I’m Okay… Until I’m Not

“How are you doing?”

A seemingly innocuous question. At a minimum, it’s a conversation starter. It usually follows the obligatory “hello,” “hi,” or “hey.”

But lately, it feels like a landmine.

Do people want me to just say, “I’m okay,” so they can move along with their day, unbothered, with no emotional investment? Or are they truly prepared to hear all of it—the good, the bad, and the really dirty, ugly truth?

Because honestly, some days, even I don’t know how I’m doing.

Some days, like yesterday, I can go all day without crying. I might even laugh. I might get in a brisk walk or even an online yoga class. I might eat three actual meals and respond to a text with a GIF or a laughing emoji.

Other days? I’m doubled over by a grief so sharp it takes the wind out of me. I sob like something wild and raw. It feels like drowning—like gasping for air in a storm that just won’t let up.

And sometimes, I do both. Laugh and sob. Function and fall apart. Maybe all in the same hour.

I look around and see people living their normal lives—going to work, running errands, walking the dog, planning trips. I’m glad for them. No one deserves to carry this kind of pain.

But if I’m being honest: I’m a little jealous.

It’s hard to feel like you’ve been yanked off course—your entire life rerouted by something you didn’t choose. It’s harder still to pretend like you’re fine just to make other people more comfortable.

When I say I’m taking it “day by day,” I mean I literally can’t think beyond this moment. Any hopes or plans we had for the future feel like they’re on pause—or they’ve vanished completely. We’re doing what we can to stay afloat, but some days it feels like we’re sinking beneath the weight of uncertainty and unfairness.

So how am I doing?

I’m okay… until I’m not.

And I’m learning to live in that strange in-between space—where the grief comes in waves, but so does grace.

I don’t always have the words. I don’t always have the strength.

Some days, just standing upright feels like the best I can muster.

But I show up. I breathe. I speak the truth, even when my voice shakes.

If you ask how I’m doing, I’ll try to answer honestly.

And if you’re not okay either, you don’t have to hide it. Not here. Not with me. We weren’t meant to weather these storms alone. Some days we drift. Some days we fight the current. But once in a while, we find someone else treading water beside us—and suddenly, we’re not drowning. We’re just… floating. Together.