A couple about to kiss

How to Love Someone With 'High-Functioning' Anxiety


This piece was written by Lauren Jarvis-Gibson, a Thought Catalog contributor.

When someone has “high-functioning” anxiety, they’re probably skilled at hiding it. I know I’m a master at concealing and covering up my anxiety, but it does come out of hiding when trying to be “OK” becomes too difficult.

That’s when I need you to be there for me.

Someone who has high-functioning anxiety is someone who looks fine on the outside. This person may seem like they have it all. They may look like they take care of themselves, and seem like they have an all-together great life. But you have to uncover that facade if you want this person to heal and to truly open up to you.

I know that for me, first I fool you. But as time passes, you’ll see me biting my nails, the times I want to be alone, the days I put myself down when I have no reason to, the times when I get a stomachache out of nowhere, the weeks I am convinced I am going to get fired and the months spent freaking out over the tiniest of things.

You’ll notice this is more than me just being a perfectionist. I’m not just a people pleaser. This habit of nail biting and pulling out my eyebrow hairs isn’t just a temporary thing. You’ll come to realize, that anxiety is manifesting itself onto me — this person you love.

Don’t act like it doesn’t matter. Don’t ignore it like it’s going to go away. Talk to me about it. Tell me you’re concerned and try to encourage me to acknowledge that it’s not just “stress” or that it’s “no big deal.” Let me talk to you, but don’t pressure me to do it when I’m not ready.

Listen. Listen to me when I come home crying and ranting about a co-worker. Listen to me when I list my worries to you at midnight while I think you are asleep. Listen to what goes on in my mind, and let me know you are there for me.

Don’t brush it off. Don’t nod your head in agreement when I tell you it’s nothing. Don’t kick this to the curb. Don’t act like it’s not important.

Be patient with me. If I need to cancel plans with you last minute, don’t overreact. Realize I didn’t mean to hurt you, it’s just the anxiety taking over. Be understanding in how I deal with the anxiety, and please, don’t judge me. For a second.

Encourage me. Lift me up, instead of picking on me. Tell me why I matter to you. Don’t undermine my thoughts and feelings. Don’t downplay this, please. Know that it takes a lot of courage to let you into my inner world.

Don’t try to play mind games with me and say that it’s all about my “outlook on life.” Validate how I’m feeling  and don’t give me a reason to hide this from you.

Don’t give me a reason not to trust you with my whole heart. Don’t give me a reason to run.

Know feeling like this doesn’t make me weak. Know it doesn’t make me crazy or unstable. Please just love me for who I am, and that includes the bad parts too. Just love me as I am. Don’t try to change me.

For others who love someone with high-functioning anxiety, know they deserve someone like you, but most importantly, you deserve someone like them.

This story is brought to you by Thought Catalog and Quote Catalog.

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Thinkstock photo via alien185




To the Person I'm Dating: Let Me Introduce You to My Depression and Anxiety


Hi there,

If you’re reading this, it means I like you. We’ve probably been on a few dates during which I questioned you about your hopes and dreams and your views on cats. You patiently listened to my awkward ramblings and may have even found it adorable. I enjoy spending time with you and would like to continue getting to know you, so I think it’s necessary to disclose I come as a package deal. Anxiety and Depression like to tag along from time to time.

Anxiety likes to stop me mid-story to proclaim I’m being weird and no one really cares about the books I find inspiring or that time I jumped out of a plane. She’ll point out that I’m not interesting on my own and tells me I should order another cocktail, even if I think I’ve had enough. Sometimes Anxiety waits for me to get home then grills me about our date. She likes to hear the play-by-play, making me explain the details. All the while she becomes certain I messed everything up and describes what I should have done instead. Anxiety insists on seeing all of your text messages and makes me rewrite my responses so as not to scare you away by seeming overly eager. She positively can’t understand why you wanted to see me again.

Depression is a bit quieter. He doesn’t particularly like following me around and instead begs me to blow off our plans. Depression doesn’t see the point. He thinks I’m just going to let you down eventually so why lead you on? He can be pretty convincing. His favorite tactic — bringing up all of my failed relationships to prove that I’m really no good at this. Sometimes he will drag himself out of the house but he’s never on time. He’ll show up late, usually while the party is in full swing and just linger in the corner letting his presence dampen the mood. No matter what you suggest, Depression won’t want to do it. He likes to whisper in my ear, telling me you haven’t contacted me today because you think I’m boring.

