I LIVED IN London for a couple of years back in 2009 and 2010. Typical Aussie rite of passage, except I chose to do it during the Global Financial Crisis – because why make things too easy?
Sure, leaving an Australian summer for an English winter was tough, but it wasn’t the only adjustment. Even the way the Brits greet you took some getting used to. They don’t say, “How are you?” They say, “You alright?” – as though you’ve just been found unconscious on a footpath.
The first time I heard it, I panicked. I assumed they’d spotted something off. Maybe I looked like I was about to cry or had wrestled a drop bear. So I just blurted out, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Fifteen years on, I still think about that exchange. Because if I’d answered the question I thought they were asking, I’d have said, “No, I’m not alright, mate. I’m unemployed, it’s freezing, and Cheryl Cole has malaria.” But instead, I stuck to the script and went with: “I’m fine.”
We all know that person puts on a brave face when we suspect they need us the most. Sometime we are that person. We’re told it’s good to be vulnerable, but the second we smell pity, the walls go up because we don’t want to feel weak or lesser than.
Men (and plenty of women, too) are taught early on to ‘man up’ and cope alone, yet we’re also told to ‘open up’ for mental health’s sake.
This leads to an internal push-and-pull: we crave support, but we don’t want pity or that sinking sense people think we’re not up to the task.
So how do we do it? How do we get support without the figurative “There, there” pat on the head? How do we avoid living out the “How are you?” / “I’m good, thanks” loop until the sweet release of death?
Author and psychologist Dr. Adam Grant says, “If you’re worried about being pitied, try framing support as a mutual exchange.” Often, people like to help – it meets their own need to contribute. So if someone asks “You alright?” respond with something like, “I’m struggling a bit with X. If you have a minute, I’d love your guidance.”
By “X”, I don’t mean new Twitter – we’re all struggling with that – but by saying something like this, you gave them a chance to be a supportive friend, colleague, or random commuter on this bus called life.
And maybe you don’t need guidance. Maybe you need a shoulder, an ear or a kidney. Whatever it is be clear with others about how they can help.
Letting people in doesn’t have to be a sign of weakness, or make you feel pathetic. It can be an honest exchange – one that fosters real empathy, instead of pity, and gives them a sense of purpose. Talk about a win-win.
So if you ditch the phoney “I’m good, thanks” act and admit, “Yeah, I’m kinda struggling – can we talk?” you might find the connection and support you’ve been craving all along. And that’s a pretty decent trade, if you ask me.
And who better to ask about decent trades than the guy who moved to London at the height of the GFC?
P.S. I’m performing my show Fantastic Maximum Big Boy #1 as part of Sydney Comedy Festival in April and tickets are available now. You can buy them here. I’d love to have you along. I promise to tell better jokes than telling you “I’m fine”.
Related:
March madness: if you’re feeling burnt out already, you’re not alone
Why letting go of your youth is harder than you think
