The Secret Struggle: I Fell in Love with Being “Fine”

I’ve always been “fine.” Growing up in sunny Santa Barbara with reliably balmy weather and the kind of picturesque ocean views that seem plucked from a Visit California ad, “fine” was both my reality and my armor whenever life felt less-than-perfect. Tough day at school? “I’m fine.” Relationship on the rocks? “Totally fine.” Stressed about work, family, the meaning of life? “Fine, fine, fine.” Sliding that one little word across the emotional counter like loose change became my habit, my strategy, and, truthfully, my way of avoiding what I didn’t want to face.

But here’s the thing: being fine is like patching a leaky roof with duct tape. It might hold up for a while, but eventually the storm comes, and you’re left drenched, wondering why you didn’t make the effort to really fix things in the first place.

For me, my leaky roof moment came after a breakup. Actually, it wasn’t just “a breakup”—it was the breakup. The kind that leaves you listening to sad indie ballads, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the cruel irony of Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way.”

So, I did what any self-respecting 20-something raised among meditation studios and surf therapy retreats would do: I told everyone I was fine. And I marched on—or at least tried to—dragging my unresolved emotions behind me like a suitcase with a busted wheel.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that my relationship with “fine” wasn’t just affecting me; it was quietly sabotaging my ability to connect with others.

The Fine-Tuned Mask of “Fine”

If you’ve ever tried to emotionally speed through a breakup, you probably know the drill: you convince yourself (and others) you're fine, you post a picture of yourself at brunch to “prove it,” and you double down on distracting activities. Yoga, pottery class, a mysterious interest in hiking I hadn’t shown any enthusiasm for since undergrad—check, check, check.

On the surface, I had everything under control. Friends would say, “You’re handling this so well!” and I’d smile like I was a seasoned pro at emotional resilience. Internally, though? A mess. It felt like one of those iconic California sunsets—I looked serene from a distance, but storm clouds were brewing at the edges. And the more I insisted I was fine, the further I pushed away the people who might’ve actually helped me feel something real.

Looking back, it’s clear my allegiance to “fine” was rooted in fear—fear of admitting vulnerability, fear of looking weak, fear that if I really cracked, I might not stop falling apart. But as scary as those emotions felt, stuffing them down was worse. It was like trying to shove all your belongings into an overstuffed closet: you can crank the door closed, but sooner or later, it’s all coming crashing down. Spoiler alert: it did.

Getting Un-Fine: A Breakthrough in the Woods

My real turning point came during what I call my accidental therapy session in Big Sur. (This sounds dramatic, I know, but stay with me.) A couple of months after my breakup, my college friend Sam convinced me to join him on a weekend camping trip. I’m normally a sucker for idyllic views and the smell of coastal redwoods, but I was hesitant—being fine makes you very skilled at staying in your comfort zone, and spending 48 unplugged hours in remote nature felt like anything but fine.

Still, I went. Our second night there, sitting by the campfire with the ocean roaring in the distance, Sam asked, “Okay, man, what’s really going on?” And before my default “I’m good” could roll out of my mouth, something stopped me. Maybe it was the hushed reverence of Big Sur or the soothing crackle of pine logs burning, but for the first time in months, I let myself answer honestly.

“I’m... not fine.”

Three small words. It felt like exhaling after holding my breath underwater for too long. I started talking—about the breakup, about how lost I felt without the relationship I’d made part of my identity, about how pretending to be fine was exhausting. Sam didn’t fix me. He didn’t say anything revolutionary. He just listened. And that made all the difference.

Lessons from Leaning into Not-Fine

Let’s be clear: admitting you’re not fine doesn’t fix everything. My feelings didn’t magically evaporate after that fireside confessional, and I didn’t immediately find inner peace. But I did learn something invaluable: being honest with yourself—and with the people who care about you—is the first step to gaining real emotional clarity. Here’s what else that experience taught me:

  • You’re Allowed to Feel Broken. Life isn’t Instagram—it’s messy, emotional, and complicated. Pretending everything’s perfect just makes you lonelier in the long run. Trust me: feeling broken might be uncomfortable, but it’s temporary and human.

  • Vulnerability Isn’t Weakness. As someone raised in a world that valued outward perfection, admitting I wasn’t fine felt like admitting defeat. But the truth is, showing vulnerability isn’t losing; it’s opening a doorway to deeper trust and connection.

  • Your People Want to Show Up. Let Them. Before my Big Sur breakthrough, I didn’t realize how many people in my life genuinely wanted to help—but I wasn’t giving them the chance to. When you start reaching out, chances are the people who truly care about you will step up in ways that surprise and affirm you.

How to Break Up with “Fine”

If you, like me, have been clinging to “fine” for dear life, here are some practical tips to start loosening your grip:

  1. Practice Honest Check-Ins. The next time someone asks how you’re doing, pause. Take a beat to consider how you’re really feeling. And if you’re comfortable, let a trusted friend hear the honest version.

  2. Journal Like No One’s Watching. Writing out your feelings—unedited—can be terrifying but cathartic. It’s where you'll realize what’s eating at you beneath the “fine.”

  3. Start Small with Vulnerability. You don’t have to cry in front of everyone at brunch. Begin with tiny moments of authenticity, like admitting, “I’ve been having a rough week, actually,” and see where it leads.

  4. Seek Your Own Big Sur Moment. No, you don’t have to camp. But carving out space—whether in nature or somewhere quiet—to think and feel without distractions can be transformative.

From Fine to Full: Embracing Emotional Authenticity

Here’s the thing about “fine.” It’s safe, it’s easy, and it keeps us from digging too deep. But staying stuck in fine mode means missing out on the raw, bittersweet beauty of feeling fully—and that’s where connection, healing, and love really live.

So, if you’ve been suppressing the storm clouds, I’ll leave you with this: The next time someone asks how you’re doing, think twice before autopiloting to “Fine.” Maybe try “I’m working through it” or “I could use some support.” Or, better yet, “I’m not fine, but I’m figuring it out.” Because that’s where the real magic starts: admitting you’re human enough to not have it all together.

Turns out California sunsets look even better when you let the storm pass.