It's Okay To Admit You're Not Okay

How many times do we ask someone in a day, “How are you?” What response do we get 99% of the time--”I’m fine.” I’m sure many of you understand how tiring it is to act okay and always be strong when in reality, you’re close to the edge and ready to jump.

Admitting you’re not okay is very different than whining about all the things that have gone wrong in your life. Pretending everything’s okay will rarely allow you to make a serious admission that you’re aren’t okay.

Most of us wait too long to admit we’re not okay. Pretending drains us of our energy.

Eventually, some of us learn to be real and admit we’re not okay, but by that time, we’re old. Our hair has fallen out. We lost more teeth. We’ve lost our eye site. Our hearing is gone. Our joints hurt, and we shuffle our feet.

In our old age, hopefully, we see how foolish it was to pretend our entire life that we’re okay. We begin to see so much about life that wasn’t okay.

When we reach this point, however, we can start to be real, and the inner beauty of who we are can be developed.

But until then, it seems natural for us to feel the need to tell everyone we’re okay.

My mouth says, “I’m good.”
My fingers text, “I’m fine.”
But my heart says, “I’m not okay.”

What is it that makes it so hard to admit we’re not okay when we know most of the world is also not okay? We all have troubles that take us to hard places. Yet, we want everyone to think we’re fine and dandy.

Have you ever wished when you said, “I’m okay” that someone would look you in the eyes, hug you and say, “I know you’re not.” I have.

Instead of admitting that I wasn’t okay, I wished someone would notice how much I hurt. No one noticed because I had mastered the art of pretending.

Our need for things to be perfect and okay here on planet earth is in our DNA.

It starts with the story of Adam and Eve. They lived in a perfect world, and they messed up. They went from a lush green, beautiful garden to a garden out of control with weeds.

Life would never be the way it was for them.

Since that time, I believe we’ve passed the longing for things to be perfect on in our DNA. We pretend everything is okay even when it isn’t.

We have a longing for the day when everything wrong will be made right.

Twice in my life, when I was at an all-time low, feeling like I couldn’t take another step forward, someone asked me the question, “Are you really okay?”

The first time was after five long years of telling people I was just fine. I made everyone believe that what they saw was the real me. I went to church every Sunday and sang with my sisters as a trio.

I did anything that needed done and helped my friends or neighbors in need.

My emotional baggage was so heavy that I was nothing but a shell, and yet I smiled at everyone I met. I was not okay, but even I didn’t know how sick I was.

One morning I got a call from my brother, Chub, and before he hung up, he asked the question, “How are you doing?”

My autopilot response came out,” I’m doing fine.”

But then he said, “Are you really doing okay?”

I erupted into a puddle of tears and got completely weak. My mind went wild with the thought he may know what’s going on in my life. I nearly had a panic attack afraid somehow he knew all about my dark life. I really didn’t know how to answer, and he stayed silent on the other end of the line.

Then he told me his heart was heavy for me. He felt like there was something wrong, and he was praying for me.

All I could say at that moment was, “No, I’m not okay.”

With that tiny confession, I knew I answered honestly for the first time in five years. It was telling the truth that gave me small relief. Truth impacts us and often brings relief.

The second time someone caught me in my pretentious response was in the early years of Auntie Anne’s. My pastor would often come by the office to check-in and deliver encouraging words.

During one such visit, he asked me how I was doing.

Again, on auto-pilot, I said, “I’m doing fine.”

He must’ve seen the look of concern on my face. Maybe my body language was his clue because clearly, I was at my wit’s end.

Isn’t it funny how when you tell people you’re fine, and you’re not, they know you’re lying?

He leaned in toward me, looked me square in the eyes, and asked, “How is Anne Beiler doing?”

It was another one of those moments when I felt compelled to tell him the truth that I wasn’t okay.

I was at an all-time low with no energy left. I couldn’t build another store, do one more store visit, or keep growing the company.

Because of his persistence that day and my honest answer, he was able to encourage me with the truth about who I am and how I can move forward by changing my mode of operation. He gave me great advice, which was the beginning of a new way of leadership for me.

There are advantages to being honest about how you are really doing. Honesty creates open doors to a better life and a more healthy you.

It’s okay to admit you’re not okay. When you do, people have the permission to dig a little deeper and give you encouragement that otherwise you would never receive.

Tell the truth, and the result may surprise you.

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