How Are You? No, Really.

My day job happens in a cubby inside an office on the second floor of CSU’s Veterinary Teaching Hospital—a space with no windows, no overhead lights, just a grow light working overtime to keep my five small plants alive... and to keep me sane.

As I return from the all-gender bathroom (a DEI initiative that may not last much longer), I pass the department head in the hallway.

"Hello, Aza, how are you?"

I know what she wants to hear. It’s the same thing everyone wants to hear when they ask that question.

"I’m great."
"Doing well!"
"Living the dream!" (That one always gets a chuckle.)

But I am not living the dream.

I am not doing well.

I am not even close to being okay.

And yet, the most honest answer I can muster as I step back into what I lovingly call my office—the dungeon is:

"I'm okay."

It’s not what she wanted to hear.

"Just okay!? That doesn’t sound too enthused."

I shrug and return to my desk.

But her response lingers. So I ask myself, honestly and authentically:

How am I, really?

I am lonely—because finding other trans folks to build community with around here feels impossible… and I’m someone who likes to be in bed by 8:30.

I am scared—because any day now, I fear that I could be rounded up, detained, erased, simply for existing in a world that sees me as a problem.

I am exhausted—because nearly every person who stops by my desk has some new anti-LGBTQ+ horror to share, as if I didn’t already wake up to it.

I am disenchanted—because I see the world on fire and yet, somehow, we are all expected to keep pretending things are normal.

I am done—because even the person who asked me how I am today is probably also not okay, and yet we are all trapped in this system, marching toward an end that none of us chose.

If “just okay” was too unenthusiastic for her, imagine if I had been honest.

I have learned the hard way who to be real with and who to placate.

And I know I’m not alone.

If you’ve ever mechanically answered that question—"I’m fine. I’m good. I’m okay."—I want to speak directly to you.

Because I am you.

And if you don’t have a space where you can say how you actually feel, I want to offer one.

Reply to this. Shoot me a message. Call me.

Know that I actually care. I actually want to hear the truth.

So, really…

How ARE you?

With an open heart, a compassionate ear, and a desire to connect,
Aza Rose