The Life You Learned to Live: When Being Okay Becomes a Substitute for Being Happy

Happy 10:19:26, 6.56 PM: Welcome back to Rooted in Rising. I'm Dr. Carmella Maxwell. Before we get started, make sure you're following or subscribed wherever you're listening. And if today's episode makes you think of somebody who has been caring a little more than they let on, send it to them. But before you do that, I want you to ask yourself something. And I really want you to think about the answer. Are you happy? Not grateful, not successful, not blessed, not fortunate compared to somebody else, not doing better than you were five years ago. Happy. Are you happy with your life? And I don't mean every single moment. Nobody is happy all the time. That's not realistic. And quite frankly, if somebody tells me they're happy every minute of every day, I'm gonna have some follow-up questions. I mean, when you look at the life you're living, the routines, the relationships, the responsibilities, the things you look forward to, the things you tolerate, the things you've stopped talking about, does it feel like a life you're actively participating in? Or does it feel like a life you've become exceptionally good at managing? Because I think there are people walking around who haven't felt genuinely happy in a very long time. And they don't necessarily realize it anymore. Not because they're crying every day, not because they're unable to get out of bed. Not because their lives are falling apart. But because they've become accustomed to the absence of joy. They go to work, they come home, they take care of their children, they make dinner, they pay their bills, they answer emails, return a few phone calls, they schedule appointments, they remember birthdays, they handle emergencies. And when somebody asks how they're doing, they say, I'm good. Because technically, nothing is wrong. But nothing feels particularly right either. And I wonder how many of us have mistaken that feeling for adulthood? How many of us have accepted emotional exhaustion as maturity? How many of us have confused being functional with being fulfilled? And how many of us have stopped asking whether we're happy because we're afraid of what the answer might require us to acknowledge? Today I want to talk about the life you learned to live. Not necessarily the life you wanted, not necessarily the life you imagined, but the life you've adapted to, the one you've gotten good at, the one everybody thinks you're handling beautifully. Even when you're not entirely sure you want to keep living it the same way. And I want to talk about something else. Something that I think we rarely say out loud. Sometimes we pretend we're happy because we know the people around us are barely holding their own lives together. And we don't want to become one more thing they have to carry. So we smile. We say we're fine. We make the joke. We change the subject. And eventually. We become so good at convincing everybody else that we're okay that we stop questioning whether it's true. Here's the life that happened while you were busy living. I want you to think about who you imagined you'd become when you were younger. Not necessarily what career you wanted, not necessarily how much money you thought you'd make, but who you thought you'd be. Maybe you imagined you'd be adventurous. Maybe you thought you'd travel. Maybe you pictured yourself surrounded by friends. Maybe you imagined a marriage filled with laughter, affection, and companionship. Maybe you thought you'd have more time for yourself. Maybe you thought you'd feel more confident, more secure, more settled. And then life happened. You took a job because you needed the money. You stayed because the benefits were good. You moved because somebody else needed you to. You became a parent. You became a caregiver. You experienced a loss. You went through a breakup. You survived something you never anticipated. You made practical decisions, necessary decisions, responsible decisions. And somewhere along the way, the life you imagined began to look very different from the life you were actually living. And maybe that life isn't terrible. Maybe there are things about it that you genuinely love. Maybe you're proud of what you've built. Maybe you have people who depend on you and you wouldn't trade them for anything. But perhaps there's also a part of you that quietly wonders when did I stop being part of the equation? When did my preferences become optional? When did my dreams become negotiable? When did the things I wanted become things I would get around to eventually? And when did eventually become a word I stopped believing in? Because I think there are people who have spent so long doing what needed to be done that they no longer remember what they wanted to do. And that's a particular kind of grief. It's not always the grief of losing someone. Sometimes, it's the grief of losing access to a version of yourself you thought you'd get to become. When being functional starts looking like being happy, here's something I want us to understand. Functioning is important. Being able to fulfill your responsibilities, maintain relationships, and navigate everyday life matters. But functioning and emotional well-being are not interchangeable. You can be incredibly competent and deeply unhappy. You can have a successful career and feel disconnected from your life. You can love your children and miss the person you were before parenthood. You can appreciate your marriage and