Wednesday, July 14, 2010


Four little letters, put in order.

F. I. N. E.

It's not a bad word, but it's about as bad as one could be without technically fitting the bill. It's used probably every day by most of us. It's a harmless little word, really. It's definition conveys that things are okay, that though they might not be great, they aren't terrible either.

The definition is wrong.

When someone tells you that they are fine, they almost never are.

But it's easier to believe that we are. It's easier to let other people think that we are. Life is messy enough as it is, so why make it more so by being honest about how we really are feeling?

Sometimes we are fine. And sometimes we aren't. But we, as women in particular I think, tend to use that word far too often. Someone asks, we tell them. Sometimes we grit our teeth together and hold back tears and we force a smile when we say it, but we say it nevertheless.

Why do we do this?

I suppose the simplest answer is that we do it because we have to.

I have too many little people depending on me. I need to be fine. I need to be okay. I need to function. Even when I want to curl up into a ball and cry until there aren't any more tears left. Even when I want to scream at the top of my lungs and throw things. Even then, I am fine.

I need to be strong and steady and constant. For them.

So I am.

I am fine.

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