“I’m Fine”: The Hidden Weight of Pretending Everything’s Okay
When we mask our pain to appear “together,” we isolate ourselves from the very connection we crave. Here’s why being honest about not being okay can be one of the most healing things we do — for ourselves and for others.
The Story That Sparked This Reflection
I recently listened to a podcast episode featuring a woman who shared her near-death experience (NDE). While her transition beyond the veil was fascinating — rapid, effortless, and full of peace — what struck me most was what she shared about the 20 years leading up to it.
She spoke of walking through life while feeling dead inside. After her husband’s suicide, she spiraled into a deep, prolonged grief — an emotional emptiness that lasted two decades. Yet, no one knew. She showed up to dinner parties. She hosted events. She said she was fine. But inside, she was barely holding on.
That image — of a woman hurting for 20 years in silence — stayed with me. Not because it’s shocking, but because it’s familiar.
How Long Do We Pretend?
Pretending you’re okay when you’re not becomes second nature when vulnerability feels unsafe. I’ve done it. I’ve shown up to social gatherings moments after crying, only to smile and talk as if everything were normal.
Not because I wanted to lie — but because I didn’t feel I had permission to tell the truth. I worried I’d scare people off. That I’d be too much. That my family would think I was lost or “off track” or, worse, embarrassing.
The Mask We Wear — And Why It’s So Exhausting
What we often fail to realize is how much energy masking takes. The emotional labor of appearing fine when we’re crumbling quietly inside drains us more than the actual pain we’re trying to hide.
During a particularly difficult time in my life — a period of career transition, spiritual upheaval, and identity loss — I kept going. I worked. I taught yoga. I smiled. I posted online. But inside, I was afraid.
Afraid of being misunderstood. Afraid of judgment. Afraid of disappointing a family whose values, worldview, and priorities no longer aligned with mine. I had chosen joy and healing over status and stability — but that choice often left me isolated, even as I tried to integrate all that I had learned from years of deep spiritual exploration.
Spiritual Highs, Earthly Lows
After my awakening around 2020, I dove deep into spiritual work — yoga, Reiki, hypnosis, energy healing. I left behind a former path rooted in Western science and medicine, and for a time, I felt deeply connected to Source.
But awakenings don’t last forever — not the high, anyway. What follows is integration. And that’s the gritty, unglamorous part no one talks about. The coming back down to earth. The “what now?”
For me, that meant building a new life from scratch in my late 20s and early 30s, letting go of old identities, choosing paths that felt aligned but uncertain, and coping with the silence of those who didn’t understand.
When You Work with Children, You Can’t Fake It
Teaching yoga to kids during that time turned out to be a gift — and a mirror. Children feel everything. When I wasn’t well, they felt it. Their reactions reflected my state back to me in real time.
This meant I had to take care of myself. I had to regulate my energy. I couldn’t fake my way through a class. In many ways, those little humans called me into honesty — even if I wasn’t ready to be honest with the adults in my life.
What I Wish I Had Said
Looking back, I don’t regret the choices I made — to follow joy, to leave a safe career, to start over. But I do wish I had let more people in.
I wish I had had the courage to say: It’s a hard time right now.
Not to unload or dwell in misery — but to be real. To give myself the gift of being seen as I was, not as I thought I needed to appear.
The Fear of Rejection and the Cost of Silence
I was afraid of what my family would think — of the spiritual things I was saying online, of the career path I chose, of the unorthodox life I was living. And that fear — of rejection, of not belonging — silenced me.
But silence doesn’t keep us safe. It keeps us alone.
We all want to belong. We want to be accepted for who we truly are. But belonging is impossible if we never reveal ourselves.
A Different Kind of Strength
The woman in the podcast said something else that stuck with me: when she finally went through something truly difficult — the NDE — the people who had been through their own pain showed up for her.
Those who had known darkness knew how to hold space. They didn’t try to fix her. They didn’t rush her process. They simply sat with her in it.
That’s the kind of person I want to be. And that’s the kind of support I want to offer.
But we can’t become that person unless we first let ourselves be held. Unless we stop pretending.
You Don’t Owe Anyone a Performance
The truth is, you don’t have to “be okay” all the time. You don’t owe anyone a performance. Not your friends. Not your coworkers. Not even your family.
And while it may not always be appropriate to open up in every space — or with every person — there’s power in choosing someone, somewhere, to tell the truth.
Even if that someone is just yourself.
Final Thoughts: What If We Were Just Honest?
What if we normalized saying:
“I’m going through something right now.”
“I don’t have the energy today.”
“I’m struggling, but I’m working on it.”
What if we stopped thinking that admitting we’re not okay is a sign of failure — and started seeing it as a sign of bravery?
Because the truth is, the mask helps no one. But your honesty? That might just be what gives someone else permission to take off theirs too.
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