What the Bloody Hell Do You Do When Someone Says, “No, I’m Not OK”?

We spend a hell of a lot of time encouraging people to ask one really important question.

R U OK?

And we should.

But there is another question I reckon we don't talk about nearly enough.

What happens if they say no?

Not the polite “yeah, I’m alright mate”, not the nod of the head, not the little half smile that gets everyone out of the conversation.

I mean actually no.

“No mate. I’m not OK.”

Be truthful with yourself for a minute.

What would you do?

Because I reckon a fair percentage of us would shit ourselves.

Not because we don’t care. Probably because we care so bloody much that all of a sudden we feel responsible for whatever comes next.

Your brain starts going a hundred miles an hour.

What do I say now? What if I say the wrong thing? What if this is really serious? What advice am I supposed to give them? What if they start crying? What if I start crying? What if I can’t help them? What the bloody hell have I opened up here?

And I reckon that fear is one of the reasons some of these conversations never really get started in the first place.

We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that before we ask someone how they’re going, we need to be ready for every possible answer. We need some great advice up our sleeve, we need a solution, we need to know what service to call and somehow, somewhere along the way, we started believing it was our job to fix the person sitting in front of us.

It isn’t.

That is probably one of the most important things we can get our heads around.

You are not there to fix somebody.

R U OK?’s own guidance talks about being prepared for someone to say they’re not OK and understanding that you cannot solve another person’s problems. The approach is pretty simple really ask, listen, encourage action and check in.

When you look at it like that, it takes a fair bit of pressure off.

You don’t need to walk into the conversation carrying some imaginary toolbox full of answers.

Maybe the most important thing in the toolbox is your ears.

But there is another problem with asking, “R U OK?”

Most people are probably going to tell you they are.

“Yeah mate, all good.”

“I’m right.”

“Can’t complain.”

“Just busy.”

You’ll get the nod, the shrug of the shoulders, maybe that wry little smile that somehow says everything and nothing at the same time.

And that can be the end of it.

Except sometimes it probably shouldn’t be.

Because “I’m OK” doesn’t always mean “I’m OK.”

Sometimes it means I don’t know where to start.

Sometimes it means I don’t want to dump my shit on you.

Sometimes it means I’m embarrassed.

Sometimes it means I don’t know if I can trust you with the real answer yet.

And sometimes I reckon it means, please ask me again.

That is why we need more than one question in the toolbox.

R U OK? can open the door, but an open-ended question can stop that door from slamming shut again.

Instead of asking something somebody can escape from with a yes or a no, give them somewhere to go with the answer.

“How are you really travelling at the moment?”

“What’s been going on for you lately?”

“You haven’t seemed quite yourself. What’s happening?”

“What’s been the hardest part of the last few weeks?”

“What’s taking up most of the space in your head at the moment?”

“How are things at home, at work, on the farm… really?”

“Who have you been talking to about all this?”

“What would help take a little bit of the load off?”

“How can I support you right now?”

And no, you don’t machine gun all nine questions at them until they surrender and tell you every dark secret they’ve ever had.

This isn’t an interrogation.

It is a conversation.

Ask one.

Then shut up for a bit.

That bit is harder than it sounds.

Silence makes a lot of us uncomfortable. We want to fill it. We want to make things better. We want to say something clever or reassuring and before we know it we’re saying “at least…” or telling them about someone who had it worse, or telling them what worked for us, or giving advice they never asked for.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is stop talking.

Listen.

Let the silence sit there.

Give the other person enough space to work out what they actually want to say.

That sounds easy when it is written down on a page.

It is a bit different when you’re sitting opposite somebody you love and they tell you their world is falling apart.

So what happens when they do say no?

Maybe your first response doesn’t need to be clever at all.

“Mate, I’m glad you told me.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“That sounds bloody tough.”

“I’m here.”

They’re not profound sentences.

They’re not going to win any awards.

They’re just human.

And sometimes ordinary human connection is exactly what is needed.

