The "It's fine" Generation

As a millennial, I understand that we have a reputation for a lot of things, usually cringe or annoying if you’re asking the Gen X’ers or the Gen Z’ers. Skinny jeans. 90s rap. Student loan debt. Burnout. Dark Humor. As a generation though, if I had to sum us up in one sentence, it would probably be this: we are the “it’s fine” generation.

We are historically the generation that responds to chaos with sarcasm. When things fall apart, we make a joke or send a meme. When things hurt or feel too serious, we end our sentences with “lol” and compartmentalize. When someone asks how we’re doing, the answer is always almost the same:

“I’m good.”
“Not too bad.”
“Surviving.”

But underneath that response there’s usually more.

And I think its worse, a compounded conundrum if you will, of being both a millennial and a millennial that has a chronic illness. Sarcasm is my armor. The dark humor is a language I use when things feel too deep or uncomfortable, and it makes things easier to manage.

But I will give myself, and all millennials, a little grace in that we grew up during the time of the most uncertain things— economic crashes, 9/11, the internet, cell phones and a culture that taught us that in order to be productive or successful we had to also be emotionally put together at the same time.

So we have learned to cope in the only way we know how: Jokes. Sarcasm. Deflection. Downplay. Grin and bear it. Because the alternative? Vulnerability, and talk about unnatural and uncomfortable. (Maybe this is only me lol)

There is something deeply exposing and vulnerable to say something like “Actually, no I’m not okay” when someone asks how we’re doing instead of saying “Everything’s great!” or “I’m good!”

Admitting something hurts more than we let on requires us to lower the mask we’ve been taught to wear our whole lives. It requires a level of exposure into the things of our life that aren’t actually neatly packaged or curated for social media’s highlight reel.

And if you’re anything like me, that sounds terrible and terrifying at the same time. My go to phrase is, “ew, feelings.”

One of the things I think that this chronic illness has given me though, is that the reality of living with a chronic illness is impossible to avoid. The hard things are hard to avoid. When you get diagnosed with something that is both earth-shattering and life-changing, sarcasm and deflection can only get you so far. There becomes a point when people can tell your “I’m fine” is hollow or your jokes are fake.

It forces you to actually feel what you’re really feeling.

Grief.
Anger.
Anxiety.
Fear.
Uncertainty.
Heartache.

Don’t get me wrong here, I’m the world’s biggest deflector, and an avid fan of the sarcastic joke. Humor is a power coping mechanism and it both connects people and diffuses tension. It also helps us survive the moments that feel too overwhelming, but while good it can also act as a sort of shield.

It avoids letting people see you, like really see you.

And what I’ve learned over the last almost 8 years is: Real connection only happens when the mask comes off, and you dig a little deeper.

When we stop pretending everything’s fine. When the mask comes off. When we ask and answer the hard questions. When we acknowledge the suck. And when we invite people to see the mess middle of our lives instead of just the highlights.

For the millennials who have grown up laughing through the tears, vulnerability feels both unnatural and uncomfortable. But that’s where the real healing happens. It’s where community is built. It’s where people realize they’re not the only ones quietly carrying something heavy.

There’s power in asking “How are you?” and waiting for a real answer.

There’s also power in answering “How are you?” honestly.

Maybe it’s the truth that things aren’t always fine. And maybe it’s sitting with our feelings beside someone where you start to feel a part of you heal.

xo,

g.