The Strength in Saying ‘I’m Not Okay’

In a world that praises strength, admitting weakness can feel like failure. When someone asks, “How are you?” the words “I’m fine” often slip out before we’ve even had a chance to think. It’s easier that way, isn’t it? Easier to avoid the awkwardness. Easier to avoid breaking down. Easier to avoid the vulnerability that comes with saying, “I’m not okay.”

But what if true strength doesn’t look like holding everything together? What if real courage lies in allowing yourself to fall apart?

The truth is, grief doesn’t follow society’s rules about what strength is supposed to look like. Grief is messy. It’s unpredictable. Some days, you might feel like you’re managing, and other days, even getting out of bed feels impossible. And that’s okay.

Strength isn’t about putting on a brave face. It’s about being honest with yourself and others about where you are right now—even if where you are feels broken, lost, or overwhelmed.

When you say, “I’m not okay,” you’re not admitting defeat. You’re opening the door to healing. You’re giving yourself permission to feel, to process, to grieve. You’re allowing the people who care about you to step in and support you, instead of shutting them out.

But I know how hard it can be to let those words leave your lips. The fear of judgment, the fear of looking weak, the fear of burdening others—they’re all very real. That’s why it’s so important to find someone you can trust, someone who can hear your pain without trying to fix it, someone who can remind you that it’s okay to not be okay.

If you’re not ready to tell the world, start small. Start with one person. Start with me. Let’s create a space where it’s safe to say the hard things, to feel the heavy things, and to take steps toward healing—at your own pace. You don’t have to be okay all the time. And you don’t have to carry this alone.