The time i pretended everything was fine (And why i don’t do that anymore)

Now, I’m not out here trying to be your therapist. But if I’ve learned anything from my life being a low-budget soap opera, it’s what not to do.

Like this one.

It wasn’t that long ago. I was living life as the human version of “100 tabs open, 3 frozen, and I don’t know where the music is coming from.” I had taken on too many things, tried to excel at all of them, and in the process, completely lost touch with my own life.

From the outside, my life looked like an Instagram highlight reel—the kind people scroll through and think, damn, she’s got it together.

But behind the filters? I was skipping meals, dodging phone calls, and gaslighting myself into believing that my “goals” weren’t slowly eating me alive.

Did I talk to anyone? Of course not. I smiled, I nodded, and I said, “I’m fine.”

Why do we all do this?

Maybe it’s the fear of being seen as “too much.” Or maybe it’s the sneaky belief that no one will really get it. Because honestly? Half the time, we don’t get it either.

There’s this weird guilt that comes with sadness when your life doesn’t look like a mess.
Like—how dare I feel low when I have a roof over my head and people who love me?

So, we keep pushing. We tell ourselves it’s just a rough patch. That we’re being dramatic. That we should be grateful.

We force ourselves to feel fine on the inside too—like we can manifest mental stability if we just act chill long enough.

The more I told myself that giving up wasn’t an option—
That I took this on, so I must see it through—
The more exhausted I got.

I didn’t want to feel anything. Not joy, not sadness, not even meh. And guess what I called it?

A coping mechanism. (Spoiler: it wasn’t.)

Plot twist time.

I was so focused on avoiding pain that I didn’t realize I was also avoiding joy. I’d become an emotional minimalist—decluttering feelings like they were old clothes I no longer wore.

At some point, even a single phone call drained me completely. That was the moment. The one that made it crystal clear how unhealthy my obsession with hiding my pain had become.

I wasn’t just lying to others when I said “I’m fine.” I was lying to myself.

And that helps absolutely no one.

Now, I wish I could tell you I had some grand, dramatic breakdown with background music and cinematic lighting.

But nope. It happened on a random Tuesday. And honestly? It started as a joke.

I told my best friends I wasn’t okay. That things were spiraling. That I didn’t like who I was becoming. They didn’t try to fix it. They didn’t hit me with a motivational quote or offer unsolicited advice.

They just sat with me. And it was enough.

I was scared. Scared of being judged. Of being seen as weak. Of being “that friend” who’s always going through something.

But I wasn’t judged. And you know what?

Literally everyone you know has, at some point, taken a deep breath before smiling, nodding, and saying, “I’m fine.”

We’re all just trying to hold it together with vibes and coffee.

Talking about the fact that I wasn’t fine changed everything.

It helped me realize I wasn’t the only one. That so many people around me were also secretly falling apart, holding it together with duct tape and denial.

And they had stories. Advice. Experience. They got it.

True strength doesn’t come from being silent. It comes from being honest with yourself. It comes from checking in—not just on your to-do list, but on your brain and heart.

And on the days when you can’t do that for yourself, it’s okay to let someone else do it for you.

These days, I don’t say “I’m fine” unless I mean it. If I’m not okay, I don’t force a smile. I don’t nod politely. I don’t shrink my pain to make others comfortable.

Because pretending doesn’t protect you. It isolates you. And I deserve better than that.
So do you.

So, if you’re pretending right now—faking that smile, downplaying your burnout, laughing off your sadness—I see you. And I promise: it’s okay to not be okay. It’s human.

And you’re allowed to fall apart sometimes—just don’t forget to let someone sit with you while you do.