Hi, The Good Principal.
I came across one of the confessions here a few days ago and ended up reading several more. Some of them were surprisingly familiar.
So I thought maybe I’d share something too.
It’s not really a big problem. At least, I don’t think it is. Nobody has done anything wrong, and I don’t want this to sound like I’m complaining about the people around me.
It’s just something I’ve noticed over the years, and lately I’ve been wondering whether other principals experience it too.
Please use Susan instead of my real name.
Maybe someone reading this will understand what I’m trying to say.
I think people would probably describe me as independent.
Capable.
The kind of person who gets on with things.
And most of the time, I think that description is fair.
But I noticed something about myself recently that made me feel a little ridiculous.
Someone asked me if I was okay.
I said I was fine.
She believed me.
And I was disappointed.
That makes absolutely no sense when you say it like that.
I know.
But I sat with it afterward and realized it happens more often than I want to admit.
People ask how I’m doing all the time.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“Busy day?”
“You look tired.”
And I always say the same thing.
“I’m fine.”
Sometimes I add a little laugh.
Sometimes:
“Just tired.”
Sometimes:
“It’s okay.”
And that’s usually enough.
Nobody really asks me twice.
Which is funny because I think part of me wants them to.
Not everyone.
Not every day.
But sometimes.
Sometimes I say “I’m fine” and I’m actually hoping somebody will look at me and say:
“No. Really.”
That almost never happens.
And before anyone says people aren’t mind readers…
yes.
I know.
I know I could say more.
I could tell someone I had a terrible morning.
I could say I’m overwhelmed.
I could say something got to me.
I could say I’m not okay.
But when you’re the principal, that gets complicated.
Because once you say too much, you start wondering how it sounds.
Does it make me look like I can’t handle the job?
Will they worry?
Will they repeat it?
Will someone start looking at me differently?
Will a small bad day suddenly become:
“Ma’am seems stressed lately”?
Schools are small worlds.
Things travel.
So “I’m fine” is easier.
Safe.
Clean.
Nothing for anyone to carry around afterward.
There was one afternoon when a teacher stopped by my office.
She looked at me and said:
“Ma’am, you look exhausted.”
I said:
“I’m okay.”
She nodded.
Then started asking about a form.
That was it.
And for some stupid reason, I felt disappointed.
Not at her.
She didn’t do anything wrong.
I literally told her I was okay.
What was she supposed to do?
Argue with me?
Still…
for maybe two seconds, I wanted her to ask again.
I wanted her to say:
“Are you sure?”
I probably still would’ve said yes.
That’s the ridiculous part.
I wanted someone to ask twice even though I’m not sure I would’ve answered differently.
Maybe I just wanted someone to notice the answer wasn’t completely true.
That sounds needy.
I know.
Maybe it is.
There are days when you spend hours noticing everybody else.
You notice when a teacher is quieter than usual.
You notice when a parent is more upset than they’re admitting.
You notice when a student is avoiding eye contact.
You notice tension in a meeting.
You notice who stopped talking.
You notice who keeps saying “it’s fine” when it clearly isn’t.
That’s part of the job somehow.
Reading the room.
Watching people.
Checking in.
Then somebody asks how you are and you say “fine” and the conversation moves on.
And suddenly you think…
wow.
Okay.
Guess we’re done with me.
Again, that sounds worse than I mean it.
I’m not asking people to monitor me.
I don’t want staff worrying every time I look tired.
I don’t want every bad day to become a group concern.
That would be awful.
But sometimes it feels strange that you can be surrounded by people all day and still nobody really knows how the day felt for you.
They know what happened.
They know there was a difficult parent.
They know the district called.
They know there was a staff issue.
They know the schedule got changed.
But they don’t necessarily know what any of it did to you.
And maybe they shouldn’t.
Maybe that’s part of the position.
I don’t know.
One time someone actually did ask twice.
A friend.
Not someone from school.
We were having coffee one Saturday afternoon.
She asked me how work was going.
I said:
“Fine. Busy.”
Normal answer.
She looked at me for a few seconds.
Then said:
“No, you’re not.”
And that nearly got me.
Not because anything huge had happened.
It had just been a bad week.
A lot of small things.
Too many conversations.
Too many people needing something.
Too many things I couldn’t really talk about.
And when she asked again, I suddenly didn’t know what to say.
I had spent the whole week answering questions.
Making decisions.
Explaining things.
Then somebody asked me one simple question properly and I had no answer ready.
I think I said:
“I’m just tired.”
She said:
“I know.”
That was it.
No advice.
No speech.
No:
“You need to take care of yourself.”
Thank God.
Just…
I know.
