“How are you?” is one of the most common questions we ask each other, and one of the questions we are least likely to answer honestly. We offer a reflexive “good, thanks!” while carrying grief, uncertainty, exhaustion, or a quiet sense that something in our lives no longer fits.
We learned that being easy to be around was more important than being honest about our experiences. But what might change if we gave ourselves permission to answer differently?
A number of years ago, I noticed that whenever someone asked how I was, I would invariably answer with either “busy” or “tired.” One day, a friend asked if I was available, already anticipating that I would be too busy.
Something about that stayed with me. I didn’t want to be known as busy or tired. I didn’t want people to expect me to be unavailable or exhausted. More importantly, I didn’t want to be unavailable or exhausted.
So I started by expanding my vocabulary. Instead of automatically answering “busy” or “tired,” I experimented with “exhausted,” “fatigued,” or “frazzled.” It sounds like a small distinction, but it required me to pause and actually consider what I was feeling rather than reach for a familiar response. I was learning to notice myself.
Eventually, I started answering honestly. If I was frazzled, I said I was frazzled. If I was frustrated, I said I was frustrated. I began practising interoception: the capacity to turn inward and perceive our internal experiences. Naming what I was feeling helped me acknowledge and externalise my emotional experience rather than allowing it to remain unrecognised, taking up space within me.
And then, people stopped asking.
When I stopped offering the socially acceptable pleasantry and started answering the question truthfully, the conversation became uncomfortable. I understand the function of social niceties; not every “how are you?” is an invitation to share the depths of our inner world. But I found it interesting how quickly an exchange could falter when met with an honest answer. We ask one another how we’re doing, yet we don’t always know what to do when someone tells us.
This is where alignment, or integrity, comes in. What would it mean to let our words reflect our actual experience? To bring our inner and outer worlds into closer relationship? To find, develop, and protect the spaces where we can be honest without fear of judgement, without someone rushing to offer a solution, and without feeling that our emotions are something to apologise for?
We don’t owe everyone an unfiltered account of our inner lives. Authenticity isn’t the same as unrestricted disclosure. But we can learn to recognise what is true for us and allow ourselves to be human in the presence of others.
So the next time someone asks, “How are you?”, consider it an invitation to pause. Before reaching for the familiar response, turn inward. What are you actually feeling? What words might give that experience a name? And how do you want to be known in the world?
You might discover that the most meaningful part of answering honestly isn’t what you tell another person. It’s what you finally allow yourself to acknowledge.