The Journey from “I’m Fine” to Authenticity
A Personal Reflection on Honesty and Integrity
For much of my life, I've been a master of the small, seemingly harmless fib. Whenever someone asked how I was doing, I'd quickly reply, “I’m fine,” regardless of the truth. It wasn’t that I was trying to deceive anyone; I didn’t want to burden others with my problems, or, perhaps more honestly, I didn’t want to confront my own feelings. Over time, though, these small lies accumulated, building up like invisible weights on my shoulders. I began to notice a change in my body—a persistent tension in my neck, a constant ache behind my eyes, and, eventually, debilitating migraines that left me bedridden for days. It wasn’t until I stumbled upon Bessel van der Kolk’s The Body Keeps the Score that I realized my body was signaling something far more profound: I was out of integrity with myself.
In his book, van der Kolk discusses how the body can store trauma and emotional distress, manifesting in physical symptoms. This really resonated with me. I began to understand that my constant “I’m fine” was a form of self-betrayal, a denial of my true feelings and needs. According to van der Kolk, our bodies remember what our minds might try to forget, and my migraines were a clear message that I couldn’t ignore the dissonance between my words and my reality (van der Kolk 127).
I’ve had vast moments of truth bombs in my life—confronting molesters and losing family because that truth was brought to light, confronting abusers and losing family because they were uncomfortable calling the abuse what it was, and losing a marriage. After all, I admitted I didn’t love or respect my spouse. But I’ve never lived every moment, each day, with truth and integrity.
The turning point came when I embarked on a mindfulness program, where one of the core principles was to live with complete integrity—meaning to tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. I committed to this wholeheartedly, determined to see if honesty could bring the peace I desperately needed. The next time someone asked how I was, I paused and said, “Honestly, I’m not doing so well today.” It was terrifying at first. I worried about how people would react, whether they’d think less of me or withdraw their support. Because, to be honest, most days were ones that, when living in integrity, I’d answer with, “Honestly, I’m not doing so well today.”
But something remarkable happened. My physical symptoms began to ease. The migraines that had plagued me for years started to diminish in intensity and frequency. It was as if my body was sighing in relief, finally free from the burden of carrying unspoken truths. The more honest I became, the lighter I felt—emotionally and physically.
This commitment to integrity extended to all areas of my life. When asked what I wanted for dinner, instead of deferring to whatever was most accessible, I expressed my real preferences. “I’d love to have pasta tonight,” I’d say, instead of the usual, “Whatever you want is fine.” When discussing my career aspirations, I no longer downplayed my ambitions. “I’m looking for a job that allows me to be creative and make a meaningful impact, and I want to make a lot of money and move up in title as I gain experience,” I told potential employers instead of giving a generic answer I thought they wanted to hear. And in my relationships, when someone asked, “Do you love me?” I didn’t just say, “Yes.” I took a moment to express the depth and nuances of my feelings, acknowledging both the love and the challenges that came with it. When one of my children asked who was the favorite, I took the time to explain why I didn’t have a favorite overall but that certain times with each kiddo were unique and special because of their personalities.
Of course, there were lots of moments of discomfort. Not everyone was pleased with my newfound honesty. Some found it unsettling, preferring the polite, surface-level interactions they were used to. There were awkward silences, strained conversations, and hurt feelings. In my enthusiasm, I was a bit harsh sometimes without meaning to be. Most of all, there were lots of changes. I quit a job that didn’t value me after six months of honest conversations and attempts at management improvement. Finances changed drastically when I knew I didn’t want to get just any job, but one that made me delighted to do it, but had to admit that I didn’t know what exactly that delight might stem from.
But despite these challenges, I noticed a profound change in my life. Shallow relationships began to deepen. I was surrounded by people who value authenticity and appreciate honesty even when it’s hard to hear. While I shed some relationships, my life filled up with people who crave the unique balance of kindness from the core and honesty that speaks to integrity.
Most notably, I’ve learned to trust myself in the life-changing realm. I had multiple abusers who told me I was stupid and lazy; I dropped out of school and made some doozy-type mistakes on the path of life. Yet, thanks to the work of integrity-seeking, I’ve begun to trust that my instincts, wants, desires, and needs are valid. Not only are they valid, but I’m in perfect harmony. Mistakes still happen, but not because I cover up or hide from the truth. Mistakes happen because I can’t control everything.
Loving myself and trusting myself is the most precious gift I can give myself in this life.
Living in integrity hasn’t made my life easier, but it’s made it more prosperous and fulfilling. My health improved, my relationships became more genuine, and I felt a sense of peace that I hadn’t known was possible. The journey wasn’t without its bumps but worth every uncomfortable moment. I learned that the cost of integrity is small compared to the price of living a lie. By telling the truth, I could align my words with my reality, and in doing so, I found a healthier life filled with meaning and true, profound moments of joy.
Works Cited
Van der Kolk, Bessel. The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Penguin Books, 2015.