And she kept drinking her coffee.
I still remember that.
Maybe because it felt different from the usual:
“How are you?”
Most of the time that question isn’t really a question anyway.
It’s hello.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
Done.
And I do it too.
I ask people how they’re doing while already reaching for the next paper.
Sometimes I’m asking while my brain is already somewhere else.
So I’m not blaming anyone.
I think I just notice it more now.
The number of times people ask.
The number of times I say I’m fine.
The number of times everybody accepts it.
Sometimes that’s exactly what I want.
Sometimes I do not want to talk.
Sometimes I’m grateful nobody asks twice because I genuinely don’t have the energy to explain.
But other days…
I say “I’m fine” and there’s this tiny pause afterward.
Like maybe I’m leaving the door open one inch.
Nobody notices.
Or maybe they do and they’re just respecting the answer.
I honestly don’t know.
That might be the hardest part.
I can’t complain that people believe me when I’m the one saying it.
Still…
sometimes I wish someone didn’t.
I’ve wondered whether I should just be more honest.
Not dramatically honest.
I don’t mean walking into the staff room and announcing all my problems.
Just something like:
“Actually, today has been rough.”
Even writing that feels strange.
Because then what?
Do they ask why?
Do I explain?
How much?
What can I say?
What can’t I say?
Do I make them uncomfortable?
Do they feel like they have to take care of me now?
Maybe this is why “I’m fine” is so useful.
It ends the problem before the problem even starts.
But maybe it also closes the door before anyone gets the chance to come through it.
That’s the part I’m starting to notice.
I’ve probably trained people to believe me.
For years I’ve said:
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Nothing serious.”
Then part of me wonders why nobody looks at me and says:
“No, you don’t.”
That isn’t completely fair.
I know that.
Maybe sometimes what I really want is not for someone to solve anything.
Not even for them to ask questions.
Maybe I just want someone to notice.
There is a difference.
To look at me for two seconds longer than usual and think:
She looks tired.
And not immediately move on to the form.
Maybe that’s all.
I don’t know.
That feels embarrassingly small when I write it.
But I think that’s why I’m sending this.
Because I wonder if other school leaders do the same thing.
Do you spend the whole day noticing everyone else and then quietly wish somebody would notice you?
Do you say you’re fine because it feels safer…
and then feel strangely disappointed when everyone accepts the answer?
I’d really like to know what The Good Principal thinks.
Especially how a school leader can be honest without turning every difficult day into something staff feel responsible for carrying.
And I’d like to hear from other principals too.
Maybe I’m not the only one secretly wanting somebody to ask twice.
Thank you for giving us a place to say things that sound a little embarrassing once they leave your head.
— Susan
FROM THE GOOD PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE
Susan, there is a contradiction sitting right in the middle of your confession:
You want people to respect your answer.
And sometimes…
you also want someone not to believe it immediately.
Both can be true.
That is probably why this feels so confusing.
Because “I’m fine” can mean many different things.
Sometimes it genuinely means:
I’m fine.
Sometimes:
I’m having a difficult day, but I don’t want to talk about it.
Sometimes:
I’m not ready to explain this yet.
Sometimes:
I don’t know what I’m feeling well enough to answer properly.
And sometimes, yes:
Please notice that I’m not really fine and ask me one more time.
The problem is that the person standing in front of you cannot always know which version you mean.
And if you have spent years being competent, private, composed, and reassuring, people may have learned to take you at your word.
That is not necessarily evidence that they do not care.
It may actually mean they trust your boundaries.
You said:
“I’m okay.”
So they believed you.
That teacher who moved on to the form may not have missed your distress.
She may have thought:
Ma’am says she is okay. I should respect that.
That possibility matters.
Because otherwise it is very easy to turn:
“Nobody asked again”
into:
“Nobody noticed.”
Those are not always the same thing.
Someone may notice and still decide not to push.
Someone may care and still not know whether asking again would feel intrusive.
And especially in a workplace, staff may be unsure where the boundary is.
You are their principal.
That changes the relationship.
A teacher might genuinely think:
“I don’t want to put Ma’am in a position where she has to share something personal with me.”
That is not indifference.
It may be respect.
But there is another truth beside that one.
If you continually tell everyone you are fine when you are not, eventually you create a version of yourself that people learn to trust.
Capable.
Fine.
Got it handled.
No need to ask.
And then one day you look around and wonder why nobody seems to know when you are struggling.
That does not mean you did something wrong.
It just means the pattern has consequences.
The good news is you do not have to go from:
“I’m fine.”
to:
“Let me tell you everything.”
There is a lot of space in between.
