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I Promise, “We’re Good” Is Still A Valid Answer

• Donavon • Season 5 • Episode 4

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Ever feel like “I’m good” isn’t a good enough answer anymore? Like every check-in has to sound like a LinkedIn update or a PR statement? In this episode, Donavon unpacks the quiet pressure to make our lives sound better than they are... from family conversations and friendships to how we present ourselves online.

He digs into how generations before us equated presentation with protection, how that mindset trickled down, and what it’s costing us now. Why do we feel like we have to manage versions of ourselves just to keep up appearances? And what would it look like to finally let “good” be good enough?

If you’ve ever caught yourself over-explaining, downplaying, or dressing your life up in extra sentences, this one’s for you.

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SPEAKER_00:

And let's be honest, we know people ask certain ways about certain situations without trying to be too obvious because they don't have the latest gossip and they really want to know. We know what they're really asking. So what do we do? We try to cover everyone's basis the best we can. We give just enough of an update to make everyone sound okay, to protect the people we love, and the privacy of what they're navigating in life. We keep our cards close to our chest because if people can see them, then they can use them. A podcast about learning to live with care, to move through the mess and the meaning, and to see yourself a little clearer every time. It's your host, Donovan, and you already know it's my favorite thing meeting you here time after time. Quick note before we dive in: donations is a space for reflection and perspective. Not your therapist, just your cousin with a mic. Sharing what's helped me heal and grow. So, as always, take what serves you and leave what doesn't. I've been saying for a while now that I want to start going back to church. Not because I suddenly got more religious or anything, but because I've always had my own thing with God. And I just miss it. I miss what it does for me, how it slows me down, and it gives me that one hour where I don't feel like I have to be anywhere or fix anything. Life's been so nonstop lately that Sunday mornings have kind of turned into a catch-up with myself day. I sleep in when I need it and I journal, I sit my coffee slow, I train, I do all the things that make me me without trying to rush them into the one-hour break between meetings or responsibilities, like during the work week. Sundays are my reset before Monday kind of day. And every week I tell myself, next Sunday I'm actually going to church. Then Sunday shows up and I'm like, well, God made coffee too. And I do be having plenty of that, so this still counts, right? But even with all that, I can tell that something's still missing because when I actually do make it to church, I leave with this clarity. Like all the thoughts running in my head get put in their rightful place. Here recently, it's like life's been happening around my work calendar. And whatever happens after work depends on how many meetings I've had that day and how many are scheduled for tomorrow. And it's just gotten out of hand. It's ridiculous. Some nights when I lay down to go to sleep, I immediately feel restless because I'm trying to decompress, I'm trying to prepare for tomorrow, I'm trying to wind down, and I'm trying to anticipate all at once. So I think that's why I've been craving that hour of church again. The hour where I'm not questioning if I'm okay, I just know that I am. So, yeah, that's what's been on my mind lately. How we chase clarity in different ways. How we try to prove to ourselves and to everyone else that we're okay, that we're good. Which ties into something my parents told me the other day. And if you've ever been a kid who went to like the grocery store or the mall or anywhere with their parents, then you know how random run-ins like that go. They stand there talking forever, asking about and checking in on every single family member. Which I love, don't get me wrong. That's what family and close friends should do, right? I just didn't love it when I was a kid, and then I was ready to go home, but had to stand there waiting for the adults to finish talking. Like that was the worst part about those run-ins. But anyway, this person they ran into, right, starts bragging about their kid. How great their job is, how successful they are. And if I remember the story correctly, the job this person's kid did was very similar, if not identical to mine. And my mom said she could see my dad's face light up, like he was ready to jump in and brag about me, too. But before he could, she did. And apparently she actually nailed it this time. She said the right job. So you have to understand that I've worked a bunch of different contracts over the years. Contracts that had me traveling to West Virginia for a while, some time at Penn State, Nashville, Knoxville, Kansas City, all these different places, right? And somehow my mom always tells people I work somewhere in South Carolina, and I don't know where she got that from. TBH. She's even told me before when she couldn't remember my actual title. She just said, he does something with hospitals. I couldn't even tell you the right name, so I won't say it. But this time, during this specific run-in, she got it right. Under pressure, she came through. Maybe it triggered a part of her and my dad when who they ran into bragged about their kid. And I honestly don't know, I wasn't there, but maybe they were laying it on thick or something. And it was instinct on my parents' part to kind of say, chill, partner, your family isn't the only one who has it good. My son does that too. You know? And I think older generations have this piece of their mentality that tells them they have to speak up for