“I’m Fine, Thanks” — When Fine Isn’t Fine at All

How many of us respond with “I’m fine, thanks” or “It’s fine, really” when asked how we are?

For most of us, fine is not the truth.

It’s a placeholder. A protective cover. A nervous system shortcut.

A quiet way of keeping ourselves safe while saying F.I.N.E ( Feelings In Need of Expression).

I know this pattern well. Not because I don’t understand how I feel, but because somewhere along the way my nervous system learnt that expressing need might lead to discomfort, judgement, disconnection and the belief that needing support meant being too much. I also didn't want to burden the person asking.

So fine became regulation.

Silence became safety.

When “Fine” Is a Learned Survival Strategy

Our nervous systems are shaped early. They learn through experience what is safe to express and what is better held inside.

As a child, I watched my mum become seriously ill and never fully recover. Without words for it at the time, my nervous system registered illness as danger — something that disrupted connection, stability, and safety.

From this place, a belief formed:

I must always be well.

I must not become a burden.

This isn’t a thought pattern — it’s a protective adaptation.

When we grow up needing to stay strong, quiet, or capable, the nervous system often chooses functional survival over emotional expression. We remain outwardly “fine” while carrying immense internal load.

Why Well-Meaning Words Can Still Hurt

When someone says, “You’ll be okay,” or “Others have it worse,” it’s usually meant with love. But for a nervous system already in survival mode, these phrases can feel like a cue to shut down or override what’s being felt. It can teach us to minimise our pain rather than express it.

The body doesn’t need perspective in these moments.

It needs co-regulation.

I don't know about you but over time I have also learnt to stay quiet in case my perceived weakness unsettled someone around me.

Being told we’ll be okay doesn’t always help the nervous system feel okay. Being seen, heard, and allowed does.

Illness, Shame, and the Nervous System (The loneliness of fine)

During two of my pregnancies, when illness left me depleted and unable to function as I expected myself to, with severe sickness and crushing fatigue — I didn’t reach out. I crumbled quietly. Ashamed. Desperate. Hiding behind closed doors of unsupported turmoil. My nervous system loyally interpreted this as failure.

My marriage suffered. My children felt it. And I suffered most of all.

Not because it was failure— but because old survival beliefs were activated.

The same happened when I became chronically ill. Fear surged, not just from symptoms, but from what illness represented in my body: danger, loss, burden.

So when people asked how I was, “I’m fine” wasn’t dishonesty.

It was protection.

Years later — stronger, more self-aware — I was surprised when this old belief system hijacked me again.I was hit with a virus that knocked me sideways. Flu symptoms. Sinus inflammation that brought me to tears. Ferritin levels dropping dangerously low.

And what surprised me most wasn’t the physical pain — it was the shame

I cried quietly, not just from illness but from the feeling that I’d failed somehow. Embarrassed because my work is about helping others. Afraid to reach out to friends in case they didn't have the time or capacity to listen.

I found myself asking:

Why can’t I just let go? Why do I feel the need to hold myself together at all costs? and I realised something important: healing doesn’t erase survival responses — it only softens them over time.

And when we are depleted, those old neural pathways can light up again, asking for gentleness rather than judgement.

The expectation of being fine is an impossible one to sustain.

And I wonder how many of us are living inside them.

Why So Many Women Live in This State

The world tells us that if we slow down, we’ve failed. That rest is weakness. That health is something to be perfected, optimised, sold back to us.

Our culture rewards dysregulation.

Pushing through. Staying productive. Minimising needs.

Women, especially mothers, are often living in a chronic low-level stress response, even when life looks “fine” on the outside, they become the prime victims of fine.

Social comparison, unrealistic wellness ideals, and the pressure to perform and show resilience keep nervous systems in constant vigilance. We are measured, compared, and silently competing in a game we never agreed to play. Social media feeds it. Productivity glorifies it. And we absorb it without even realising.

When the body finally says stop — through illness, fatigue, or emotional collapse — shame often follows.

But this isn’t weakness.

It’s biology.

What the Nervous System Actually Needs

The nervous system doesn’t need us to be strong.

It needs signals of safety.

Safety looks like:

• Being allowed to say, “I’m not okay” without explanation

• Rest without justification

• Warmth, slowness, and containment

• Being listened to without being fixed

When the body feels safe, regulation follows naturally.

A Different Way of Living — And the Work I Now Do

Over the past few years, I’ve been slowly unlearning this way of being. Moving toward slower living. Toward nourishment, nervous system care, and quiet listening.

In doing so, I’ve grown a business that supports others to do the same — because I’ve seen how small, radical shifts can profoundly change our resilience, immunity, and sense of safety.

Which is why this recent collapse surprised me so deeply. It reminded me how early these beliefs are formed — and how tender they still are.

So the question has become:

Why do we say we’re fine when we’re not?

And perhaps more importantly — why should we?

Relearning Safety in the Body

The slow shift I’ve made — toward gentler rhythms, slower living, and nervous-system-first care — is what now informs my work.

Small, consistent signals of safety create real change:

• Slowing the breath

• Softening the body

• Choosing warmth over force

• Allowing emotions without urgency

This is how resilience is rebuilt — not through pushing harder, but through meeting ourselves where we are.

What We Can Say Instead

Gentle Alternatives to “I’m Fine”

Instead of overriding your system, try responses that honour both your energy and your truth, we don’t owe everyone the full truth of our inner world.

But we do owe ourselves honesty without shame.

Here are gentler alternatives to “I’m fine”:

• “I’m having a low-capacity day.”

• “I’m not great, but I don’t need fixing.”

• “I’m listening to my body right now.”

• “I don’t have the energy to share, but thank you for asking.”

• “I’m having a tender day.”

• “I’m not at my best, but I’m taking care of myself.”

• “I’m struggling a bit — and that’s allowed.”

We can also learn to ask for what we actually need:

• “I don’t need fixing — just listening.”

• “Can you hold space without advice?”

• “I don’t need a solution, just presence.”

These phrases help the nervous system stay honest without overexposure.

And perhaps most importantly, we can begin to challenge the belief that being unwell, overwhelmed, or struggling makes us a burden.

It doesn’t.

It makes us human.

A Final Reflection

Fine is not a failure — but neither is honesty. If you say “I’m fine” when you’re not, it doesn’t mean you’re dishonest. It means your nervous system learnt how to survive. And now, gently, you are learning something new.

We are not meant to carry everything alone. Healing begins not when we fix ourselves,

but when we no longer abandon ourselves.

Maybe the bravest thing we can do is stop pretending we’re fine…

and start responding with truth that is kind, contained, and our own while meeting our deepest needs.

With warmest love

Jess x