Psychology says people who keep their struggles private aren't being dishonest - they've learned that most people ask because social protocol requires it, not because they can actually hold space for the answer

"How are you doing?"

You pause, smile, and say "Fine, thanks." Even though you're drowning in stress, dealing with family drama, or barely holding it together at work.

Sound familiar?

We've all been there. That moment when someone asks about our life, and we instinctively give the sanitized version. The socially acceptable response. The one that doesn't make anyone uncomfortable.

For years, I felt guilty about this. I thought I was being fake or dishonest by not sharing my real struggles when people asked. But here's what I've come to understand: keeping your struggles private isn't about deception. It's about recognizing a fundamental truth about human interaction that most of us don't want to admit.

Most people ask how you're doing because it's what we're supposed to do. It's social lubricant, not an invitation for vulnerability.

The uncomfortable truth about "checking in"

Think about the last time you asked someone how they were doing. Were you genuinely prepared for them to unload their deepest fears and current struggles? Or were you hoping for a quick "good, you?" so you could move on with your day?

I spent my mid-20s feeling lost and anxious, constantly worrying about the future while regretting the past. During that time, I'd have dozens of these surface-level exchanges every week. People would ask how I was, and I'd say fine. They'd move on, relieved. I'd move on, feeling isolated.

But here's what changed my perspective: I started paying attention to what happened when I actually did share something real. The awkward silence. The quick subject change. The generic advice that showed they weren't really listening.

Amit Kumar, Assistant Professor of Marketing and Psychology at the University of Texas at Austin, notes that "People are more likely to keep information secret if they expect to be judged harshly."

But it's not just about judgment. It's about capacity. Most people simply don't have the emotional bandwidth to hold space for your pain while dealing with their own.

Why we learned to keep quiet

Remember being a kid and excitedly telling an adult about your day, only to watch their eyes glaze over? That was your first lesson in emotional economics. Not everyone who asks wants the real answer.

We learn through repeated experiences that vulnerability often leads to disappointment. Someone asks about your struggles, you open up, and then they either minimize your experience ("It could be worse"), offer unsolicited advice ("Have you tried yoga?"), or make it about themselves ("That reminds me of when I...").

Einav Hart, author of 'The interpersonal costs of revealing others' secrets', found that "People often keep relevant information secret from others." This isn't pathological. It's adaptive. We've learned through trial and error who can actually hold our truth and who's just making conversation.

In my book, Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego, I explore how Buddhist philosophy teaches us about the nature of suffering and attachment. One key insight? Not everyone needs to witness your journey through suffering. Some paths are meant to be walked alone.

The difference between privacy and isolation

Keeping your struggles private doesn't mean suffering in silence. It means being selective about who gets access to your inner world.

There's a massive difference between having no one to talk to and choosing not to talk to everyone. The first is isolation. The second is boundaries.

I've learned to identify my "real" people. The ones who ask "How are you?" and then sit down, make eye contact, and wait. The ones who can handle the messy truth without trying to fix it immediately. These people are rare. Maybe you have two or three in your entire life if you're lucky.

Everyone else gets the abbreviated version, and that's perfectly okay. You're not lying to them. You're recognizing the limits of your relationship and respecting both your energy and theirs.

Social protocol vs. genuine care

We live in a world of performative concern. Social media has trained us to broadcast support without actually providing it. We comment "Thinking of you!" on someone's post about their struggles, then scroll on without a second thought.

This isn't necessarily malicious. It's just how we've evolved to handle the overwhelming amount of information and emotion we're exposed to daily. We can't deeply care about everyone's problems. We'd burn out in a week.

Soo Kim, author of 'Reminder avoidance: Why people hesitate to disclose their insecurities to friends', discovered that "People are less likely to disclose personal insecurities to friends, even though they typically prefer friends as an audience for self-disclosure."

Why? Because we've learned that even friendship has its limits. Even people who care about us have their own struggles, their own capacity limits, their own stuff they're dealing with.

The power of selective vulnerability

Here's what I wish someone had told me earlier: Your struggles are not a burden to be distributed equally among everyone you meet. They're precious, vulnerable parts of you that deserve to be shared only with those who've earned the privilege.

When you stop feeling obligated to be transparent with everyone who asks, something interesting happens. You start to value your own emotional experience more. You stop seeking validation from people who can't provide it. You develop a stronger internal compass.

I used to think that keeping things private meant I was closed off or damaged. Now I realize it's actually a form of self-respect. You're acknowledging that your struggles are significant enough to deserve proper holding, not just casual handling.

Think about it this way: Would you hand your most valuable possession to everyone who expressed mild interest in it? Of course not. So why do we feel guilty for not handing over our most vulnerable moments to anyone who performs the social ritual of asking?

Finding your real holders

So how do you identify the people who genuinely want to hold space for your truth versus those who are just following social scripts?

Watch what happens when you share something small but real. Do they lean in or pull back? Do they ask follow-up questions or change the subject? Do they remember what you told them the next time you talk?

Real holders of space don't try to silver-line your struggles. They don't immediately jump to solutions. They sit with you in the discomfort. They say things like "That sounds really hard" instead of "Everything happens for a reason."

These people are rare. When you find them, treasure them. And when you don't find them in certain spaces, don't feel guilty for keeping your struggles to yourself.

Final words

The next time someone asks how you're doing and you respond with "Fine," even though you're not, don't beat yourself up. You're not being dishonest. You're being discerning.

You've learned through experience that most people ask because that's what we do, not because they have the capacity to hold your truth. And that's not cynical. It's realistic.

Your struggles are yours to share when, how, and with whom you choose. The people who deserve to know will make it clear through their actions, not just their words. They'll create space for your truth without you having to force it open.

Until then, "Fine, thanks" is a complete sentence. And sometimes, it's the most honest thing you can say.