You don’t need to diagnose them.

You don’t have to decide what they should do with the rest of their life.

You don’t need a psychology degree.

You just need to listen to understand what they are trying to tell you, instead of listening long enough to work out what advice you’re going to give back.

And then maybe the conversation moves to something practical.

“What do you reckon would help?”

“Is there someone you trust that we could talk to?”

“Would you feel comfortable talking with your GP?”

“Do you want me to help you make the call?”

“How can I help you from here?”

That last one matters.

Because support doesn’t always mean taking over. Sometimes support is just walking beside somebody while they take the next step themselves.

Maybe you help make an appointment. Maybe you sit beside them while they ring a support service. Maybe you get in the ute and go for a drive. Maybe you grab a coffee. Maybe you check on them tomorrow.

And maybe, for right now, you just sit there and listen.

Don’t underestimate that.

Being genuinely heard can be a powerful thing.

And then there’s the bit I reckon we often forget.

Checking in again.

Not saying, “Give me a yell if you need anything,” and then disappearing back into our own lives.

Actually check in.

Send the message. Make the call. Drop around.

“Been thinking about you since we talked. How are you travelling today?”

That simple little follow up tells someone that the conversation wasn’t just something you ticked off.

You remembered. You meant what you said. You still give a shit.

There will obviously be times when the conversation becomes more serious.

If someone says something that makes you worried about their immediate safety, then we do need to act.

If you’re worried somebody may be thinking about suicide, it is OK to ask them directly. Asking the question does not put the idea into their head. If someone tells you they are in immediate danger, don’t leave them alone and help them connect with urgent professional support. If life is in immediate danger, call Triple Zero on 000.

Lifeline is also available on 13 11 14, and that number isn’t only for the person who is struggling. If you’re the mate, the partner, the parent, the colleague or the person sitting beside them and you don’t know what to do next, you can ask for help too.

And I think that is worth saying more often.

The person doing the listening does not need to know everything.

You are allowed to get support as well.

Maybe we’ve made these conversations harder than they need to be.

We’ve turned mental health conversations into something we think requires perfect words, professional knowledge and a bloody instruction manual.

Most of the time, it doesn’t. It requires care. It requires curiosity. It requires listening.

And sometimes it requires enough courage to ask one more question when somebody gives you the easy answer.

“Yeah mate, I’m OK.”

Maybe instead of automatically accepting that, we occasionally say:

“Good to hear. But how are you really travelling?”

And then we actually give them enough time to answer.

Because R U OK? shouldn’t be the end of the conversation.

It should be the start of one.

And if somebody finally trusts you enough to look you in the eye and say:

“No. Actually, I’m not.”

You don’t need to shit yourself. You don’t need all the answers. You don’t have to fix them.

Just don’t run away from the answer.

Stay there. Listen. Ask another question.

Help them find the support they might need.

And check in again.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing we can give another human being isn’t advice or an answer.

Sometimes it is simply the feeling that whatever they are carrying, they don’t have to carry the whole bloody thing alone.

Need some support?

There are different ways to reach out, and sometimes finding the one that feels right for you is half the battle.

Lifeline — 13 11 14
24/7 crisis support.

Beyond Blue — 1300 22 4636
Mental health information and support.

TIACS — 0488 846 988
Free phone and text counselling, particularly for tradies, truckies, farmers and blue-collar workers. Available Monday–Friday, 8am–10pm AEST.

Royal Flying Doctor Service
The Flying Doctor provides mental health and wellbeing services across a number of rural and remote communities, with services varying depending on your state and region. In Victoria, Flying Doctor Mental Health can be contacted on (03) 8412 0480.

Virtual Psychologist — text 0488 807 266
Virtual Psychologist provides text-based mental health support, including services for eligible rural and remote Australians. If talking feels too hard, sometimes starting with a text can be easier.

If you are worried about someone’s immediate safety, or life is in danger, call Triple Zero (000).