“How are you holding up?”
You know they mean it. You also know the answer they expect.
“I’m fine.”
They nod, perhaps with a little admiration. “I don’t know how you do it.”
You smile because you have no idea what else to do with that.
You are holding up. The things that need doing are getting done. You still return calls, remember appointments, and show up when you said you would. Nothing in your answer is easy to call a lie.
But when someone says they don’t know how you do it, you feel the space for an honest answer get smaller.
You could tell them you were frightened last night. You could say you stood in the kitchen unable to decide what to do next, though there were several things waiting. You could tell them that lately you have been doing what needs to be done without feeling quite present in your own life.
Instead, you ask how they are.
At first, being the one who is fine may have been something you needed. There were decisions to make, people depending on you, days when falling apart did not seem possible. You found that you could keep going. Other people saw it too.
Their confidence helped. It also began to ask something of you.
Now when you consider telling someone how hard it is, you can almost hear their surprise. You? I thought you were doing so well.
Maybe they would listen. Maybe the surprise is mostly yours. Either way, you find yourself protecting the version of you they know.
You do not want their pity. You do not want to become one more thing they worry about. You may not even know what you would ask them for. So you wait until you can explain yourself clearly, until what you feel sounds serious enough to mention, until you are sure you will not have to comfort them for hearing it.
That is a great deal to settle before answering a simple question.
And there are moments when you need the answer to be “fine.” You need to get through the conversation, the appointment, the rest of the day. No one is owed the whole truth every time they ask.
But if “fine” is the only answer you are allowed to give, even to the people you love, it starts to cost you something. They keep believing you are all right. You keep wishing someone could see that you aren’t.
The next time a person you trust asks, you may still not know how to tell them everything.
You could begin with one thing you don’t have to make sound better:
“I’m doing what needs to be done. It’s harder than I’ve let on.”
