I Said I Was Fine. I Didn’t Really Know How I Felt.

“How do you feel?”

For years, that question could leave me looking a little confused.

I’d have to stop and take inventory.

Well, my right shoulder hurts. My foot hurts. I hadn’t really noticed either of those things until you asked.

And honestly? Sometimes that was annoying.

I’d been getting through my day just fine. Now I was aware of everything that hurt.

If you meant emotionally, the answer was much easier.

“Fine.”

Feelings Weren’t High on the List

I’ve sometimes described myself back then as numb from the head down. That’s how it felt to me. I could work through discomfort and keep going without paying much attention to it.

That habit started early.

I grew up in a time when children weren’t necessarily invited to talk about their feelings.

Don’t cry. Don’t talk. It wasn’t what I would call an abusive childhood. But there wasn’t much room for exploring what was happening inside me.

Then I became a nurse.

My patients’ needs mattered. Their pain mattered. What they were going through mattered.

My own feelings didn’t seem especially relevant to the work. I’d had years of practice pushing them down, and nursing gave me plenty of opportunities to keep doing that.

“What About Me?”

We did talk about it at the nurses’ station.

We understood each other. We knew what it felt like to keep giving and pouring into everyone else while wondering, What about me?

Sometimes we were sick ourselves.

During my military nursing years, I remember passing medications while I pushed an IV pole with an IV connected to my own arm. I had the flu and was getting fluids because I was sick to my stomach and super dehydrated.

Someone would ask whether the IV was for them.

Nope. That one was mine.

We were short-staffed and I was ordered to work since there was no one else. I don’t tell that story as an example of admirable dedication. I needed care, too.

But it left me questioning whether saying anything would even matter. If I still had to push through, what was the point?

The other nurses got it. They had similar stories. That understanding mattered, even though it didn’t change the circumstances.

We’d go out for drinks after work. That was one of the ways we dealt with our feelings back then.

I could say “fine” and still have plenty I hadn’t dealt with.

Apparently, the Sensor Was Broken

The first time I tried a HeartMath® sensor, I clipped it to my ear and looked at the screen.

I didn’t feel anxious. I didn’t feel particularly stressed. My heart rate was low.

It was just another day.

But the heart-rhythm pattern wasn’t showing much coherence.

My first thought?

Well, this sensor’s got to be broken.

Because I felt fine.

The sensor wasn’t reading my emotions or diagnosing hidden stress. It was displaying information about my heart-rhythm pattern. But the difference between what I expected and what I saw got my attention.

As I learned the practices, changing my breathing was the first thing that helped me see a change in that pattern.

It took time to sustain it.

That experience made me question my own definition of “fine.” Had I become so used to pushing things down that I didn’t recognize how I was doing?

That possibility scared me.

I Knew the Material. I Wasn’t Doing the Practice.

Eventually, I became a HeartMath® Trainer for the hospital.

I knew the material. I could teach it.

Was I actively practicing every day?

No.

Then I ran into a fellow-trainer and dear friend I hadn’t seen in a couple of months. At the time, I was commuting to work from another state, so we hadn’t crossed paths in a while.

She looked vibrant. Glowing, even.

Naturally, I started looking for an explanation.

“Did you change your hair color? Are you dating somebody new?”

No, she told me. She was doing a "30-day challenge" with the Heart Lock-In® Technique.

I knew the technique. The "challenge" was something she’d set for herself: practice it every day for 30 days.

I can’t tell you exactly what accounted for the difference I noticed in her appearance.

But hearing what she was doing inspired me to try it myself.

“You’re Not Yelling as Much.”

The first week was hard.

I had to keep telling myself, No, we’re doing this.

I wanted results. I wanted to look different and feel different, just as I thought my friend did.

After about ten days, the practice began to feel more like a routine.

Within a couple of weeks, people around me started noticing changes.

My husband of over 20 years at the time said, “Hey, work must be going better for you.”

“Why?”

I was still working 12-hour shifts. Nothing about that had changed.

“Because you’re not yelling as much.”

“I don’t yell.”

He just looked at me and smiled.

Whoa.

I thought I’d been doing okay. His reflection gave me something I hadn’t noticed for myself.

The change was showing up at home, in how I spoke to someone I loved.

I Still Have Patterns I’m Working Through

These days, I’m much more tuned in.

I notice sensations. I notice when I feel grounded and when something has unsettled me.

Sometimes an interaction with a friend brings up an old pattern, and I catch myself.

Usually sooner than I used to.

I still have things I’m working through. Daily practice hasn’t made me a person who never reacts.

But over time, I’ve found more opportunities to respond in the moment instead of automatically reacting.

That’s why consistency matters so much to me as a coach. Knowing the material and practicing it were two very different experiences in my own life.

Thirty days gave me a place to begin. It wasn’t a deadline for becoming a different person.

A Question Worth Answering

Maybe “fine” really is your answer today.

But if it arrives before you’ve had a chance to check, you might give yourself a moment.

How am I feeling, actually?

You don’t need an impressive answer. You might feel tired, disappointed, content, irritated, or unsure.

I know that noticing doesn’t automatically change your circumstances. The conversations at the nurses’ station taught me that.

But I also know that “fine” used to end the conversation before I’d really asked myself the question.

These days, I’m more willing to pause and find out.

*HeartMath® and Heart Lock-In® are registered trademarks of Quantum Intech, Inc. (doing business as HeartMath Inc.).