their seat at the table because in their day or when they were growing up, a lot was not guaranteed to them. Especially with being people of color. And I even think our generation and younger fall under a kind of pressure like that too. It's just wrapped in different language. But I love that about my mom. She was proud, but also careful. Like, she wanted to make sure she represented me correctly. That's love. You know? They'd go up to bat for me without hesitation. And as my mom was telling me this story, I found myself thinking, younger me would have definitely fallen under that pressure too. He would have asked, Well, did you mention this? Did you say that? Or did you say this? To make sure I really looked good. But this time, I didn't care about that like at all. All I cared about is that they cared. I cared that they wanted to represent me and themselves well. There was nothing but good intentions behind that. And I told her, the details don't really matter, Mom, but I appreciate it wholeheartedly. I think what really matters here is where that instinct comes from. That need to make sure the story sounds or looks right. It got me thinking back to when I was younger and the moments I could remember where that instinct to make things look and sound right shaped a piece of me without me even realizing it. On weekends, it was always clean your room. Not just to be responsible, but because if someone comes over, they're gonna see your nasty room. And I remember thinking, no one's coming, Mom, and even if they do, it's most likely family. They don't care. But to her, it wasn't about guests. It was about what it said about us. Same thing with getting ready. Take a shower, get dressed, comb your hair, look presentable. No matter where you're going. And my dad was the same way, in his own way, just different rules. Wash your hands after eating and before you touch the car, or anything, for that matter. And don't slam doors, don't waste what you have, don't destroy things. It was like he was saying, what you own is a blessing, so take care of it, because it represents you. And looking back, I definitely can see the heart behind it. They come from a generation where having control meant you were safe. Where showing you had order in your life meant no one could assume you were struggling. And if you were struggling, and everyone knew it, well then less room for you at the table. That's what survival looked like back then. Not showing struggle meant you'd still get invited and you didn't get gossiped about. And I think that kind of thinking didn't start with them. I think it started generations before with our grandparents or our great-grandparents. People who had to prove their worth through appearance. Because again, opportunity wasn't guaranteed. If you looked like you had it together, well then people treated you like you did. For them, presentation was protection. For us, it's just become second nature. Isn't it wild how much that carries forward without us even realizing it? And I see all of that as the reason behind why they were so adamant about getting the story of what I do for work right. Because I've done that too, plenty of times. I've tried to only paint the picture of what good my family has going on. When someone asks me how they are or what they're up to. I mean, we all do that, right? We try to make things sound a little shinier than they are. Which, I mean, no one wants to be a Debbie Downer either, right? So, like, yeah, share good news. But life isn't good all the time. And we all know that. So, as much as I appreciate my parents trying to paint my career picture in the best way possible, why can't it just be that I'm good? Why can't it just be that I'm okay? And I'm sure it wasn't some kind of competition when they were catching up, but why does it feel like one sometimes? I totally 100% get that what they did, and when we do it too, is like I mentioned, only having good intentions, trying to protect you or your family's image, and trying to be sincere about it at the same time. But why can't it not be about what I do for a living and just be that I'm living happily. And they ask, How's so-and-so? And your mind immediately races because maybe so-and-so is not in the best place or the best situation right now. And so you start trying to paint their picture in a way that makes them seem more than okay to protect their privacy. I'm not the kid waiting for my parents to finish talking anymore, right? I'm the adult who understands why privacy matters. And let's be honest, we know people ask certain ways about certain situations without trying to be too obvious because they don't have the latest gossip and they really want to know. We've all done it. I know you know what I'm talking about. We know what they're really asking. We know when distant relative Susie or whoever asks, and how's David? How's his wife and the kids, or whoever it is? And you're thinking, well, technically, they're not even together anymore, but that's not what this conversation is for. So what do we do? We try to cover everyone's bases the best we can. We give just enough of an update to make everyone sound okay, to protect the people we love, and the privacy of what they're navigating in life. We keep our cards close to our chest, because if people can see them, then they can use them. And it's not just family, we do it at work too. Someone asks how things are going. And even if we're drowning in deadlines or confused as hell, wondering if we're in the right job, on the verge of spiraling and searching up career moves on LinkedIn, it's always, oh, all's good, busy, but good. Because God forbid anyone see us not having a handle on something we should have figured out. Even when someone's genuinely offering help, like asking because they want to help, we're quick to say, nah, I've got it. Same with relationships. We tell half truths to save face. We're better as friends, or it was a mutual decision. When really, maybe it