Sometimes Anxiety and Depression work together. While Depression insists you aren’t interested in me Anxiety rattles of all the worst-case-scenarios. No matter how many possibilities Anxiety makes me consider, Depression always chimes in with the same response, “Why even bother?” Anxiety will wake me up with a bucket of ice water, screaming I’m wasting my life away while Depression sits on my chest, refusing to let me up.

I’m telling you this because even though they are a part of my life they don’t define who I am. I’ve gotten better at standing up for myself and they know they aren’t welcome. But they are persistent. I know, deep down that I’m the same, fun-loving girl who showed up on our first date but occasionally they do get under my skin. I won’t let them scare you away, I’ve gotten pretty good at showing them who’s boss. But still, they do like to show up now and then.

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Thinkstock photo via TeerawatWinyarat


When a Coworker Helped Me Get Through Another Day of Anxiety


It was one of those days.

A day where my anxiety reigned and shrouded me with its dark veil. This thing called anxiety and panic had barreled into my life over the past year and I was still waiting for rescue. I barely made it through each day as a wife, mom of two, and full-time Director of Communications at a church and school.

During this dark time, I often felt suffocated. Like I was living underwater and struggling to make my way to the surface for a breath of air. When panic overcame me at work, I sought refuge in the only place I had privacy – the back of my van. I curled up on the folded seats. I prayed. I meditated. I breathed. I did anything that might calm the surge of adrenaline coursing through my body and irrational thoughts in my mind.

If close my eyes, I still see myself laying there in isolation, desperate for saving. I cried, I raged and I prayed.

I felt alone. So very alone.

Outside the van, kids were running around at recess. Happy and carefree, they paraded by, unaware that a shell of a woman was lying on her back just feet away, praying for the pain to stop and for the strength to rise.

Then I heard it. A knock on my back window. Sitting up, I saw a friend and coworker. Her face pressed up against the tinted glass, searching for me curled inside.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said as I opened the hatch.

Climbing inside, she sat cross-legged with me. We were two grown women finding respite from the world in an unlikely place – the back of a mini-van. My friend acted like it was the most natural thing to sit there with me. I talked about my fears and she listened. Her presence calmed me.

She didn’t have answers, but she was there. She came to find me, to listen. And that was enough to get me through another day.

I wonder if you have that same tendency to retreat when the world just seems to be too much? Do you hide away and try to go it alone?

Since I’ve started sharing my experience with anxiety and panic, so many unexpected people have shared their own stories with me. Each time, I’m reminded of my friend who came and knocked on my van. We survivors have a special ability to sense when someone is struggling. Let’s be door knockers to let them know they are not alone.

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Thinkstock photo via cerenatalay.


Anxiety Won't Keep Me From Going to My Stepdaughter's Wedding


My stepdaughter’s wedding is in two days. I have anxiety and it is at an all time high. The wedding is a large event including many people. I am intimidated by dealing with large groups of people. Usually, I find an excuse and opt out of most events, even family gatherings. But this is for my beloved girl. Somehow, I must overcome the voices that attempt to make me feel scared and inadequate.

My dress is chosen and has been fitted. Anxiety is telling me it will not fit me now. It will not zip. If it zips, you will bust the zipper when you try to sit down. Just wait and see. My head tries to rationalize away these things anxiety says but the fears remain in the back of my mind. I pull a second dress and shoes to take with me “just in case.” I feel uncomfortable in my skin.

Think about walking down the aisle, whispers my anxiety. All eyes will be on you.  Don’t trip. The thought of all eyes being on me as I walk down the aisle is terrifying.  What if I do trip? How embarrassing would that be? My anxiety fires another shot. You are wearing heels, right?  You are not so great at walking in them. My confidence is totally undermined.

Anxiety adds the final blow. What if you fall while you are dancing? You know you have no balance. You and B have not been practicing. Imagine everyone watching you? I do not want to imagine this. I try to turn off my anxiety, but it is here to stay.

