How Are You Really?
I have been reading The Book of Alchemy, a journal designed to get the reader writing through thoughtfully crafted questions rather than answers. Each chapter features a different author offering insight, and each prompt is meant to unlock something hidden. Not productivity. Not performance. Something deeper.
This week’s chapter focused on one simple question: How are you really?
The author writes about how this question has the ability to dissolve the surface self. If you sit with it long enough, it moves past reflex. Past the rehearsed answer. Past the automatic “I’m good.” It asks you to check your body. To notice your breath. To feel what is actually there.
When I read it, I felt myself crying inside.
The truth about answering “fine” is real.
When someone asks how you are, it is such a loaded question. I like to think I am fine, but no one ever really is. It is almost like fake it until you make it. We say fine hoping one day we will be. So when I unpacked the response “fine,” I realized that maybe it is not a lie. Maybe answering with “fine” is a hopeful manifestation.
As women, especially mothers, here in this USA “great America,” we are conditioned to be fine. Conditioned to hold it together. Conditioned to keep moving. Conditioned to absorb stress without naming it. We are praised for resilience while quietly unraveling.
That disgusts me.
Because under “fine” are layers. I feel layers of grief. Grief for what we carry. Grief for how disconnected we are from community. Grief for the pressure to perform strength. Grief for nervous systems that never get to land. Grief for clean air, quality food, safe products, safe streets. Grief for the illusion that individual success is more important than collective care.
And yet I still say fine.
The chapter suggests that awareness is alchemy. That naming what is true begins transformation. That pretending keeps us stuck. So I sat with the question again.
How are you really?
Layered.
Grieving.
Tired.
Awake.
Hopeful.
Overwhelmed.
Then I thought about Vietnam.
There, instead of asking “How are you?” people often ask, “Have you eaten?”
I love that. After all, food is my love language. And so is compassion.
Have you eaten means I see you. I care about your nourishment. It assumes that before emotions, before performance, before productivity, you need sustenance.
The truth is, a lot of the time I would be fine if I were nourished. Love. Laughter. Support. Community over individuality. A nervous system at ease. Real rest. Food grown with care. Air that does not feel heavy or polluted. Streets that feel safe.
Fine would come naturally if we were nourished.
So I ask again.
How are you really?
If I am a mirror, as we all are, then if I am not fine, many of us are not fine.
Maybe we say fine to ease the burden of others. Maybe we say fine because we do not know where to put the truth. Maybe we say fine because we have never been asked to answer honestly. Often, when we begin to answer truthfully, people are already halfway walking away. There is little space for depth. Little time to carry each other’s truths.
So let me ask you differently.
Have you eaten?
Have you rested?
Are you nourished?
Do you feel supported?
How are you really? Tell me below.
**If this resonated, I write reflections like this regularly inside The Journal. It’s a slower space for real conversations about nourishment, nervous system ease, and building a life that feels aligned.