top of page

Strong on the Outside, Struggling on the Inside: The Lie Behind "I'm Fine"

“I’m fine.” It’s one of the most common answers we give when someone asks, “How are you?” Two simple words, said without a second thought, almost like a muscle reflex, meant to wrap up a conversation before it even begins. It’s polite, non-threatening, and convenient. But very often, it’s a lie. A well-rehearsed script we pull out when the truth feels too heavy to say out loud. Beneath that small phrase can sit a world of pain, confusion, exhaustion, grief, or fear. And what makes it so dangerous is how ordinary it sounds. No one blinks when you say it. No one suspects you’re quietly crumbling.


ree

Saying “I’m fine” has become a reflex. We say it without thinking, without checking in with ourselves, without really asking if we are fine. It’s a default setting in a culture that has long prioritized composure over honesty. From childhood, many of us are taught not to make a fuss, not to cry in public, not to burden others with our emotions. Vulnerability is framed as weakness, and asking for help as something to be ashamed of. And so we grow up learning to swallow our feelings and wrap them in a tidy, socially acceptable phrase. “I’m fine” becomes armour.


For some, it’s a defense mechanism, used to protect themselves from judgment, rejection, or discomfort. For others, it’s a way of protecting those around them. Saying “I’m fine” can feel easier than explaining what’s really going on. Because how do you even begin to describe the weight of anxiety that never leaves your chest, or the loneliness that lingers even when the room is full? How do you put words to the numbness that’s taken over, the constant exhaustion that sleep can’t fix, the sadness that keeps knocking even when nothing is “technically wrong”?


It’s not always that people want to lie. It’s just that they don’t always feel safe enough to tell the truth. Many who say they’re fine don’t want to be seen as dramatic or too emotional. They don’t want to appear ungrateful or incompetent. Or worse - they’ve convinced themselves that what they’re feeling isn’t valid, that other people have it worse, so they should just “deal with it.” They’ve learned to downplay their struggles because they were never met with empathy when they expressed them. Maybe they were told they were overreacting. Maybe they were ignored. Maybe they were met with silence or awkwardness. Eventually, they stopped trying.


One of the most painful things about mental health struggles is how invisible they can be. People who are suffering don’t always look the way we expect. They might be laughing at jokes, posting smiling photos, showing up to work, ticking off tasks, meeting deadlines. High-functioning depression and anxiety are real, and exhausting. When someone is determined not to “let it show,” they may perform normalcy so convincingly that no one suspects anything is wrong. Which only deepens the isolation. Because when you’re hurting but no one sees it, it starts to feel like maybe your pain doesn’t matter.


The people who say “I’m fine” the most are often the ones who carry the most. They’re the ones who check in on others but rarely get asked how they are. The ones who show up, who give, who stay strong for everyone else. They’re seen as dependable, grounded, and unshakeable. But behind that strength can lie an intense fear of vulnerability. Many have grown up in homes or cultures where emotional needs were ignored, ridiculed, or punished. So they learned to suppress, to smile through it, to stay quiet. They built a wall around their feelings and learned to live within it. But even the strongest walls crack eventually. Emotional suppression takes a toll - on the body, the mind, and the soul. It can lead to chronic stress, burnout, disconnection, and a sense of emotional numbness. Over time, people who habitually say “I’m fine” can lose touch with their own emotional landscape. They might stop recognizing what they’re really feeling altogether. Everything gets flattened. They don’t feel joy, or sadness, or anger. Just… blank. This emotional disconnection can be a quiet kind of suffering, one that’s hard to describe and harder still to admit.


So what can we do about it? It starts with awareness. With noticing the moments when “I’m fine” slips out, and gently asking ourselves, Is that true? It means creating the kind of relationships where honesty is safe - where someone can say, “Actually, I’m not doing great,” and be met with empathy instead of discomfort. It means learning to hold space for each other’s messy, complicated truths without rushing to fix or judge. Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is simply listen and say, “That sounds really hard. I’m here.” And it also means checking in on the people who seem the most okay. The ones who are always composed, always helpful, always strong. Don’t just ask how they are - ask twice. Ask in a way that tells them you really want to know. Pay attention to the silences between words, to the pauses, to the subtle shifts in tone or energy. Learn to hear what isn’t being said.


If you’re someone who says “I’m fine” a lot, it might be time to start getting curious about what’s underneath it. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s sadness that you haven’t let yourself feel. Whatever it is, it’s valid. You don’t have to carry it alone. There is strength in vulnerability, and power in being seen. Opening up doesn’t make you a burden, it makes you human.


In a world that often values strength over softness, we need to remember that real strength lies in honesty. In being able to say, “I’m not okay right now,” and trusting that someone will hear you. The next time you hear yourself say “I’m fine,” pause. Ask yourself what you really need. And if you can, say something a little truer. You deserve to be heard, even when your voice shakes. Especially then.


Written by: Vedica Podar



December, 2025

 
 
bottom of page