still recognize that something important is missing. You can be grateful for your home and feel lonely inside of it. You can have everything you once prayed for and still find yourself asking, is this it? And that question can come with an enormous amount of guilt. Because we're taught to compare our circumstances to people who have less. You have a job? Be grateful. You have a home? Be grateful. Your children are healthy? Be grateful. You have food? Be grateful. And yes, gratitude matters. But gratitude should not become a tool we use to invalidate our own emotional experiences. You can appreciate what you have and still acknowledge what you need. Those things can coexist. You can recognize your privileges without pretending your life is emotionally satisfying. You can love people without loving every aspect of the life you've built around them. And you can be proud of your accomplishments without believing those accomplishments should be enough to make you happy. Because happiness isn't a performance review. There isn't a checklist where you earn enough points and suddenly become emotionally fulfilled. And I think sometimes we become so focused on demonstrating that our lives are going well that we stop asking whether they actually feel good to live. Nobody has the bandwidth for your misery. Now, here's the part of this conversation that I think is going to make some people uncomfortable. Because we talk a lot about the importance of opening up. We encourage people to share their feelings. We tell them to reach out. We say things like, You don't have to go through this alone. And I believe those things. But I also think we need to acknowledge something about the world we're living in. A lot of people are emotionally exhausted. They're dealing with their own financial concerns, their own relationships, their own children, their own health, their own disappointments, their own grief, their own uncertainty about the future. And sometimes when somebody asks how you're doing, You can practically see the relief on their face when you say, I'm fine, because they don't have the capacity for another complicated answer. They don't have the emotional bandwidth to sit with somebody else's pain. And sometimes you know that before you even open your mouth. So you protect them. You say you're good. You tell them everything is going well. You make a joke about being tired. You say, you know, just busy, and you move on. Not necessarily because you're afraid of being vulnerable, but because you recognize that the person standing in front of you may be barely managing their own life. And here's where it gets very painful. Sometimes we're not pretending to be happy because we're ashamed of being unhappy. We're pretending because we don't want to burden people who are already overwhelmed. Think about how often we do this. Your friend asks how you're doing, and you know she's dealing with a difficult marriage. So you don't mention your loneliness. Your coworker asks whether everything is okay. And you know he's worried about losing his job. So you don't mention how overwhelmed you are. Your parents ask how you're doing, and you know they're struggling with their own health. So you reassure them. Your children ask whether you're okay. And of course you smile. Because they're children. They shouldn't have to carry the weight of adult problems. And by the time you've finished protecting everybody else from your emotional reality, there may be nobody left who actually knows what reality looks like. Now, I want to be clear: not everybody is emotionally unavailable. And having boundaries around what we can support is not inherently selfish. People have limits. People have responsibilities. And no single relationship can meet every emotional need. But when we repeatedly encounter people who don't have the capacity to hear us, we may begin to internalize the idea that our feelings are simply too much, too complicated, too inconvenient, too exhausting. And eventually, we stop trying. Not because we don't need the support, but because we've learned not to expect it. The loneliness of being easy to love when you're doing well. There's another piece to this that I want to explore. Some people are very comfortable being around us when we're doing well, when we're funny, when we're successful, when we're generous, when we're encouraging, when we're the person who remembers everybody's birthday, answers the phone, offers advice, and makes everybody feel better. But what happens when we're not that person? What happens when we're quiet? When we're discouraged, when we don't have anything encouraging to say, when we don't want to be the strong one, when we need somebody to listen without immediately trying to fix us. Sometimes people don't know what to do. And sometimes their discomfort becomes something we feel responsible for managing. So instead of being allowed to have a difficult moment, We find ourselves reassuring the person we were trying to confide in. Have you ever done that? You finally tell somebody that you're struggling. And within five minutes you're saying, No, no, it's okay. I'm gonna be fine. Don't worry about me. And suddenly you're comforting them. Baby, I thought we were talking about me. How did I become the customer service representative for my own emotional breakdown? But there's something serious underneath that humor. When people consistently experience us as capable, resilient, and dependable, they may forget that those qualities don't