We’ve all been there. Someone asks, “How are you doing?” and the automatic response flies out: “I’m fine.” Sometimes it’s true, but often, it’s a reflex—a shield to deflect attention because admitting we’re not fine feels risky. Maybe you’re dealing with something big—loss, heartbreak, burnout—or something smaller but still heavy, like endless work stress or that nagging feeling you can’t quite shake. Whatever “your thing” is, you might feel the urge to power through, keep quiet, and pretend it doesn’t hurt.
But here’s the thing: powering through doesn’t mean you’re fine. It just means you’re tired and possibly teetering on the edge of burnout or completely breaking down in the drive-thru when they get your Starbucks order wrong.
I know because I’ve been there.
When “I’m Fine” Became My Mantra
In 2020, my wife Mariah was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. If you know me even peripherally, you know that Mariah is literally everything to me. When she was diagnosed, we were both devastated by it – but to be perfectly honest, I think she took it better than I did. I was desperate to do something – to fix SOMETHING – but I was powerless, and it quickly overwhelmed me. My drinking started to ramp up to the point that it was becoming alarming to me. I constantly sought solitude and found myself having real difficulty experiencing even a modicum of joy.
Around that same time, I was also promoted to Director of my center.
It was a lot. More than I could feasibly handle. But I refused to face up to it.
I had to be the tough guy. Too many other people counting on me. Couldn’t show “weakness.”
My coworkers would ask, “Are you okay?” and I’d plaster on a smile and say, “Oh yeah, just busy.”
Busy.
A convenient mask for falling apart.
I was unraveling. I was exhausted from pretending I had it all together when the truth was I didn’t. And because I refused to admit it, even to myself, I kept barreling forward until I finally hit a wall.
My breaking point? Tripping over a rogue cat toy in the kitchen and spilling my coffee.
There I was, standing in a puddle of frothy caffeine, barefoot and furious, yelling at no one in particular, realizing I wasn’t mad at the coffee or the cats — I was mad at myself for not asking for help, for not slowing down, for pretending I could carry everything alone.
I started crying – the ugly, snotty kind that leaves you huffing for breath like when you were a kid, and I couldn’t stop.
I knew in that moment that it was time to acknowledge what I was feeling and to slowly regain control over what was controllable. I HAD to let the rest fall away.
Regardless of my previous plans, I had to trust that there was a new path, and it was up to me to let go and find it.
The Danger of Just Plowing Ahead
It’s easy to fall into the trap of just keeping your head down and plowing ahead. Society practically worships resilience, and there’s this unspoken rule that admitting you’re struggling is a sign of weakness. But let’s call that what it is: bullshit.
When you ignore your struggles and bottle everything up, it doesn’t go away. It builds up. And eventually, it spills over—maybe in tears, maybe in anger, maybe in a moment where you feel so drained you can’t even muster the energy to care.
Plowing ahead without dealing with what’s weighing you down can leave you running on fumes. And you can’t pour from an empty cup, no matter how much coffee (or alcohol) you try to refill it with.
The Strength in Saying, “I’m Not Fine”
What I’ve learned, and what I hope you’ll hear, is that saying “I’m not fine” isn’t weakness—it’s courage. Admitting you’re struggling doesn’t mean you’re failing; it means you’re human. It’s the first step toward finding the strength to hang in there when life feels impossible.
Hanging in there doesn’t mean pretending everything’s okay. It means acknowledging when it’s not. It means reaching out—to a friend, a therapist, a coworker, even a stranger on a helpline—and saying, “I’m going through something, and I need help.”
It also means giving yourself grace. Maybe you can’t control every single thing, and that’s okay. Maybe you need to take a break, cry, laugh, scream into a pillow, or binge-watch a show you’ve seen a hundred times. Whatever helps you breathe a little easier—that’s hanging in there.
Finding Light (and Humor) in the Mess
One of the hardest things about “going through a thing” is feeling like it will never end. But here’s the good news: it will. It might not feel like it now, but this messy, painful moment is temporary. Life ebbs and flows, and even the hardest seasons eventually give way to better ones.
Sometimes, in the middle of the mess, you’ll find moments of humor or connection that remind you it’s not all bad. Like when your cat hops in your lap during your most serious Zoom meeting, or when your friend sends you a meme that makes you laugh so hard you cry. Those moments matter. Hold onto them.
You’re Not Alone
Whatever you’re going through, you’re not the only one who’s felt this way. You’re not broken or weak or failing. You’re just a person navigating a hard moment. And you don’t have to do it alone.
You also aren’t required to have all the answers.
So, the next time someone asks, “How are you doing?” pause before you answer. If you’re truly fine, great. But if you’re not, consider saying, “I’m hanging in there” or “I’m struggling a bit, but I’m working on it.” Let people in. You might be surprised how much they’re willing to support you.
And if you can’t quite bring yourself to say it out loud yet, that’s okay too. Start by admitting it to yourself. Take a deep breath, acknowledge the weight you’re carrying, and remind yourself that it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling.
Hanging in there isn’t about pretending everything’s perfect. It’s about finding the courage to keep going, one messy, imperfect step at a time. You’ve got this. And if you spill your coffee or trip over a cat toy along the way, well—at least you’re not alone.
Whatever you’re going through, hang in there. Answers may seem fleeting, but you’ll fumble your way through.
The path forward may not be the one you’ve planned, but you sometimes must let go of the wheel and trust that you’ll still find your way.
You will.
I promise.
Kris Inman is the Director of Program Development for The Healthy Dispatcher. A 30-year veteran of 9-1-1, Kris retired in July 2023 as Director of Springfield Greene County 9-1-1 in Springfield, MO. An awarded speaker and instructor, Kris has delivered standout educational sessions, keynotes, motivational talks and yoga instruction to dispatchers across the country. He is also a long-time college adjunct instructor, teaching courses in communication and public safety leadership. Kris holds a Master of Arts in Communication and a Bachelor of Science in Electronic Media from Missouri State University. He is also a registered yoga instructor.