Lisa O
People often seem fine even when they’re not. They show up and keep a smile. The signs are subtle—short replies, fake laughs, or a glance that doesn’t hold. Most people won’t notice these signs, but if you look closely, you’ll see them in the pauses, the half-finished coffee, and the way their words stay safe and small.
They Lean on Jokes
Jokes make everything easier. They crack a line before anything serious comes, and everyone laughs like it’s fine. It’s easier than admitting something’s wrong. You can see it in the pause that follows—the smile fades just a bit too fast. They sip from a cup, glance at the floor, and bring up something lighter.
They Say They’re Just Tired
Saying “I’m tired” sometimes ends questions before they even start. They say it with a shrug and a faint smile, maybe rub their eyes for effect. It sounds believable, so no one asks again. But it’s not the kind of tired that sleep can fix. It lingers after rest, through breakfast, through meetings. The exhaustion isn’t physical—it’s emotional, and “tired” is the closest safe word they know.
They Keep a Full Calendar
Their days stay packed. Meetings, errands, and plans with people they barely know—it never stops. Empty time feels risky, so they fill it before it can settle. The house looks neat, the to-do list complete, but nothing feels done. They fold clothes twice or check emails they’ve already answered. The busyness isn’t progress. It’s a cover for the silence they’re trying not to hear.
They Talk About Later
Tomorrow always sounds better. They keep mentioning what’s next—a trip they’ll take, a class they might start, a project they’ll finally finish. It keeps them from sitting with how dull today feels. Talking about later gives them something to hold, even if it’s just air. The notebook on their desk stays open, full of half-plans and dates that never come, but writing them still makes the day feel bearable.
They Answer with Short Words
Their responses shrink over time. “Fine.” “Good.” “Busy.” Each word sounds harmless, but it’s a quiet retreat. Long sentences leave room for truth to slip out. Even over text, the difference shows—shorter messages, less punctuation, fewer words that sound like them. It’s easier to stay contained. It keeps things controlled. They’ve learned that fewer words mean fewer chances to be read too closely.
They Keep Posting Normal Moments
The pictures look calm and ordinary. Coffee on a table. A sunset from their balcony. A meal that looks homemade. It’s all believable, even comforting. They know what people expect to see and share only that. The scroll moves fast, and no one looks past the frame. What isn’t shown—the mess, the long pauses, the untouched dinner—never has to exist outside their phone.
They Help Other People First
They’re the ones who listen, who give advice, who always have time. It’s easier to focus on someone else’s problems than sit with their own. Helping makes them feel steady, useful, even strong. Friends call them dependable, and they accept it with a tired smile. But when the conversation ends, the quiet settles back in. Being the helper keeps the attention away from what’s still hurting underneath.
They Overthink Small Choices
Little things take too long. Choosing dinner, replying to a text and picking an outfit. They turn over each option until the moment’s gone. It’s not indecision—it’s the exhaustion of pretending. Their mind doesn’t rest because quiet feels unsafe. Even simple decisions feel like tests they can’t fail. The fridge light stays on while they stare, waiting for clarity that never really comes.
They Clean Until It Feels Right
When everything feels messy inside, they turn to what they can fix. Counters wiped, drawers rearranged, bedsheets pulled tight. The smell of detergent helps them breathe for a while. It looks peaceful—almost proud—but it’s not about tidiness. It’s control. They clean until the room quiets down, then keep going anyway. By the time they stop, the light’s changed, and the calm has already started to fade.
They Avoid Eye Contact
They still talk and smile, but their eyes move around the room. They check their phone, glance at a clock, and look past you when you speak. It’s not rudeness—it’s defense. Eye contact feels like exposure, like being caught without armor. They know that one honest look might say too much. So they keep their gaze soft and shifting, hoping you’ll hear the words but not read the truth in them.
They say they like being alone
Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t. The line still helps. It stops follow ups. A quiet room can be easy to manage. A single lamp lights the corner near a chair. A book sits open. Pages don’t turn much. The space looks calm. It does its job. Connection can wait. So can the truth behind the line.
They Rely on I’m Good
“I’m good” comes out fast. It’s automatic. The phrase works because it sounds confident, short, and complete. People nod and move on. But if you listen, there’s no warmth behind it, no variation. The same tone every time. It’s not lying—it’s a habit formed from repetition—a way to sound normal without opening the door to anything deeper. The phrase does its job, and that’s enough for now.
They Redirect the Conversation
When things get too personal, they switch the subject. It’s smooth and natural—an easy question about you, a comment about something on TV. You might not even notice at first. It’s a practiced move, learned over time. The goal isn’t to deceive, to survive the discomfort. They’d rather talk about anything else than admit they’re struggling. It’s a quiet form of self-protection that looks like casual conversation.
They Cancel When It’s Time to Go Out
They mean to show up. They plan for it. But when the time comes, it’s too much. A text goes out—sorry, not feeling well, maybe next time. The outfit stays folded on the chair, and the house goes still. It’s not laziness or disinterest. It’s the weight of pretending in public. Staying home feels easier, even if it means being quiet; they can’t quite escape.
They Keep a Steady Smile
The smile never fades for long. It lands on time and disappears on time. It appears in every group photo and hallway chat. It’s light and polite. It looks easy, but it’s muscle memory now. They know how to make it believable. When they’re finally alone, it drops fast, like a curtain closing after a show.