eliminate our need for care. And we may start to believe that being loved requires us to remain the version of ourselves that is easiest for other people to handle. The cheerful version, the productive version, the agreeable version, the version who never needs too much. That's not a sustainable way to experience closeness. Because if people only knew the version of you that never struggles, they don't actually know everything you're carrying. And you deserve relationships where your humanity doesn't become an inconvenience. Acceptance or resignation? Now I want to ask you a difficult question. Have you accepted your life? Or have you simply stopped believing it can be different? Because those are not necessarily the same thing. Acceptance can be healthy. It can mean recognizing reality without constantly fighting against what we cannot change. It can mean making peace with circumstances that didn't unfold the way that we wanted. It can mean understanding that not every dream will happen on the timeline we imagined. But resignation is different. Resignation can sound like what's the point? This is just how things are. People like me don't get that. I'm too old to start over. I've already missed my chance. I should just be grateful. And sometimes those statements reflect very real barriers, financial limitations, family responsibilities, disability, discrimination, lack of opportunity. Not everyone has the same freedom to make dramatic changes. I do not want to pretend otherwise. But I do want us to notice when we've stopped distinguishing between what is genuinely impossible and what we've simply stopped allowing ourselves to imagine. Because sometimes we begin shrinking our desires to fit the lives we've learned to tolerate. We stop asking for affection because we've gotten used to emotional distance. We stop pursuing friendships because we've become accustomed to loneliness. We stop making time for ourselves because we've decided our needs are less important than everyone else's. We stop imagining new possibilities because imagining them hurts. And eventually, we call that maturity. But sometimes it isn't maturity. Sometimes it's disappointment that has become familiar. Quiet grief of the person you didn't become? I want you to think about a younger version of yourself. Maybe at 18. Maybe at 25, maybe at 30. What did that person believe life would feel like? Not just what they'd accomplish, what they'd feel. Do they imagine they'd feel loved? Free? Secure? Excited? Connected? Did they imagine they'd have people to call? Did they think they'd wake up looking forward to their days? And if your life looks different now, I want you to know that doesn't automatically mean you failed. Life changes us. Circumstances change us. Relationships change us. Parenthood changes us. Loss changes us. And sometimes we discover that the things we once wanted are no longer things we want at all. That's growth. But sometimes there are dreams we didn't willingly release. We simply ran out of room for them. Or energy. Or money. Or time. And nobody ever gave us permission to grieve that. Because how do you explain that you're mourning something that never technically existed? A marriage you thought you'd have, a career you never pursued. A version of parenthood that looked different. A friendship you assumed would last forever. A sense of freedom you thought adulthood would bring. A version of yourself who seemed so certain about the future. Those losses can be difficult to articulate. Because there's no funeral, no formal acknowledgement, no sympathy card. Just a quiet realization that some of the futures you once imagined are no longer available in the same way. And that can hurt. But I want to offer something important here. Grieving the life you didn't live doesn't mean you can't love the life you have. It means you're allowing yourself to acknowledge the full complexity of your experience. You can be thankful for the path you took and still feel sadness about the paths that you didn't. Mä! If nobody needed you tomorrow, who would you be? Now I want you to sit with that question. If nobody needed you tomorrow, would you know what to do with yourself? If nobody needed a ride, if nobody needed dinner, if nobody needed your advice, if nobody needed you to fix something, if nobody needed you to make a decision. If nobody needed you to be responsible for anything, who would you be? And what would you want? Because I think some of us have become so identified with being useful that we struggle to imagine ourselves outside of what we provide. We're mothers, fathers, partners, professionals, caregivers, leaders. Providers, problem solvers. And those identities can be meaningful. They can be sources of pride and connection. But they're not the entirety of who we are. You existed before some of those responsibilities. And you remain a person underneath all of them. A person with preferences, with curiosity, with desires, with limitations. With a need for rest, with a need for affection, with interests that don't have to benefit anybody else. And I want you to consider whether you've allowed that person enough room to exist. Not the version of you who is useful, the version of you who is simply alive. What makes that person laugh? What makes that person feel connected? What does that person miss? What has that person been putting off? And what would it look like to begin making space for them again? Here's another uncomfortable reality. Sometimes people have