Whenever someone asks how I’m doing, my answer is automatic: “I’m good.” It slips out before I even think about it, like a reflex I’ve practiced for years. The truth is, sometimes I’m not good. Sometimes I’m homesick, overwhelmed, or just tired for no clear reason. But saying that out loud feels like admitting failure. So instead, I smile, say I’m fine, and hope no one looks too closely.
There’s this unspoken expectation, especially in college, that everyone’s supposed to be okay all the time. Everyone should be thriving, making friends, chasing opportunities, and documenting every moment for social media. Being an exchange student has made me realize how fragile that illusion can be. Everyone tells you it’s meant to be the experience of a lifetime, but no one mentions the quiet evenings that stretch too long, or the weight of trying to belong somewhere new. It’s hard to always appear like I’m having the time of my life when part of me misses my home, my people, and the comfort of being known.
It often feels like the world rewards composure. On social media, everyone seems effortlessly happy, busy, and beautifully adjusted. The pressure to keep up, both emotionally and aesthetically, can be exhausting. When someone tells me how lucky I am to be studying abroad, I usually smile and agree, because I’m grateful. But to me, that gratitude can coexist with other feelings too, like the quiet loneliness that comes with being far from home, or the pressure to make every day meaningful because it’s supposed to be special. It isn’t that I’m unhappy, it’s just that adjustment takes time, and sometimes it’s tiring to pretend it doesn’t.
There are days when I catch myself feeling low even though nothing is actually wrong. No crisis, no heartbreak, just a dull ache that I can’t quite name. I start wondering why, because on paper everything looks fine. But I’ve realized that emotions don’t always follow logic. You can love where you are and still miss where you came from. You can be proud of your independence and still crave something familiar. Pretending otherwise doesn’t make the feeling disappear; it only hides it.
Lately, I’ve been trying to be more honest, at least with myself. To acknowledge when a day feels heavy, instead of forcing a smile. To let a friend, or a roommate see the homesick version of me, not just the edited one. To remember that being vulnerable doesn’t make me ungrateful. It just makes me human.
Maybe the goal isn’t to be okay all the time. The truth is, no one is okay all the time, and that’s okay. There’s strength in admitting when you’re struggling, in asking for help, and in letting go of the need to always seem fine. So the next time someone asks how I’m doing, maybe I’ll still say, ‘I’m good.’ But maybe I’ll also add, ‘and a little homesick’ because both can be true.