“It’s Okay, I’ll Manage” — And Other Lies I Tell Myself While Folding My Sanity

So I had a dream.Nothing poetic. No white horses. Just a very loud thought:Am I true to my feelings?Or do I just run on autopilot with a fake smile and passive-aggressive tea pouring?

Because let’s be honest — once you're in a relationship, or a marriage, or become a mother...Your entire emotional system shifts from “I feel” to “We must.”

“We have guests.”“We should attend this wedding.”“We can’t say no to family.”Oh really?Because I want to lie on the floor like a potato and not entertain Sharma aunty’s third cousin's son.

But we don’t say no.We say “It’s okay, I’ll manage.”Which, let’s be honest, is just desi-code for:“I’m dying inside but can’t afford therapy.”

Even my husband — sweet, well-meaning man — will say:"I’ll manage, let’s travel."Instead of:"I have a meeting. I need rest. I need space."Nope. Can’t say that. Might come across as… human.

And it’s not just us.We train kids to do this too.In the name of respect.

• Respect elders.

• Respect guests.

• Respect the idea of suffering quietly while smiling like a hostage.

But what about self-respect?That’s something we apparently learn in our late 30s after three breakdowns and a Sadhguru reel.

And then there are the topics we never touch.

The Holy Taboos:

• Sex (you can do it, but God forbid you talk about it).

• Underpants (especially female ones — clearly more sacred than temple gold).

• Periods (aka Voldemort’s monthly visit).

I mean, seriously, my mother used to hide my underwear like it was national security intel.Folded, buried, wrapped like it’s contraband.While my brother’s boxers were flapping in the wind like victory flags.

It made me think:Is my underwear magic? Does it launch missiles?No. It’s just a damn underpant. It holds things, not secrets.

And then there’s kindness.Kindness to strangers? 10/10.To family? Let’s not get crazy.

We can be SO kind to outsiders — smiling, listening, sending thank-you notes.But when it comes to our own homes?Generational trauma is playing kabaddi in the background.

Because mom’s biggest trauma was her mother-in-law.And now you’re expected to serve chai to that same energy reincarnated as your Tauji.

And don’t get me started on the family WhatsApp groups.You can’t stand half of them but you still send Diwali greetings with four flower emojis and a diya.

And then your brain goes:“Look at me, being civil. I must be a good person.”

No, babe. That’s not goodness.That’s image management.You’re not a saint — you’re just playing nice because there’s no deep wound attached.

Real kindness is hard.It starts at home.And it usually looks like not screaming during Navratri when someone uses your towel.

So yeah, I’m learning.To say yes when I mean yes.To say no without guilt.To stop folding my feelings like underwear I’m too scared to hang out in the sun.

And maybe — just maybe — next time someone says,"Are you okay?"I’ll say:"No. And I’m allowed to not be."

Because “It’s okay, I’ll manage”is not a life philosophy.It’s a polite way of saying “I’m drowning — please stop throwing me more snacks and expectations.”