Someone says to you, “Oh come on, don’t be so sensitive,” while you’re eating dinner and holding a fork.
You laugh. You say, “No, no, I’m fine, it’s nothing,” even though your throat hurts and your chest feels like a broken speaker.
Ten minutes later, in the warm light of the bathroom mirror, your face looks calm and almost blank. You’re going over the scene in your head frame by frame. What you said. What they said. What you wanted to say.
It seems like you just “didn’t want drama” on the surface.
There is another word for it that psychologists use.
You can’t unsee it once you see it.
The reflex that looks calm but is actually a way to protect yourself
There is a tiny moment, almost invisible, that a lot of us know all too well.
Someone crosses a line, says something mean, and forgets what you told them. You feel a jolt inside, and right away you smile, shrug, and say, “No worries.”
It looks like emotional maturity from the outside. You seem calm, cool, and “above that.”
Your body is already tense, your heart is racing, and your jaw is stiff.
That difference between the body’s alarm and the calm face?
Psychology calls this type of reflex a “defence mechanism.”
Imagine a meeting with a 30-year-old employee named Liam.
His boss tells everyone that his work is bad: “This is sloppy; you should have done better.” The room is quiet.
Liam’s cheeks are hot. He wants to answer and explain. Instead, he laughs.
He says, “Oh yeah, I guess I messed up.” Everyone calms down. The stress goes away.
Liam stays up that night, going over everything that was said. His mind keeps changing the scene. He looks at his phone and scrolls through it without really reading it.
He “took it well” on paper. He swallowed the hit inside. It looks like a normal, social moment, but it’s really emotional armour.
Psychologists say that these reflexes are automatic ways that the mind protects us from pain, shame, or fear.
They aren’t choices that you make. They’re more like a psychological airbag because they go off before you even know what’s going on.
In this case, the reflex is to hide your feelings behind a calm exterior. The brain will do anything to keep the peace if it thinks its self-esteem or sense of belonging is in danger.
So you make things better, laugh it off, and act like everything is fine.
You “win” social points, stay out of trouble, and stay in the group.
The cost is that your real feelings go underground and start to ferment.
How to catch the reflex from “I’m fine” to honest awareness
The first helpful step is not to “fight” this reflex, but to catch it in the act.
When you say “I’m fine” too quickly next time, stop and think about it.
After the conversation, take a moment to focus on your body when you’re alone for thirty seconds.
Do you feel something in your throat, chest, stomach, or shoulders?
In your own words, say it in one short sentence: “I feel small,” “I feel stung,” or “I feel dismissed.”
You don’t have to tell anyone out loud. You’re just letting your brain know that you feel something.
A good tip is to play the moment back like a cheap movie, but only for a minute.
Think about this: “What would I really feel if I wasn’t trying to be reasonable?”
You might say, “I felt humiliated,” “I felt used,” or just “That hurt.”
Notice how quickly your mind comes up with excuses like “They didn’t mean it,” “I’m overreacting,” and “It’s not a big deal.”
These excuses are all part of the same defence system. They’re trying to push the feeling back down.
You’re not trying to drown your instinct in reason. You’re just letting both truths exist: the public one and the private one.
*This is the quiet work that no one thanks you for, but that makes a big difference over time.*
You could even do a little test: don’t answer right away the next time someone says something that bothers you.
Take a deep breath. Only two seconds.
Instead of saying “No worries,” you could say something like, “I know you’re joking, but that hurt a little,” or “I need a moment to think about that.”
At first, it feels strange, like talking in a language you don’t know very well.
Let’s be honest: no one does this every day.
But every time you do, you tell your nervous system, “I can be here too.”
Living with your defences but not letting them drive the car
These defences are very human.
They were born for good reasons, usually a long time ago, when conflict seemed dangerous or when you learned that keeping quiet kept you safe.
You can put them in their proper place instead of trying to “erase” them.
One specific way is to write in a journal right after a tense moment, but in three columns:
What took place.
What I showed.
What I really felt.
That split on paper helps your mind understand the split in your heart.
A lot of people blame themselves: “Why didn’t I say anything?” Why am I always this way?
