The silent toll of saying "I'm fine" when you're really not

"I'm fine."

For years, those two words were my automatic response to pretty much everything. Bad day at work? I'm fine. Feeling overwhelmed? I'm fine. Going through something difficult? You guessed it: I'm fine.

Looking back, I think I said it so often that I'd almost convinced myself it was true. Almost.

But here's what I've learned: those two little words can become a prison. Every time we say we're fine when we're not, we're building a wall between ourselves and the help, connection, and relief we actually need. And the cost? It's higher than most of us realize.

The weight of pretending everything's okay

You know that feeling when someone asks how you are, and you automatically chirp "Great!" even though you barely slept last night worrying about that work presentation? That's the weight I'm talking about.

When I hit burnout at 36, I finally understood what carrying that weight had done to me. I'd spent so many years maintaining this facade of having it all together that I'd forgotten what it felt like to be honest about my struggles. My therapist asked me a simple question during one of our early sessions: "When was the last time you told someone you weren't okay?"

I couldn't remember.

Think about that for a moment. How often do you give yourself permission to not be fine? In my experience, most of us treat admitting struggle like it's some kind of failure. We've internalized this idea that being strong means never showing cracks.

But those cracks don't disappear just because we hide them. They grow wider in the dark.

Why we keep saying it

So why do we do this to ourselves? Why is "I'm fine" our go-to response even when we're drowning?

Part of it comes from how we're raised. As a former "gifted child," I learned early that being low-maintenance was part of being good. Don't make waves. Don't burden others. Handle your problems quietly and efficiently. Sound familiar?

I had a boss once who embodied this perfectly. She was tough as nails, never showed weakness, and expected the same from everyone else. She'd internalized this message that to succeed as a woman in business, you had to be tougher than any man in the room. No emotions allowed.

Watching her taught me something crucial: the pressure to always be fine isn't just personal. It's cultural. We live in a world that rewards those who appear unshakeable and questions the competence of anyone who admits to struggling.

There's also the fear factor. What if we tell someone we're not okay and they can't handle it? What if they think less of us? What if they use our vulnerability against us?

These fears aren't completely unfounded. Not everyone deserves access to our struggles. But when fear becomes our default setting, we end up isolating ourselves from the very support we need.

The hidden costs of chronic "fineness"

Here's what nobody tells you about constantly saying you're fine: your body keeps score even when your mouth lies.

Remember those stress headaches that become your normal? The tension in your shoulders you don't even notice anymore? The way your jaw clenches without you realizing it? That's your body trying to tell you what your words won't.

I spent years dealing with what I thought were random health issues. Insomnia, digestive problems, fatigue. It wasn't until later that I connected the dots. My body was screaming what I wouldn't let myself say: I am not fine.

But the physical toll is just part of it. There's also the emotional exhaustion of maintaining the act. It takes tremendous energy to pretend everything's okay when it's not. Energy you could be using for actual healing and growth.

And then there's the relationship cost. When we're never honest about our struggles, we rob others of the chance to truly know us. We create these sanitized versions of ourselves that look good on paper but feel hollow in real life.

Breaking the pattern

So how do we stop? How do we break free from the automatic "I'm fine" response?

Start small. You don't have to bare your soul to everyone who asks how you are. But maybe with one trusted person, you try being honest. "Actually, today's been rough." See what happens.

In my experience, the world doesn't end. In fact, something magical often occurs: connection. Real, authentic, human connection.

I've learned to distinguish between being vulnerable and being vulnerable to harm. They're not the same thing. Being vulnerable means choosing to share your truth with people who've earned the right to hear it. Being vulnerable to harm means exposing yourself to people who haven't proven themselves safe.

Practice checking in with yourself before you automatically say you're fine. Take a breath. How are you really? Even if you choose not to share it, acknowledging your truth to yourself matters.

Consider who you're protecting when you say you're fine. Is it really about not burdening others, or is it about protecting yourself from judgment? Sometimes it's both, and that's okay. But knowing the difference helps you make more conscious choices.

The power of not being fine

Here's what I've discovered: there's incredible power in admitting you're not okay.

It gives others permission to drop their masks too. I can't count the number of times someone has responded to my honesty with relief. "Thank God someone else feels this way."

It also opens doors to actual solutions. When we admit we're struggling, we can start addressing the real problems instead of just managing the symptoms. We can ask for help. We can make changes. We can heal.

Most importantly, it reconnects us with our humanity. We're not machines programmed to be perpetually fine. We're complex beings with a full range of emotions, and all of them are valid.

Finding your truth

The next time someone asks how you are, pause. Check in with yourself. You might still say "I'm fine," and that's okay. But let it be a choice, not a reflex.

Remember that your struggles don't make you weak. They make you human. And there's nothing more courageous than showing up as exactly who you are, especially when who you are is someone who's having a hard time.

We don't have to carry the weight of perpetual fineness. We can set it down. We can be honest. We can be real.

Because the truth is, none of us are fine all the time. And pretending we are is costing us more than we realize. It's costing us connection, authenticity, and the chance to truly heal.

So maybe it's time we try something different. Maybe it's time we tell the truth.