By Ayman Anika

I used to think I had to glow all the time.

That joy had to be Instagrammable. That life had to move in upward graphs—achievement after achievement, caption after caption, always chasing a version of extraordinary that looked suspiciously like burnout with lipstick.

“Okay” was a word I didn’t want to claim. It sounded like settling. Like second place. Like beige.

But lately, I’ve been learning how to be okay with being okay. Not in the resigned, limp way people use when they’ve given up. But in a quieter, more rooted way—where okay is not mediocrity, but enoughness. A place where you can exhale without apologizing for not being remarkable.

The Pressure to Be More Than Human

We are not just raised—we are programmed—to want more. Better grades, better jobs, better photos, better bodies, better moods. We’re told to live loudly, love fiercely, dream big, grind harder, rise and rise and rise. And if you aren’t soaring, you must be slacking.

But not every day is a leap. Most days are just…days.

You get out of bed. You reply to messages. You eat an unremarkable meal. You don’t cry, but you don’t laugh uncontrollably either. You’re not broken, but you’re not shining.

And in a world that measures worth in volume and velocity, that feels like a failure.

But it isn’t.

The Myth of Constant Healing

There’s a strange expectation these days that we must always be “healing,” “growing,” “evolving.” It’s well-intentioned, yes, but also exhausting. Sometimes I want to say:

What if I’m not growing right now? What if I’m just being?

What if I’m not blooming like a spring flower but resting like a field in winter?

Sometimes your life is quiet not because you’ve fallen behind, but because you’ve finally stopped sprinting toward someone else’s definition of success.

There’s healing in holding still, too.

Learning to Sit With Silence

I started giving myself permission to have “ordinary” days. Not as placeholders between important ones—but as days with their own gentle dignity.

I noticed the click of my fan. The way sunlight stains the curtain edges. I started taking walks without counting steps. Watching birds without needing to name them. Letting the tea steep longer than necessary.

At first, it felt wasteful. Now it feels like repair.

When Okay Is an Act of Rebellion

To say “I’m okay” in a world that screams “Be better!” is quietly radical.

Okay means I don’t need to perform joy for you today.

Okay means I am not a project.

Okay means I am not in crisis, and that itself is enough.

There is power in mediumness.

In doing your job and coming home.

In loving your people without fireworks.

In taking up space without demanding applause.

Not everything has to be magical to be meaningful.

The Space Between “Not Bad” and “Not Great”

That space—neither suffering nor soaring—is where most of life happens. The in-betweens.

You’re not heartbroken, but not head-over-heels either.

You’re not struggling financially, but you’re not flying business class.

You’re not on a spiritual high, but you’re not lost either.

You’re just… here. Present. Breathing.

And that’s not laziness. That’s living.

Rewriting the Narrative

I used to crave climaxes—the story arcs, the breakthroughs, the redemptive resolutions. Now I’m learning to love the pages where “nothing much happens.

Because those pages are where you rest.

Where your character deepens.

Where you learn to stop narrating your life and just let it unfold.

The Question That Changed Everything

A friend once asked me,

“What if your life doesn’t become extraordinary? What if it stays soft, steady, and mostly unnoticed?”

I laughed nervously.

Then cried.

Because I realised I had been hustling not for joy, but for proof.

Proof that I mattered. That I was impressive. That I was enough.

But maybe enoughness doesn’t come after achievement.

Maybe it arrives quietly, like dusk—unannounced but inevitable.

And maybe it says:

You are allowed to rest here.

You are allowed not to shine.

You are allowed to just be.

Being Okay is an Invitation

So, this is your permission slip, if you need one:

You don’t have to be healing today.

You don’t have to be thriving.

You don’t have to turn your life into a lesson.

You can simply say:

I’m okay.

And mean it like a grounding. Like a gentle nod to yourself.

Like a hand on your own shoulder.

Because being okay isn’t a pit stop on the way to better.

Sometimes, it’s the destination.

And when you arrive, you’ll realise—

okay was always more beautiful than you gave it credit for.