The Crisis We Don’t Talk About: The Truth Behind ‘I’m Fine

Most people say “I’m fine” even when they’re not.
This episode opens the door to a conversation we don’t have nearly enough — the quiet weight people carry, and why we rarely talk about it.

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Transcript

Physical pain — most of us understand that. We’ve all been hurt. We know what it’s like to break a bone, pull a muscle, cut your hand, or touch something hot. There’s a cause, and there’s an effect. There’s usually a bruise you can point to.

But emotional pain… now that’s a storm all its own.

There are people waking up every day in a kind of suffering most of us can’t even imagine. Nightmares that follow them into daylight. A heaviness in the chest that makes breathing feel like work. A belief that they’re a burden to everyone they love. A dread of getting out of bed because the world feels too heavy to face. A reliance on medication just to get through what most people call a “normal” day.

I haven’t lived that kind of pain myself — and I’m not going to pretend I have. But I’ve stood next to people who do. And from what I’ve seen… that kind of pain is a living hell.

But there’s another side to this story — the side we almost never talk about. The people standing beside them — the ones who care — they hurt too. Not in the same way, not with the same depth, and not with the same scars. But with the ache of not knowing how to help someone they love fight a battle they can’t see. And that feeling is real. It’s heavy. And it deserves a place in this conversation.

Sometimes people hide their pain… and only they know the reasoning behind it. No assumptions. No explanations. Just truth.

So they say “I’m fine.” They smile. They change the subject. And we accept it — not because we don’t care, but because we don’t know what to do if the real answer is “I’m not.”

We miss more than we realize. The pause. The shift in their voice. The tired eyes. The forced smile. The silence after, “How are you?” Not because we’re blind — but because most of us are carrying our own storms at the same time.

Emotional pain is invisible. You can’t scan it. You can’t measure it. You can’t bandage it. For some people, that battle never stops. Quiet on the outside. Relentless on the inside.

I’ve seen people fight that war up close. And it changes you — what you notice, what you hear, how you understand silence.

And here’s something a lot of people don’t want to admit: a lot of folks I’ve known don’t open up not because they think nobody will understand, but because they already know exactly what people will say. And sometimes… it’s easier to hear nothing than to hear the same empty clichés again.

“Stay positive.”
 “You’re strong.”
 “It’ll get better.”
 “Just take it one day at a time.”

Those words don’t help someone who’s drowning. If anything, they push them under.

And even some counselors don’t know what to do. Some doctors don’t know what to do. Not because they don’t care — but because, from everything I’ve seen, the mental health crisis in this country has outgrown the tools we use to treat it.

Let me say that again: the mental health crisis in this country has outgrown the tools we use to treat it.

People in crisis don’t want more words. They don’t want clichés. They don’t want empty comfort. They want action. They want presence. They want something real to hold onto when everything else is falling apart.

Not “You’ll get through this.”
 But “Here’s what I’m going to do to help you.”

And that’s where most of us freeze. Not because we don’t care — but because we genuinely don’t know how.

So how do we help when we don’t know what to do?

We start small. We start real. We start simple. You don’t have to fix someone’s pain to walk with them through it. You don’t need perfect words. You don’t need a miracle. You don’t have to pretend you understand what you don’t.

You just need to show up. And keep showing up.

Sometimes presence is the action. Sometimes listening is the action. Sometimes “I’m here” is the rope someone grabs when everything else is slipping.

And if you’re the one carrying the pain… I’m not going to tell you what your journey should look like. That’s your story — not mine. But I will say this:

Your story matters.
 Your pain is real.
 And the people who love you want to help — even if they don’t always know how.

You don’t have to hide your truth. You deserve space to be honest about what hurts.

This episode isn’t about fixing anything. It’s about naming the crisis most people avoid. Saying the quiet parts out loud. Shining a light on the shadows we carry. Reminding you that silence isn’t strength — it’s survival.

And over the next few episodes, we’re going deeper. Behind Closed Doors. Echoes in the Silence. One World, One Mind.

This is just the beginning. But sometimes the beginning is the most important part.

If anything in this episode helped you feel seen, heard, or understood… then it was worth every word.

This is How Did We Get Here?
A podcast about the choices, cracks, and crossroads that shape us.
I’m Jim Richmond. And I’m still here for a reason.
Maybe you are too.