I'm okay

When someone asks, How are you? the answer comes automatically, without hesitation, without thought. I’m okay. It’s a reflex, like breathing, like blinking. The words slip out so smoothly that even I almost believe them. I’m okay. I’m okay.

But the truth is, I don’t always know what “okay” is supposed to feel like. Is it the absence of sadness? The absence of exhaustion? The absence of those voices that press against the edges of my mind? Maybe “okay” is just a placeholder, a word that fits neatly into the space where the truth should go.

Because the truth is complicated. The truth is layered. Some days, the weight of everything is so heavy I can feel it in my bones. Some days, I disappear into work, into screens, into silence, just to keep from unraveling. Some days, I wake up feeling like I am watching my life happen from a distance, as if I were a bystander to my own existence. And yet, when someone asks, the answer remains the same. I’m okay.

Because what else is there to say? That I don’t know how to explain what’s wrong? That I don’t want to see the flicker of discomfort in their eyes when they realize they weren’t asking for the truth, just for a socially acceptable exchange? That I am afraid if I start explaining, I won’t be able to stop?

So I say it again. I’m okay. And they nod, satisfied. And I let them believe it. Because sometimes, pretending to be okay is the only way to get through the day.