‘How are you?’
‘Good, how are you?’
‘Good, thanks.’
We’ve all had that conversation. Probably today, and probably more than once.
It rolls off the tongue like clockwork, a memorised vocal pattern, a default setting. But I’ve been pondering lately, what does that actually mean? What are we even saying?
Because, more often than not, we’re not really good. We’re tired. We’re anxious. We’re overwhelmed. We’re heartbroken. We’re numb. And sometimes, we’re barely holding it together at all. But still, we say, ‘Good, thanks.’
It’s small talk, aye. It’s just something to say when we greet people. But what happens if we answer honestly? Like, really honestly.
“How are you?”
“Not great, aye. I’ve been super depressed lately. I’m having some dark thoughts. Feeling like my life isn’t worth much right now.”
It’s not normal to say that, right? And most people wouldn’t know how to respond – unless they work in a field where they’ve been trained to. You might see the awkward shuffle, the panicked look, the quick change of subject because society doesn’t prepare us for raw truth. We’re conditioned to keep things light. Keep the energy high and maintain a positive vibe.
I’m not saying we need to trauma-dump on every stranger who asks us how we are. I’m not even saying we should crack ourselves wide open at every opportunity. But I am questioning why the norm is to mask and minimise, and why we’re so uncomfortable with being real or with someone else being honest.
It’s no wonder so many people struggling with mental health feel like they can’t open up. Like they’ll be met with silence, confusion, or worse – a change of subject. All of that would add to the weight they’re already carrying.
We’ve created a culture where people feel like a burden for being human.
And part of the issue, I reckon, is that we’re not taught how to hold space for discomfort. We don’t learn how to respond to someone who’s hurting. Not in school. Not in most homes. Unless you’ve had first-hand experience with a loved one, work in social services, mental health or a similar field, chances are no one’s ever taught you what to say or even that it’s okay to sit in silence with someone.
But imagine if we did learn. Suppose we were taught trauma-informed, culturally sensitive ways to respond. Suppose holding space for others wasn’t seen as a job for professionals only but a part of being a decent, compassionate human. Imagine if it was normal to check in beyond the surface and to mean it.
I know there are times and places where it’s not appropriate to unravel. Vibe is a real thing, and sometimes it is safer or smarter to hold it together. But that doesn’t mean the default always has to be ‘I’m fine.’ Bottling it all up, that’s not healthy either.
So, how do we find the balance? Between being real and protecting our peace? Between sharing and oversharing? I don’t have all the answers. But I think it starts with us becoming more comfortable with honesty and not shying away when someone else shows us theirs. Maybe we don’t need to offer solutions or fix everything. Perhaps just being there is enough.
So, next time someone asks, ‘How are you?’ maybe pause before answering. Perhaps we ask ourselves, How am I really? And if we have the space to answer honestly, we probably should. And if someone answers us with something tangible, maybe we choose to stay with them in it.
We’re only human after all.
Shanlivvy 