few years ago that I was able to be slightly more truthful and say how I was feeling. I had gotten to the point where I was feeling incredibly lonely, sitting with my own feelings and telling everyone I was fine when nothing about me felt fine. My physical health, mental health, and even spiritual health were wonky.

My counselor encouraged me to express my feelings, name them, acknowledge them, and sit with them long enough to process why I was feeling that way. Not to feel guilty because of them. And to share with others, one baby step at a time, until I felt more comfortable.

So many of my friends answer the same way I used to: “Fine.” “Good.” “Busy.” Because I was on the other side with them until recently, I’ll ask more in-depth questions to see if they are willing to be more open.

I’m truly honored when someone shares what they’re really dealing with. It means they trust me and are willing to share a bit of their vulnerability with me. That’s one of the highest compliments a friend can give - to trust and share with me.

Something I hadn’t truly embraced in the past is the fact that so many of the people around me genuinely want to know how I’m doing - not just the canned response but honestly, truly how I’m doing because they care about me.

I’ve learned that being honest about how we’re doing doesn’t need to create discomfort on either side. Surprisingly, it creates a deeper connection.