My joy in attending this event is crushed and replaced by waves of anxiety. I wanted to curl up in a ball and give up. But I started using some strategies my therapist had suggested to me.

I made a list of five people I feel comfortable talking with. I planned some things to say to them. I practiced short topics to share with strangers that I might be introduced to and I prepared ways to exit conversations. I thought of places, including my car, where I could take a short break if my anxiety started to rise and overwhelm me.

I prepared two complete outfits. If one dress fails, I will simply wear the other and pretend I am choosing to wear it because the first was too hot. The weather is calling for a very warm day. Take that anxiety!

I took out my heels and practiced walking in them. To my surprise, all the yoga I have been doing has really helped my balance. I had no problems. My confidence increased and my anxiety went into hiding.

I think I am ready. But if anxiety rears its ugly head, I am prepared with one more strategy: talk to my husband. He is always willing to coach me through social situations.

He will be by my side much of the evening. When he is not, I will be using my strategies or taking a break. He always comes back shortly to check on me. I trust his care and concern for me and his knowledge of my anxiety.

Despite all my anxiety, I realize I am ready for my daughter’s wedding! I have the strategies to cope with my anxiety and with support from my husband, I can even enjoy the wedding.

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Thinkstock photo via O_Lypa.


How a 5 A.M. Panic Attack Helped Me Understand My Anxiety


Back in August, I woke up with a panic attack.

Actually, it’s probably more accurate to say the quantity of my worrisome thoughts was so great that my brain forced me into consciousness.

This one was a real doozy. I swore I could feel the neurons morphing into thought after anxious thought before rapid-firing around my skull. I felt the frenzy of brain waves, the “what ifs” colliding with each other and ricocheting off the walls of my mind, the “oughts” and “shoulds” screaming past each other, in a chaos so outstanding that I wondered how I could process anything going on in my own brain.

Last autumn, I hoped I could drop my meds and leave these incidents behind. And for a couple of months, things went pretty well. My anxiety was low, and when I did start worrying, I could calm myself down in a quick and easy fashion.

Four months later, the constant buzz of intrusive thoughts in my head came back, and I found myself once again at the doctor’s office, this time with a request for a different medicine to avoid some not fun side effects from the last drug.

Six months after that, around 5 a.m., this glorious wake-up call rang in with a vengeance.

Some of the thoughts were “normal” enough. Health insurance and wedding planning popped in for a bit, before making leeway for the onslaught of others: the state of my self-esteem and relationships, whether any of the changes that have happened in my life are “the right ones,” how ridiculous I was to even consider going on a different medication because of a stupid side effect.

As I lay curled up in bed with my inner turmoil, my inner pleas rang like silent screams in my head:

“Why, Why,Why?”

“Healthy, happy, ‘better’ people don’t have these anxieties or spend most of their time thinking about such things, so what am I doing that makes me so unhealthy, unhappy and crappy?”

“Why am I such an awful person who only makes silly decisions and cannot be trusted with her own health or happiness?”

“If I’m so loved, why do I have such hateful thoughts about myself?”

After repeating these mantras a few times, my exhausted brain sought numbness and sleep. Adrenal fatigue set in, along with some depression and apathy. And in the midst of the exhaustion, the anxious thoughts continued, because they knew if they ceased, everything they’d predicted would come true.

I convinced myself to get out of bed around 7 a.m. to get ready for work, and in the act of lifting my body out of bed, I felt some of the anxiety dissipate. I texted my fiancé and some friends for prayers for my troubled and weary mind. I made my breakfast, read my meditation and an article about anxiety, talked to my roommate and felt a bit more ready to take on the day. As I continued living into the day, I found myself better able to let go of the thoughts which clung to me in the morning, and I allowed myself to believe I was OK.

This battle between calm and chaos continued from that Thursday morning until the following Monday evening.

During those days, I called my counselor so she could reassure me that my thoughts are just thoughts, and my life is not a terrible mess and I am not a terrible person. I ate meals, played games and laughed with Bryce (my fiancé) and some friends. I spent time in my room by myself reading while he and his friends played video games together. Every now and then, Bryce would step away and check on me to see if I was comfortable (mentally and physically), rub my back, talk things out, give me kisses and try to make me giggle. When our friends returned home, we went on a date in Bridgewater, the college town where we first met. We ate at one of my favorite town restaurants and walked around our old campus hand in hand, nostalgic over our first months and year of dating.