spent so long prioritizing everyone else's needs that when they're finally asked what they want, they genuinely don't know. Somebody says, What do you want to do this weekend? And you say, I don't care. What do you want for dinner? Whatever everybody else wants. Where do you want to go? It doesn't matter. What would make you happy? And suddenly there's silence. Sound familiar? Because that's a much harder question. And I want us to pay attention to that. Because repeatedly setting aside our preferences can make it harder to recognize them. Not necessarily because we've lost them forever, but because we've gotten out of the habit of listening to ourselves. And sometimes rediscovering what we want doesn't begin with a major life transformation. It begins with small questions. What do I actually enjoy? What leaves me feeling depleted? Who do I feel comfortable being myself around? When do I feel most connected to my life? What have I been tolerating simply because it's familiar? What am I doing because I genuinely choose it? And what am I doing because I've never stopped to consider another option? Those questions aren't always easy. And the answers don't necessarily mean you need to quit your job and your relationship or move across the country. Please don't listen to this episode and decide you need to blow up your entire life by Thursday. I am not taking responsibility for that. I'm asking you to become curious about your life again. Because curiosity creates room for choice. And choice is an important part of feeling connected to the life we're living. You don't need to destroy your life to change your relationship with it. I want to be especially clear about something. This episode is not an invitation to abandon everything you've built. Sometimes the life we have is genuinely good. It's just exhausting. Sometimes we don't need a different marriage. We need better communication. Sometimes we don't need a different career. We need boundaries around the one we have. Sometimes we don't need an entirely new identity. We need time to reconnect with parts of ourselves we've neglected. Sometimes we don't need a dramatic transformation. We need a little more honesty, a little more support, a little more rest, a little more room to experience pleasure without guilt. And sometimes, yes, there are circumstances that genuinely need to change. Relationships that are harmful, work environments that are unsustainable, patterns that are damaging our well-being. But meaningful change doesn't always begin with a dramatic decision. Sometimes it begins with acknowledging something we've been avoiding. I'm lonely. I'm overwhelmed. I miss who I used to be. I don't feel connected to my partner. I don't enjoy my work anymore. I need help. I want something different. And those statements can be frightening. Because once we acknowledge them, we may feel pressure to do something about them. But I want you to remember: acknowledgement is not the same as obligation. You can recognize that something is missing without immediately knowing how to fix it. You can tell the truth about your life without having a complete plan for changing it. And you can begin making small, thoughtful adjustments without dismantling everything you've worked hard to build. Now let's return to something we talked about earlier, the emotional bandwidth of the people around us. Because sometimes we assume that the people who love us should automatically recognize when we're struggling. And sometimes they do, but sometimes they don't. Especially if we've spent years telling them we're fine. Especially if we're still showing up, still laughing, still working. Still taking care of everyone, still making everything look manageable. And I think we need to be careful about interpreting that as evidence that nobody cares. Sometimes people genuinely don't know. Sometimes they're distracted. Sometimes they're overwhelmed. Sometimes they believe us when we say that we're okay. And sometimes they simply don't have the skills to recognize what's happening underneath the surface. That doesn't mean we should accept relationships where our needs are cons consistently dismissed. But it does mean we may need to become more intentional about how we communicate. Instead of saying, I'm fine when we're not, perhaps we try, I'm having a difficult time, and I could really use somebody to listen. Or, I don't need advice right now, I just need to talk. Or I know you've got a lot going on, but do you have the capacity for a heavier conversation? That last question matters. Because healthy emotional support involves both honesty and respect for the other person's capacity. And if someone doesn't have the bandwidth at that moment, that doesn't automatically mean our needs are unreasonable. It may mean we need another time, another person, a broader support system. Or professional support. Because we shouldn't have to make ourselves emotionally invisible simply because the people around us are also struggling. Other people's exhaustion does not make your pain irrelevant. And your ability to function does not mean you don't deserve care. The difference between a peaceful life and a life you've stopped feeling. I want to make an important distinction here, because I've talked before about the beauty of an ordinary, uneventful life, and I still believe in that. I believe there is tremendous value and stability in routine, in having a home you feel comfortable in, in enjoying quiet weekends. And being able to go through