all fell apart in a way that hurt our pride more than we want to admit. Maybe we're secretly questioning it every day. Every time we wake up and every night that we lay down to go to sleep. But that's not a pretty picture, so we'd rather not admit that. We'll just make the other person the villain to make our story make sense. And online, everyone's doing it. The photos we post say I'm thriving. I'm living my best life. Even when we're hanging by a thread. The nearly naked selfies get more love than the post about growth or vulnerability. So we protect it all. It's instinct, the body, the brand, the image. Because being seen too deeply can feel like being exposed. It's wild how much effort goes into keeping things looking effortless. And I should know I've done it. Cleaned my house before a FaceTime, or turned off my camera in a meeting because I just rolled out of bed and threw on the quickest thing I could find, which was a nice sweater with some old Christmas pajama pants. And I don't need anyone seeing that when I get up to refill my water bottle. Or posted a picture from a good day to cover the bad one that I was actually in. We've all done things like that. And if you've been burned before, you know this and now act accordingly, right? You share less. You say, don't tell anyone more. Man, the amount of times I feel like I have to say that now in my adult life is ridiculous to me. I don't know. Either I'm being inauthentic or I need to check who I keep around. But at the same time, I think it makes sense to everyone. There's only so much we can control when it comes to what we share and how we share it, and how people take it and reshape it. It's exhausting. Like always having to decide what version of the truth is safe enough to tell to whoever. That's the approach I think my parents and their parents have always taken. When I was younger, I'll be honest, I thought everything was fair game. If I really didn't think it was that harmful, why hide it? If I wasn't ashamed of it, why should anyone else be? I really thought I was being the poster child for honesty. But I was just out here serving everyone's tea, like, you want some? What about you? I'll share. I don't mind. It doesn't bother me. My parents made me see though, that not everyone has your best interest at heart. And I think that's where it all comes from. Love mixed with fear. We do it, we protect because we've seen what happens when people talk too much or get talked about. We've seen what people get nicknamed or titled as, and how that becomes their whole identity. Nobody wants their loved one labeled as the difficult one, or the one who can't keep a relationship, or the one that's always starting over. Nobody wants their family called the messy ones, or the loud ones, or the ones who can't get it together. So we protect. We guard our stories, we tell the good parts, polish the rest, and leave the hard parts for the privacy of our own homes. Because once people start defining your people for you, it's hard to get that story back. But you know, two at the same time, even when you keep it simple, people will still assume that you're hiding something. Your need for privacy gets mistaken for you just being secret, you choosing secrecy. It's a double-edged sword. You're trying to protect your peace, but you end up having to defend it too. And I don't know about you, but my peace is not something I want to feel like I have to defend. I just want to enjoy it. The more versions you protect, the more you lose sight of which one's actually true. That's where the tension starts, right? Because whether it's done for you or by you, whoever's being protected ends up kind of boxed in. It's like someone telling you, so-and-so asked about you, and I just told them this. And then you're like, okay, thanks for protecting me, but now whatever you said is basically my whole identity. So next time I see them, that's pretty much the version of me I have to fall into. That's who I have to be around them. Like, when I'm just out having a night with my friends, there's still that pressure in the back of my mind to make sure I'm matching whatever version of me people think they know. But if I've had a couple of drinks, who cares? If I'm running out to the dance floor to do my favorite country line dance and think I look good, but might actually just be flailing all over the place. So what? That doesn't mean that come Monday morning I'm not going to be sitting at my desk, camera on, managing my to-do list like a boss, okay? I don't want to be the one who has to prove both or prove anything. I just want to be someone who's living. But that's the thing, it doesn't stop there. You do it enough times, and it stops being protection and starts being performance. Everyone's trying to keep the story safe. Even if it means we start acting it out. And the more we perform, the heavier it gets. Because suddenly you're managing multiple versions of yourself. You're managing the one they know, the one you show, and the one that's just trying to breathe underneath it all. That's when it really starts to cost you something. And some days you don't notice. You blend the versions together and keep it moving. But other days, it's like you can feel the disconnect in real time. You run into someone who quote unquote knows you and realize they know the PR version, the resume version. The one someone else curated on your behalf. And before you know it, you catch yourself over-explaining and trying to align everyone's timelines and fill in blanks that no one even asked for. And that's when you realize this isn't peace, this is project management. And I do not get paid project management money. You're juggling too many versions, trying to keep the painting from cracking. Look, I love donations. I absolutely love getting to do this. It's not just a passion of mine, it's a part of me. But sometimes I don't want to be donations. You get me? I just want to be Donovan. Not the guy with the insight