Anxious, but Functioning: The Quiet Struggles We Don’t Talk About

You wake up and your heart is already racing.

There’s no alarm blaring, no crisis waiting for you, no looming deadline — just that familiar, uninvited tightness in your chest. It arrives quietly, but urgently. It doesn’t knock. It simply appears, like it always does, before your feet even touch the floor. Your mind is already a few steps ahead, scanning the day for things that could go wrong, replaying fragments of yesterday’s conversations, wondering if you sounded weird or said too much. But despite this invisible storm, you move. You rise.

You brush your teeth, splash water on your face, scroll through messages. Maybe even throw in a few “ha-ha's or emojis in a group chat. You sip your coffee, put on a decent outfit, and head out — to work, to class, to errands. You smile at people, talk about the weather, share updates. You answer emails, meet deadlines, offer help. On the surface, everything appears completely fine.

But inside, it’s chaos.

An ongoing inner monologue of “Did I do enough?” “Did I mess that up?” “Why do I feel this way when there’s nothing actually wrong?” There’s a silent war happening in your head, a loop of thoughts that keep circling no matter how many tasks you cross off your list.

You are anxious — but you are functioning.

It’s a strange and exhausting place to live in. You get things done. You show up. You perform. So, it’s easy for others to assume you’re thriving. In fact, they might even compliment you for how “on top of things” you seem. But they don’t see the pacing in your room late at night, the knots in your stomach, or the mental gymnastics it takes just to appear calm. They don’t hear the spirals of overthinking that follow even the smallest interaction.

And honestly, you’ve gotten so used to it, that sometimes even you forget that this isn’t normal. You dismiss the warning signs. You tell yourself it’s just a phase, that you’re being dramatic, that everyone feels this way. You gaslight yourself without even realizing it. “It’s not that bad.” “People have it worse.” “I should be grateful.”

High-functioning anxiety is a tricky beast. It wears a thousand faces — most of them well put-together. It looks like ambition. Like perfectionism. Like reliability. It’s the person who’s always early, who’s always prepared, who never lets the ball drop. It’s the over-thinker, the people-pleaser, the one who keeps everything running smoothly — not because they’re calm, but because they’re terrified of what might happen if they’re not.

You become the go-to person. The “strong one.” The dependable friend, the competent colleague, the high performer. And somewhere along the way, people stop checking in on you. You stop checking in on yourself. Because how could someone who has it “all together” be falling apart inside?

But just because you’re functioning, doesn’t mean you’re fine.

Just because your anxiety doesn’t shout, doesn’t mean it’s not screaming. It whispers in your decisions, in your over-apologies, in your hesitations to ask for help. It hides in your calendar, your to-do list, your hyper-productivity. And over time, that kind of silent suffering takes a toll.

You can be burning out and still checking every box.

You can feel like you’re drowning while everyone else thinks you’re swimming laps.

You can be loved and supported and still feel incredibly alone.

And here’s the thing: you don’t need to justify your pain by comparing it to someone else’s. You don’t have to be in a full-blown crisis to deserve help. Struggling quietly doesn’t make you any less worthy of care. Your pain is valid, even if it isn’t loud.

Start with acknowledgment. That in itself is an act of courage. Notice the moments your body clenches, the thoughts that loop, the tension in your shoulders that never quite goes away. You don’t have to unravel it all at once. Sometimes healing doesn’t look like big breakthroughs — it looks like tiny pauses. Like drinking a glass of water. Like giving yourself five minutes to breathe. Like not replying to that message right away. Like saying “no” without justifying it.

You are allowed to be both strong and struggling. That duality doesn’t make you a contradiction — it makes you human.

You can be someone who supports others and still need support.

You can be someone who gets things done and still feel exhausted inside.

You can be someone who laughs and jokes and still wrestles with a wave of emotions the moment they’re alone.

And if no one has reminded you lately, let this be that gentle nudge: You’re doing a lot. You’re carrying so much. And it’s okay — more than okay — to rest. The world will not fall apart if you pause. But you might, if you don’t.

So, loosen your jaw. Drop your shoulders. Inhale a little deeper than usual.

You don’t have to carry this all alone.

There is nothing weak about needing help. In fact, it takes an immense amount of self-awareness and bravery to admit when you're not okay. And there is so much strength in softness — in being real with yourself, in allowing yourself space to not be okay.

Reach out. To a friend, a therapist, a journal, or even just a quiet moment with yourself. You don’t need to wait for a breakdown to begin the process of healing. Your well-being matters now — not just when things become unbearable.

If this resonates with you, know that you're not broken. You're just tired from carrying a load that was never meant to be carried alone.

Take a breath. Let this moment be one of gentleness.

You’re allowed to be messy, healing, uncertain, and powerful — all at once.

And you are so very worthy of peace.

 Hi, I'm Zoya, a peer with Soulamore, ready to share my bits of experiences to help anyone in need. It's okay to not fit in every social setting – what matters most is feeling comfortable in your own skin. Take time for yourself, whether it's diving into a good book or exploring new destinations. These moments of self-discovery can be invaluable on your journey to understanding and overcoming loneliness.

YOU DESERVE HUGS FOR BEING STRONG

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