Self-attack just makes the first layer of pain worse.
A gentler attitude sounds more like, “Okay, this is how I used to act.” It kept me safe before. “It’s coming back.”
That tone changes your feelings from shame to interest.
It’s easy to make mistakes here, like forcing yourself to explode (“I have to say everything I feel!”) or being nice all the time.
You want to find a balance where your feelings don’t go away, but you also don’t set the room on fire.
Psychologist Donald Winnicott once said that some of us learn early on to show a “false self” to get by—a smoother, more acceptable version of ourselves.
That false self can become so good at what it does that we forget there’s anything else there.
Check out the script
When you hear yourself say, “It’s okay, don’t worry,” ask yourself quietly, “Is that true, or is that just my automatic mask talking?”
Try being honest in small ways.
You don’t need to give a long speech. Just saying something like “I feel a little uncomfortable with that” is a big deal.
Make safe places
Talk to someone you trust and feel safe with and practise saying what you didn’t say at the time. Your nervous system learns that being real doesn’t always lead to disaster.
Realise that it’s messy
Sometimes you’ll react too strongly, and other times you won’t. That’s not a failure; it’s a recalibration.
If this goes deep, get help.
A therapist can help you figure out where your reflex started and how to loosen its grip if it happens all the time and is tiring.
When “I’m fine” doesn’t work anymore
When you know that your calmness, jokes, and ability to smile on command can protect you, everyday life starts to look different.
You see the friend who always says “no worries” and looks tired. The coworker who laughs when you interrupt them for the third time. The partner who says, “Do what you want,” but then doesn’t talk for the rest of the night.
What seemed like neutrality now feels more like giving up on yourself quietly.
And maybe you see yourself in all of them.
You don’t have to break everything down all at once.
You can start with one moment when you don’t ignore your feelings or trick yourself into feeling numb.
We’ve all had that moment when you walk away from a conversation and realise what you really felt.
That lag doesn’t mean you’re broken. This shows that your mind learned to put off the truth so that you could stay loved, accepted, or at least safe.
Not “Why am I like this?” but “Do I still need this armour all the time?”
Yes, some days. Old habits are hard to break.
You might be able to say, calmly and clearly, “Actually, that didn’t feel okay to me” on other days.
It won’t always go well. People aren’t used to these little acts of honesty.
But every time you do it, that old reflex gets a little weaker.
You stop living as the smooth, easy version of yourself and get closer to the real you, the one who is behind the defence.
| Main Point | Detail | What the Reader Gets Out of It |
|---|---|---|
| “I’m fine” can mask feelings | Downplaying pain or joking about hurt may be a defense, not true calmness | Helps you recognise hidden emotional reflexes in daily interactions |
| Simple awareness tools | Body check-ins, naming the feeling in one sentence, and briefly replaying the moment | Offers practical ways to reconnect with emotions without creating drama |
| Gradual, honest change | Using small truthful phrases, journaling, and safe conversations builds authenticity over time | Shows a realistic path toward openness and reduced emotional hiding |
Questions and Answers:
Question 1: How can I tell if I’m really calm or just using a defence mechanism?
Answer 1: Look at your body and what you think later. If your body is tense and you keep thinking about the scene for hours, it’s likely that your “calm” was a protective reflex and not real peace.
Question 2: Is this reflex always a bad thing?
Answer 2: No. It can keep you safe when you’re in danger or when speaking up would have serious consequences. The problem is when it happens all the time, even when people are safe.
Question 3: Is it possible to completely eliminate my defence mechanisms?
Answer 3: Psychologists say that defences never go away completely; they just change. The goal is not to get rid of them, but to become aware enough to decide when to listen to them and when to do something else.
Question 4: What if people get mad at me for not laughing things off anymore?
Answer 4: Yes, some will. They were used to the you who took on everyone’s stress. Just because they’re uncomfortable doesn’t mean you’re wrong; it means the relationship is finding a more honest balance.
Question 5: Should I bring this up with a therapist?
Answer 5: If this reflex makes you feel tired, angry, or like no one sees you, talking to a professional can help a lot. They can help you figure out where it started and help you come up with new ways to respond that feel safer and more real.