You could say:
“Honestly, it’s been a rough day, but I’ll be okay.”
Or:
“I’m a little overloaded today.”
Or:
“Not my best day, but thank you for asking.”
Those responses are honest.
But they do not hand the other person responsibility for fixing you.
That distinction may help.
Because I think one of your fears is:
If I admit I am not fine, now the other person has to do something about it.
Not necessarily.
Sometimes honesty can simply be information.
You can let someone see a little more of you without asking them to carry you.
And if they ask:
“Do you want to talk?”
you can still say:
“Thank you, but not right now.”
That is honest too.
You do not have to choose between complete emotional privacy and complete openness.
There are degrees.
But I think there is an even more important question underneath all of this:
Who are you hoping will ask twice?
Because I do not think the answer should necessarily be:
everyone at school.
Your staff cannot realistically become the people responsible for noticing every change in your emotional state.
And depending on the relationship, it may not even be appropriate for them to occupy that role.
But you should probably have somebody.
Maybe more than one person.
Someone with whom “I’m fine” is not the automatic script.
Someone who knows what your “fine” sounds like when you are actually fine…
and what it sounds like when you are trying to end the conversation.
Someone you do not supervise.
Someone who does not need you to be the principal.
Someone who can hear:
“I’ve had a horrible week.”
without panicking, gossiping, giving you a leadership lecture, or immediately trying to fix you.
That friend who said:
“No, you’re not.”
may have given you something very simple and very valuable.
Permission not to maintain the answer.
And notice what happened afterward.
She did not interrogate you.
She did not give you advice.
She did not turn your difficult week into a project.
She simply said:
“I know.”
Maybe that was why it mattered.
You were seen without immediately becoming another problem to solve.
That is very different from attention-seeking.
Sometimes people do not need advice.
They do not even need to tell the whole story.
They just need one person to notice that the version they are presenting to the world is costing them something.
There is also something important in the role reversal you described.
You spend much of the day noticing other people.
You notice the teacher who is quieter.
The parent who is holding something back.
The student who says “fine” too quickly.
You are trained by the work to read signals.
So when nobody does that for you, the absence may feel stronger.
You think:
I would have noticed.
Maybe you would have.
But remember, you have information other people do not.
You know what your face feels like when you are exhausted.
They only see your face.
You know that your “I’m fine” is slightly false.
They hear the same answer they have probably heard from you hundreds of times.
You know the entire morning behind the sentence.
They may only know you look a little tired.
So being seen cannot always depend on someone decoding you correctly.
That is too fragile.
And probably unfair to both sides.
Sometimes, instead of waiting to be asked twice, you may need to answer the first question one degree more honestly.
Not to everyone.
Just where it feels safe.
There is a big difference between:
“I’m fine.”
and:
“I’m okay, but today was a lot.”
That second answer leaves a real door open.
If the person has space, she can step through it.
If not, you have still told the truth.
And perhaps that is the deeper shift here.
Do not make being understood entirely dependent on another person being perceptive enough to catch what you are deliberately hiding.
You deserve something more reliable than that.
There is one other thing I would pay attention to.
You wrote:
“Sometimes I’m grateful nobody asks twice.”
That matters too.
You do not always want to be known.
Sometimes privacy is exactly what you need.
So this is not about teaching everyone to challenge your answer.
Imagine how exhausting that would become.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
Please stop.
No.
The goal is not forcing deeper conversations every time someone looks tired.
The goal is having enough honesty and enough safe relationships that you do not spend years wishing someone would correctly guess which “fine” means:
Please leave it alone
and which one means:
Please stay.
Those are impossible odds.
You can make that easier.
Maybe with your friend, you say:
“When I’ve had a rough week, I tend to say I’m fine even when I’m not. Sometimes ask me again.”
That may sound awkward.
But good relationships survive awkward sentences.
Maybe you develop your own shorthand.
“Fine-fine?”
“Work fine or actually fine?”
Whatever feels natural.
The point is creating one place where you do not have to communicate entirely through hints.
And if you do not currently have anyone with whom that feels possible, I would take that seriously.
Not as a crisis.
Just as information.
Because school leadership already creates enough relationships in which you have to monitor what you say.
You probably need at least one where you do not.
So Susan, I would not tell you to stop saying “I’m fine.”
Sometimes you are.
Sometimes it is the boundary you want.
Keep it.
But on the days when part of you is hoping someone asks twice…
consider whether you can make the first answer a little more true.
Maybe:
“I’ve had better days.”
That might be enough.
The person still gets to choose what happens next.
And so do you.
Because being seen should not always depend on somebody correctly guessing that you did not mean the words you just said.
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