I'm Fine, But I'm Not

Nothing’s wrong. But nothing’s right.

I’m here, but I’m not in it.

I’m not broken. I’m just… paused.

This isn’t a cry for help. It’s just the quiet part out loud.

Most of the time when someone says, “I’m fine,” they’re not.

It’s code. We know that.

Usually, it means:

I’m overwhelmed.

I’m annoyed.

I don’t want to talk about it.

But right now, for me?

“I’m fine” just means… I’m functioning.

I’m doing what I need to do.

But I’m not there.

Not in the way I usually am.

I’m not sad.

I’m not angry.

I’m not in a crisis.

But I’m not lit up.

I’m not laughing from my gut.

I’m not creating from the soul.

I wake up.

I make my coffee.

I go to work.

I smile for clients.

I cook dinner for my kids.

I answer emails.

I check in, check out.

Repeat.

Nothing’s necessarily wrong.

But it all just feels… blah.

I don’t have the energy to look ahead right now.

I’m not planning. I’m not dreaming.

I’m not pouring into tomorrow.

I’m just trying to hold steady today.

And that’s the part nobody talks about.

We talk about burnout.

We talk about breakdowns.

We talk about breakthroughs and comebacks.

But we don’t talk about this.

This moment.

This pause.

This quiet in-between.

Not a detour.

Not the destination.

Just… a pit stop.

Like when you’ve been on a long road for hours, and your body finally says, “I need a minute.”

So you pull over.

You breathe.

You stretch.

You refill.

And then—when you’re ready—you keep going.

That’s where I am.

I’m not stuck.

I’m not spiraling.

I’m just pulled over on the side of the road.

And I’ll come back.

I always do.

But today, I’m just here.

And maybe that’s okay too ...

"Nothing's wrong, but nothing's right."