or the takeaway. Just the guy who's joking around, being dumb, forgetting to be profound for a second. And that's the same pressure we all feel when we've become known for one version of ourselves. You want to protect the thing you built, but you also want room to breathe inside of it. And I think about the people who never got that room. The ones who were forced into being just one version. The doctor, the golden child, or the one who had to keep graduating or keep achieving, or keep making everyone proud. Even when it didn't feel like them. You think it only happens in movies. The overbearing dad who's trying to live out his golden years through his son, or the picture-perfect mom who's ridiculously hard on the daughter to be even more perfect, or whatever the situation is, right? But that shit isn't just in the movies. That shit is real. Those people are real, and they find out the hard way that they were never chasing joy, they were protecting an image. And years down the line, they wake up wondering how much of their life they even chose. That pressure is real. Not just movie real, real. And it'll crush the part of you that's still trying to figure out who you actually are. It's crazy to me how much of our energy goes into keeping the painting from cracking. And sometimes it's not even you doing the painting, it's someone else. Like, I think about how when it comes to friends, they mean well, right? When you're not around and they are trying to defend you or retell. Your story, but when it's your story, your nuance gets lost, your boundaries get lost, and your voice gets lost. None of that is there. It comes from love, but it still doesn't feel good knowing your most important parts might have gotten lost. Honestly, I'm not even trying to be poetic, but the best way I can explain it is this. I'm done trying to control how someone sees the painting of my life. I'm not saying, stand here, the light's better, or let me paint over this before you look. I'm not doing that anymore. I'm just like, this is it. It's not perfect, but it's mine, and I'm proud of it, and it's enough. You either admire it or you don't. Now let me see yours. Because being okay, being good is enough. Being in between or figuring it out should be enough too. Every single person's been there. And finally dropping that act, finally getting to just be real, even if it's messy. That feels like the kind of peace that doesn't need defending. That feels like the life I actually deserve to live. One that matters. One that's mine. And that's enough. The next time someone asks how you're doing, or how someone you love is doing, what if you didn't feel like you had to over-explain it? What if you didn't feed into the pressure to compete? What if you just said we're good? Not to sell it, not to convince yourself, just to let that be enough. Because sometimes, actually a lot of the times, good really is the win. Sometimes it's peace that doesn't need a backstory. And the people who actually care won't need proof. They'll just smile and say, I'm glad. And we'll genuinely be glad for you and yours. Everyone else, they're not asking for the truth. They were never asking for the truth. They were asking for the headline. And if you've ever had someone brag about their kid's job and felt that little spark of pressure to jump in with your own story, maybe that's the moment to stop. To smile, to clap for them, and to just say, that's great. And leave it there. I mean, also, there's nothing wrong with a little humble brag here and there, right? But also being happy, being okay, being proud quietly. That's enough. So this week, that's the challenge. Try not to dress your life up in extra sentences and just let good be good. Let figuring it out be good. Let happy be good. You don't have to prove you've got it all together. You just have to let yourself be in it. The journal prompt for the week is when was the last time good didn't feel like enough? And what made you feel like you had to add more? Alright, my friend, that's it for today's episode of Donations. If you've enjoyed it, I'm diving deeper into this very theme on Donations Plus. It'll be exclusive to subscribers and only on Apple Podcasts. So be sure to check that out. That's where I post bonus thoughts, deeper dives, album reviews, behind the scenes moments, and stuff I don't share anywhere else. Kind of like the after hours version of this show. And trust me, I know the unfortunate state of the economy these days, so I promise it won't break the bank. So be sure to jump on that. And if you so kindly find it in your heart to do so, you can also support the show. There's a link for that in the episode description right now on whatever app you're listening on. And two, you can text me directly just to say what's up. Let me know your thoughts on the show or this episode or whatever feels right. That links in the description, too. You know, I feel horrible. I've gotten a handful of messages already, but none of them have names telling me who they're from. So if you've sent one and you're listening right now, just know, please know that I genuinely appreciate you and send love right back your way. So if you do text me, if you do text a show, make sure you drop your name and how best to reach you back. Otherwise, I'm just out here talking to ghosts, okay? Oh, and speaking of names, to those that have always protected me, gone up to bat for me, all of it. Thank you. I promise I'm doing the same for you. And if my mom's listening, I just want to say thank you for finally getting where I work right. Took a few tries, but we got there. Don't forget to visit me on TikTok or Instagram. You can find me at Donovan.biaza. And of course, the all new donations website is live. That's D-O-N-H-A-T-I-O-N S dot com. Go check out that blog. It's pretty fire. All right, my friend, take care of yourself, take care of your people, and remember being happy, being okay is enough. Deal, deal pickle. Until the next one.