It’s Okay Not to Be Okay… As Long As You’re Okay
A line came up in a therapy session this week that stuck with me: “It’s okay not to be okay… as long as you’re okay.”
It was said as a kind of shorthand for something we both recognised. That feeling that it’s fine to say you're struggling, so long as it doesn’t really affect anything. You can be a bit low, a bit tired, a bit anxious—as long as you’re still showing up, still producing, still making other people feel comfortable.
It hit me as the perfect line for something I see all the time: the way mental health is increasingly talked about in public, at work, and in relationships. We’ve made space for the language of struggle—people are encouraged to “speak up,” to “reach out,” to “prioritise their wellbeing.” And yet the reality is often far more contained, far more conditional. We are not making space to actually support each other with the struggle, especially in our health care systems.
We’re invited to be open, but only if we’re already halfway to fine. The answer to ‘how are you doing?’ should be a contained response with a beginning, middle and end.
The Performance of Vulnerability
In some workplaces, you’ll find wellness posters and mental health ambassadors. You might even be offered a webinar on burnout or mindfulness. It looks like progress—and in some ways it is. It’s miles ahead of the days when you just kept quiet and powered through.
And yet, many people quickly learn the limits of that support.
You can say you’re not okay, but you’re expected to say it with a smile. You can ‘admit’ to struggling, but only if you’re also reassuring everyone that it won’t impact your performance. You can be vulnerable, so long as your vulnerability doesn’t ask anything of anyone else.
It creates a strange, performative relationship with mental health—where struggle is fine, as long as it’s tidy. Where people learn to package up their pain in ways that make it easier to digest. "I’m not doing great, but don’t worry, it’s all under control."
Contained Distress
I hear this a lot in therapy. People who’ve taken the risk of saying something at work or in relationships, only to be met with silence, awkwardness, or worse—a shift in how they’re treated. Support that evaporates once the messiness becomes real. Colleagues who care, but only up to the point where they might need to take something off your plate. Friends who want you to let them know if there’s anything you need when what we really want is for them to take a swing and do a thing.
There’s a hidden message in all of it: you can struggle, but not too much. You can feel overwhelmed, but not to the point where anything has to change.
And so we contain it. We can learn to make our “not okay” small and neat. We can downplay, deflect, reassure. Because while it might be okay not to be okay, it’s definitely not okay to need something inconvenient.
Self-Imposed Limits on Seeking Support
Many people hesitate to seek therapy because they believe their problems aren't "serious enough." This internal barrier often stems from societal messages that equate therapy with severe mental illness, leading individuals to minimise their struggles and delay seeking help.
The British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy (BACP) has highlighted this issue. Their research indicates that 19% of people in the UK consider it self-indulgent to seek counselling or psychotherapy if they don't have a serious problem. This misconception prevents many from accessing support that could be beneficial.
Therapists frequently encounter people who express concern about whether their difficulties are "enough" to warrant attention. People who say “I bet you must be listening to me thinking ‘I deal with people with real problems’ and undermine their feelings, even in therapy. This hesitation can be rooted in beliefs that personal distress should be managed privately, and can bring feelings of shame and discomfort about reaching out for help.
What Would It Mean to Mean It?
If we really believed it was okay not to be okay, what would be different?
We could respond with flexibility, not just words. We’d adjust expectations, redistribute workloads, offer time off without guilt. We’d be willing to sit in the discomfort of someone else’s pain without rushing to fix it or minimise it.
We’d recognise that being “not okay” is often messy, often inconvenient—and still valid.
Because real care isn’t just about the invitation to speak. It’s about what happens next. It’s about whether someone feels held, or hurried. Believed, or managed. Supported, or sidelined.
Until then, a lot of people will keep living by that unspoken rule: You can be struggling… just don’t let it show.
At the end of each blog, I’m offering a few open questions. They’re not a prescription—just an invitation to reflect. If something in the piece resonated, these questions might help shape where your thoughts go next.
Have you ever dismissed your own struggles as not significant enough to seek help?
What beliefs do you hold about who "deserves" support?
How might these beliefs be influencing your willingness to seek assistance?