On the outside, I look like I’m doing just fine. People often see me as capable, responsible, and put together. I show up every day, get things done, and smile when expected. But what most people don’t see is how much effort it takes just to hold everything together. Some days, even just existing feels like a full-time job.
My inner world is comprised of anxiety, constant overthinking, exhaustion, and burnout from masking all the time. I can be sitting in a room full of people, nodding along, appearing engaged, while my mind is racing through everything I’ve said, everything I might say, and everything I’m worried I said wrong. There’s a deep disconnect between how I’m perceived and I actually feel.
Being labeled “high-functioning” makes it seem like I don’t have any outward struggles. Like daily tasks come easily for me. But honestly everything requires extra effort. I have to adapt, mask, and push through even when my body is begging me to slow down and rest.
I often wonder why doing “normal” things takes so much out of me. Even just going out for a walk with my dog, I feel hyper alert, ready for a social interaction to come my way. And in those moments of alertness, I feel on edge and like something wrong will happen. My mind will start racing with thoughts on how to get out of a situation, or even how to handle one.
This label makes my struggles invisible. It makes me question whether my feelings are valid at all. If I’m managing does that mean I’m not allowed to struggle? I’ve had moments where I thought, other people have it worse, and I shouldn’t feel this way. But just because I look fine doesn’t mean I’m not fighting battles every day.
I constantly live with mental exhaustion, emotional burnout, and sensory overload. Things like loud environments or even quiet ones will drain me quickly. If I’m too overstimulated by noise, lights, and conversations, they can make my body feel like it’s short-circuiting.
I’ve always felt off balance, like I’m stuck at the top of a teeter-totter, frozen in panic, waiting for something or someone to bring me back down to the ground. When that doesn’t happen, I retreat further inward, and it gets lonely and isolating there. I can be surrounded by people and still feel completely unseen, trapped inside my body with and ache that’s indescribable.
My big thing is social interactions. They take more from me than most people realize. Even in short conversations, I’m left feeling depleted. When I get home, I shut my bedroom door and let everything spill out. All of the heavy sighs, tears, and silence.
What no one sees is how much energy it takes to perform “okay.” I put on the charm, laugh at the right moments, and speak with enthusiasm. Something that has never felt fully me. Masking is how I survive, but it’s also something that pulls me further away from myself.
For neurodivergent people, hiding becomes second nature. We learn early which parts of us are acceptable and which aren’t. So, we tuck away the stimming, the emotional intensity, the confusion, the overwhelm.
Our brains process information rapidly and deeply, creating constant internal noise. Conversations replay on loop. Small moments get analyzed from every angle. Rest doesn’t come easily because our minds are always working, always scanning.
What I’m learning is that being “high-functioning” doesn’t mean I’m not struggling. It means that I’ve figured out ways to get by that aren’t always visible. I know that my exhaustion isn’t imagined, and that my overwhelm isn’t a sign of weakness. I don’t need to prove my pain by falling apart to deserve care.
Have you ever felt invisible while trying so hard to keep it together?
“Just because I look fine doesn’t mean I’m not fighting battles every day.” – Unknown
#MentalHealth #AutismSpectrumDisorder #ADHD #Neurodiversity #Anxiety #Depression
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