your day without a crisis. But there's a difference between being content with an ordinary life and becoming emotionally disconnected from your life. One feels like peace, the other can feel like resignation. And from the outside, they might look exactly the same. Two people might wake up, go to work, come home, make dinner, and watch television. One feels grounded. Connected and satisfied. The other feels numb, lonely, and quietly disappointed. The routines aren't necessarily the problem. The internal experience is different. And that's why I don't want you to evaluate your happiness based solely on what your life looks like. I want you to consider what it feels like. Do you experience moments of connection? Do you have things you look forward to? Do you feel seen in your relationships? Do you have space for your own needs? Do you recognize yourself in the decisions you're making? And if the answers are complicated, that's okay. They don't have to be resolved today. But they deserve your attention. So where do we go from here? Because I don't want this episode to leave you feeling as though you've wasted your life. That is not the point. And I certainly don't want you to walk away believing that happiness is something you should be experiencing constantly. It isn't. Happiness fluctuates, meaning changes, relationships evolve. And sometimes life involves seasons where responsibilities take precedence over personal fulfillment. That's reality. But I do want you to consider whether there are parts of your life where you've stopped exercising choice. Maybe you've been saying yes to things you no longer want to do. Maybe you've been maintaining relationships out of habit rather than connection. Maybe you've been postponing activities that matter to you. Maybe you've been minimizing your own emotional needs because everybody else seems overwhelmed. Maybe you've become so focused on what your life requires that you've forgotten to ask what your life could include. And perhaps the next step isn't to make a dramatic change. Perhaps it's to make an intentional one. One honest conversation. One evening spent doing something you genuinely enjoy. One boundary. One request for help. One decision that reflects who you are now rather than who everybody else expects you to be. Because you don't have to reinvent your entire life to begin reconnecting with it. And you don't have to wait until you're completely unhappy to decide that something deserves attention. So here's what I want to leave with you today. I want you to think about the life you're living, not the life people see, not the life you've learned to describe, not the life that looks good on paper, the life you actually experience. And I want you to ask yourself Am I happy? Am I connected? Am I making room for myself? Am I choosing this life? Or have I simply become very good at enduring it? And if those questions bring up sadness, regret, confusion, or discomfort, I want you to know that doesn't automatically mean something is wrong with you or that your life has been a mistake. It means you're asking questions that matter. You are allowed to appreciate your life and still want something different. You are allowed to love the people who depend on you and still wish somebody would take care of you sometimes. You are allowed to be successful and still feel unfulfilled. You are allowed to be grateful and still be unhappy. And you are allowed to acknowledge those feelings even when the people around you are struggling with their own. Because other people's pain does not cancel yours. And other people's limited capacity does not mean you have to disappear. You don't have to become another person's emergency. You don't have to demand that everybody carry your burdens. But you also don't have to spend your entire life pretending you don't have any. And maybe that's the hardest part of this conversation, because it's recognizing that the life we've learned to live isn't necessarily the life we have to keep living in exactly the same way. Some things may be outside of our control. Some responsibilities may remain. Some dreams may need to change. And some circumstances may require time, resources, and support before they can be different. But there may still be room for more honesty, more connection, more joy, more choice, more of you. Because you were not placed on this earth solely to manage responsibilities, meet expectations, and make everybody else's life easier. You were supposed to have a life too. Not just a schedule, not just a career, not just a collection of obligations, a life, one where you get to feel things, want things, enjoy things, change your mind. Ask for help. Be imperfect. And sometimes admit that you're not okay. Because being okay is not the same thing as being happy. And you deserve the opportunity to discover what happiness actually means to you. So this week, I don't want you to make a five-year plan. I don't want you to quit your job. I don't want you to send a dramatic text message to somebody who hasn't heard from you since twenty nineteen. Please, we have enough going on. I just want you to ask one question. What part of my life have I been managing instead of actually experiencing? And then give yourself enough honesty to sit with the answer. Because sometimes the first step towards a more fulfilling life isn't changing everything. It's admitting that something matters. Until next time. Stay rooted in who you are. Keep rising into who you're becoming. Take care.