The question we answer without thinking
How are you doing ?
It’s one of the most common questions we ask. Sometimes it’s how we open a conversation. Sometimes it’s how someone checks in. And most of the time, it’s answered quickly and without much thought.
My typical responses are pretty standard: fine, good, okay.
What I’ve noticed, though, is that those answers don’t always match what’s actually going on inside me. I don’t know the percentage, but often enough to notice a pattern, my outward response and my inner state aren’t aligned.
Sometimes I’m not “fine,” but I also don’t feel ready—or willing—to say I’m sad, tired, anxious, or overwhelmed. Not because those feelings aren’t there, but because I’m not sure what comes next if I name them. Will I need to explain? Reassure the other person? Manage their discomfort? Keep the conversation from turning into something heavier than either of us expected?
So “fine” becomes a kind of shorthand. Not a lie exactly—more like a boundary.
I’ve read and heard a great deal about boundaries, and I believe in them. But honestly, for me it’s not always just about boundaries. Sometimes it’s that my emotions are moving in real time.
I’ll be sitting on the couch, and within a few minutes it’s like my inner world starts cycling—sad… then happy… then confused. And I’ll catch myself thinking, What is this? Is there an actual term for this emotional cycling? And maybe an even more interesting question: What am I doing when I stop and look at it?
Because something shifts the moment I pause and pay attention.
It reminds me of dogs at the dog park. They run, they stop, they sprint again. They sniff everything. They get excited, then distracted, then suddenly locked in on one random leaf like it’s the most important thing on earth. No dog is sitting there judging themselves for being “inconsistent.” They’re just responding—moment by moment—to what’s happening around them and inside them.
When I watch my emotions cycle, it feels a little like that. A lot of motion. A lot of signals. A lot of “this is here now.” And when I’m able to step back and observe it, I’m not exactly fixing anything—I’m noticing. I’m naming. I’m witnessing my own experience instead of being dragged by it.
I did a little searching for language that fits this, and one phrase that stood out to me was emotional flux—the idea that feelings aren’t fixed, they’re moving. That word felt relieving, because it gave me a way to describe something I experience without turning it into a dramatic diagnosis. It’s not always that something is “wrong.” Sometimes I’m just… shifting.
And when you’re in that kind of movement, “How are you doing?” can feel like a question that demands one clear answer when your inner world is anything but simple. There are days when I’m not feeling one clean emotion. Instead, I’m holding several at once—gratitude mixed with sadness, hope layered with fatigue, calm interrupted by anxiety.
On those days, “I don’t know” might actually be the most honest response. Not because I’m disconnected from myself, but because I’m still in the middle of noticing what’s there.
“How are you doing?” is a simple question. But maybe it doesn’t always deserve a simple answer.
What would change if you gave yourself permission to answer “I don’t know” the next time someone asks how you’re doing—not as avoidance, but as honest presence with your own emotional flux?
