Let’s Be Honest: Sometimes “I’m Fine” Is Just a Lie We All Tell

what does it realy mean to be "fine" as an adult? Sometimes, grace is just quiet endurance dressed up in a smile

Sometimes I think the so-called “grace” between adults is just our last bit of unspoken understanding.

We don’t expose things, don’t admit we’re hurt, don’t make scenes.

We just smile and say, “It’s okay,” even when we’re barely holding it together.

The other day, a friend called and asked if I wanted to join her on a cruise to Europe next year. I smiled and said, “Sure, sounds great!”

But once I hung up, I went quiet.

If I really manage to pay off my mortgage by the end of this year, I’ll pretty much be left with nothing in my bank account.

But I couldn’t say that out loud.

I didn’t want her to think I was struggling. I didn’t want to ruin the excitement of the moment.

So I said yes with a smile, while secretly thinking — maybe next year I’ll skip upgrading my laptop.

That’s what grace looks like sometimes as an adult: a “yes” you can say out loud, and a quiet struggle you can’t.

To stay on top of my mortgage, I’ve been living pretty frugally. Every expense is calculated. But anytime a friend visits, I still insist on treating them to a nice meal, desserts, maybe even pack them that little cake they liked.

Not because I can afford it.

But because I can’t afford looking like I can’t.

A close friend of mine does the same. She buys $10 clothes for herself, but whenever there’s a group dinner, she fights to cover the bill.

One time I gently told her, “You don’t have to always pay. Let’s take turns.”

She smiled faintly and said, “It’s okay. I can afford it.”

I understood —

She couldn’t really afford it.

She just couldn’t afford the feeling of being seen as someone who couldn’t.

In the adult world, some kinds of grace aren’t backed by wealth. They’re held up by pride — and pressure.

Another friend of mine is dating a guy from New Zealand.

She barely spends on herself, wears the same clothes for years.

But every time he flies over from Australia, she covers everything — hotels, meals, trips.

I asked her, “Why? Shouldn’t he be treating you instead?”

She looked down and stayed quiet.

She knows.

She’s not dumb.

She just doesn’t want to lose him.

Sometimes, people bend over backwards, not because they don’t know better —

But because they’re more afraid of losing someone than losing money.

You see, this kind of “grace” isn’t really for yourself.

It’s for the other person.

Like an old friend of mine, who used to ask me to send her chocolates from the U.S.

Not just a box or two — two whole cases every year.

But she didn’t even eat them.

She handed them out as gifts, then bragged to others,

“My friend from America sends me these every year.”

She didn’t want the chocolates.

She wanted the attention.

She wanted the image of being someone worth envying.

Another friend, D, has a son who recently got married, but the marriage is already falling apart.

Her son developed depression from work stress, and now they’re on the verge of divorce.

She cries herself to sleep every night, but still posts sunshine selfies and coffee cups every morning, with captions like “grateful for gentle moments.”

Not once has she said, “Things aren’t great lately.”

She says it’s too embarrassing.

Too undignified.

So she stays silent.

Carries all the pain by herself, just to keep the appearance that

“her son is fine” and “everything’s normal.”

That’s the heartbreak of being an adult:

It’s not the breakdowns that destroy you — it’s the silence.

It’s not that we don’t want to cry.

It’s just that we know —

No one’s really there to catch the tears.

We think that if we just keep going, we won’t lose face.

We think pretending we’re okay is better than falling apart.

We’re not fake.

We’re just scared that if we say the truth,

Even our last bit of pride will fall apart.

So we all pretend we’re doing fine.

Pretend we’re not short on money.

Pretend we don’t need comfort.

Pretend we’re totally in control.

But truth is —

We get tired.

We feel small.

And sometimes we just want to take off this “graceful” mask and breathe.

We’ve just been taught too well:

“Don’t trouble others.”

And worse: “No one can really help you.”

If you’re like me —

Always smiling and saying, “I’m good,”

Please remember this:

Grace doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel exhausted.

And it doesn’t mean you can’t say, “I’m not okay.”

We fake strength just to survive another day.

But when it all hurts too much,

It’s okay to whisper to the dark —

“I’m just a regular person too. I just want someone to understand.”

We’ve got to learn, slowly, that we can’t live on appearances alone.

Even saying, “I’m tired,” softly, is a kind of kindness to yourself.

We can move slower.

Lower our guard.

Make a little room for softness.

Because the thing that keeps a person going

Isn’t toughness —

It’s that quiet moment

when someone truly sees you.

~Thank you for reading. I hope this piece met you where you are,quietly

~By @Lumi