Imagine attending a funeral and hearing whispers that you've "never looked better." That's what happened to Nora McInerny at her 35-year-old husband's service. She'd lost weight from barely eating, but she kept insisting she was "absolutely fine." Spoiler: She wasn't. "I felt the worst I ever felt, and I also felt nothing at all," she admits. Her Instagram painted a perfect picture, fooling everyone—including herself.
McInerny, author of It's Okay to Laugh (Crying Is Cool, Too) and No Happy Endings, hosts the podcast Thanks for Asking (formerly Terrible, Thanks for Asking). In 2014, she lost her dad, her husband to brain cancer, and miscarried her second child—all in six weeks. No wonder she's an expert on dodging the "How are you?" trap when "good" is a lie.
Flip the Script on Auto-Pilot Responses
Psychology professor Jennifer C. Veilleux swore off "I'm fine" a year ago. Now, she pauses: Am I really OK? "We all expect the script: 'I'm fine, how are you?' But it's often not true," she says. Hiding emotions—called "expressive suppression"—links to anxiety, depression, and rocky relationships, per research.
Her hack? Correct yourself mid-sentence and be honest. People love it. "We crave real connection," Veilleux notes. It feels refreshing, sparking commiseration instead of small talk.
Test the Waters First
Therapist Kelsey Mora works with grieving families and advises gauging the asker's bandwidth. Try: "Want the real answer?" or "Short version or long?" It's not about protecting them—it's about getting real support.
McInerny calls it "conversational consent." She texts friends: "Room for a mental breakdown call?" They might say yes now or in 15 minutes—no resentment, just clarity.
Ready-Made Honest Replies (No Oversharing Required)
Veilleux's go-tos, delivered with a light tone and laugh:
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"I'm on the struggle bus this week."
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"I know I'm supposed to say fine, but I'm not."
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"Upright—that's my win today."
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"Getting by... barely."
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"Honestly, not great."
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"Having a hard time right now."
These invite follow-ups without demanding them. Get curiosity? Spill. Get "bummer"? Move on to someone else.
Tyler Coe, creator of PBS's How Are We Today? (a sitcom tackling mental health), hid his bipolar disorder for years. Now he pauses, assesses, and says: "Rough day," or "Not good, but working on it." At work? "Managing." The goal: Ditch the "fine" performance.
When "Fine" Is Your Best Move
Cashier at Target? Colleague in the hall? Stick to "fine" if your life's a mess—it's self-preservation. Same if they've dismissed you before. Mora suggests: "It's been tough, but not up for chatting now." Vent later with someone safe. "Say what lets you function," she says.
People Want the Truth—Let Them In
McInerny regrets mind-reading expectations during her grief. America's "pull yourself up" vibe made vulnerability feel like failure. But hiding it robbed friends of supporting her—and strained bonds.
"Give people a chance to love you," she urges. If someone you care about struggled, wouldn't you want to know? Start small. Honest answers build deeper connections.
What do you say when "fine" doesn't fit? Drop it in the comments—let's normalize the real talk.