Exploring the emotional exhaustion behind pretending we’re fine when we’re clearly not
There’s something exhausting about being the kind of person who always looks like they’ve got it together. That expectation, sometimes internal, sometimes projected of needing to show up, smile, function, and handle life like it’s all under control… even when inside it’s chaos. I’ve lived like that. Most of us have. But there’s a cost, and lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about that cost.
The mask we wear when we say “I’m fine”
It’s like we’ve been trained to say “I’m fine” on autopilot. Even when we’re nowhere near fine. We say it at work, in messages, on the phone, to friends, to strangers. It becomes a script. But inside, there’s a mess that no one sees. And maybe that’s the whole point we don’t let them see it. We hide behind routines, behind work, behind the role of being the one who holds it all together.
What’s wild is how easy it is to convince even ourselves. You wake up, drag yourself into your day, get things done, meet expectations, and somewhere in there you start believing that you’re managing. Until one little thing breaks the illusion. One comment, one moment, one Sunday afternoon where you’re suddenly crying and you’re not even sure why.
Pretending drains more than it protects
We think putting on a brave face protects us, but most of the time it just drains us. Holding back the tears at the wrong moment, staying quiet when all you want to do is scream, pretending to be okay when your body is heavy with sadness, it wears you out. And nobody sees the cost. They just see the “you” that you let them see. The version that’s socially acceptable, emotionally neat.
And that version might be surviving, but it’s not really living. It’s playing a role. And when you do that long enough, you start forgetting what it’s like to live from a real place. You lose track of your actual needs, your emotional rhythms, your softness. You become the performance.
Why do we keep pretending?
Because being honest is risky. Saying “I’m not okay” opens a door, and you can’t always control what walks through. It might be judgment. It might be someone pulling away. It might be silence. But there’s something else that can come through too, connection. Support. That moment of someone just sitting next to you in the dark and not asking you to get up. And that’s rare. But it’s worth risking for.
Also, let’s name it: a lot of us were raised in environments where emotions weren’t safe. Where crying was a weakness. Where you had to prove you could be strong, even when you were falling apart. So now, even when we’re older and know better, we still carry that blueprint inside us. And we follow it. Automatically. Until we don’t.
What it looks like to stop pretending
It’s not always dramatic. Sometimes it’s as simple as texting a friend, “Hey, I’m not doing great today.” Or saying no to a plan because your body’s asking for rest. Sometimes it’s sitting in the kitchen crying while you eat a biscuit because everything feels heavy. That’s honesty. That’s what not pretending looks like.
Letting yourself feel can be terrifying. But it’s also how we heal. It’s how we reconnect with who we are underneath the role we’ve been playing. And maybe, just maybe, it lets other people take off their masks too.
We deserve more than “I’m fine”
There’s nothing wrong with being a mess sometimes. We need to normalise that. You’re allowed to not know what’s going on with you. You’re allowed to cancel things. You’re allowed to not smile. You’re allowed to say, “I’m not okay.” And if someone can’t hold that, then maybe they’re not your people. Because the ones who matter? They’ll get it. They won’t ask you to be fine. They’ll just be with you in the not fine.
We’re all figuring it out. And we’re all carrying more than we show. So maybe we could stop trying so hard to seem fine, and start giving each other space to just be.