During those days, I also got so overwhelmed that I screamed. I “freaked out” over jokes that normally made me laugh. I snapped at people for being a little too loud or not giving me enough attention. And at the end of our date, I began to have another meltdown.

In short, life did not stop for my worries, and my worries didn’t stop as the world kept turning.

My greatest fears are about life as I know it crashing around me, but life insists on continuing in spite of my anxieties. I keep thinking that because I’m anxious or worried, something in my life must be terribly wrong. I’m not in good enough physical health. My relationships are becoming toxic or distant. Work is too stressful. I’m not taking care of myself.

But even though these are important factors to consider, more often than not I am anxious because… well, I’m anxious. Like my counselor has told me over again, it’s just “that thing” I do.

I’m anxious when I’m on medication and off medication (although I notice a significant difference in how much quieter those thoughts get when I’m on one which works). I was anxious in school, and I continue to be anxious in the workforce. I was an anxious child and I am an anxious adult. I was anxious when Bryce and I started dating, I’m anxious as we plan our wedding and I’m sure I’ll be anxious until the big day finally arrives.

And in all of those worries, life continues to happen.

My anxiety happens to make living daily life a bit more difficult. It makes things like mornings and overstimulation a bit harder to deal with. It also makes going on long runs, practicing daily meditation and calling my doctor to change my medication more necessary.

One of the hardest parts of this journey is acknowledging and accepting myself as an anxious person without demonizing myself. I’m realizing that no matter what happens, no matter how “high” or “low” a particular season in my life is, I will always be at least somewhat anxious during it. The anxiety in and of itself is not bad but simply part of who I am.

In every season of my life, I have been a person with anxiety. It’s part of me and always will be, and for that I will always be a little pissed off.

But I can be anxious and plan our wedding and still look forward to the day. I can be anxious and write, and get flustered about how terrible my writing seems, and continue to put one word after another. I can still go to work, daydream, talk to my friends, read books, worry over bills and live my life while “doing this thing I do.”

It won’t be easy. It definitely won’t be perfect.

But day by day, it can be enough.

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Thinkstock photo via Wavebreakmedia Ltd


Why My Anxiety Means I Can't Shut My Emotions Out


I feel. I feel everything.

I immerse myself in things that bring me happiness, yet if one thing goes wrong, that feeling is knocked down and overtaken. I become corrupted by panic, worry and failure. Overthinking everything that happens, trying to rationalize the compulsive thoughts draining my remaining energy, I am lost. Lost on a road I shaped, not knowing where I intended to go. There is no desired destination, yet anxiety seems to be the unsolicited conclusion.

I laugh. I cry. Mostly at the same time. I try to laugh off my pain, simply to eliminate the reasons why I get so upset. I get frustrated because I am mentally ill and I never wanted this to happen.

Some days I can accept my illness, and I use it to build bridges for myself: I go to class, I succeed in an exam, I spend time with those around me. Other days, I hate the way I am. I hate that I overanalyze everything — always assuming the worst. Every day is different for me, emotionally and physically.

Trust me, I know when there is nothing rational to worry about. Something small can be blown out of proportion and it becomes my every thought, growing and growing until I can no longer escape it. I know that shouldn’t be the case. There are infinite questions I ask myself; it’s never as easy as yes or no. Each indefinite thought is attributed with a hopeless emotion.

I am scared. I am scared of being hurt.

I find it difficult to enjoy things other people my age enjoy, because those things are scary to me. That doesn’t mean I cannot do those things, but I have to battle with myself to do the things that terrify me. I have to lower my guard slightly, and it hurts. It hurts because I know what can happen – I have fixatedly measured the chances of every possibility.

I know how fragile I have become, and people tend to walk on eggshells around me. They shouldn’t have to do that. Yes, unexpected things can trigger my dreaded panic attacks, but that doesn’t mean people should avoid discussion with me in fear of that happening. I am getting stronger; I will need to face my anxieties.

Right now, I am doing the best I can.

My mental illness doesn’t define me; I am still the same girl.

I just feel a lot.

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Thinkstock photo via BalazsKovacs


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