On “Having It Together” with High-Functioning Anxiety
Yesterday was #WorldMentalHealthDay, and it got me thinking about some nebulous feelings that I’ve been dealing with over the past few months since I graduated college and after some reflection, it all boils down to this:
I have high-functioning anxiety, and I feel guilty for having my life together.
When people point out that I’ve more or less ‘got it together,’ I want to do everything in my power to convince them that I do not, in fact, have it together. If they could hear one snippet of my internal monologue, surely they would revoke my Responsible Adult status.
It’s Imposter Syndrome: Mentally Ill Edition — like I’ve convinced everyone that I’m successful, and that I’m not still struggling with PTSD symptoms from my cleft lip and palate surgeries and a nondescript anxiety/panic disorder. Or, alternately, that I’ve convinced people that I’m mentally ill when I’m actually functioning just fine — that I’m making it all up.
But let’s look at this objectively:
I got a wonderful job right out of college, and I am more or less financially independent (with no student loans to pay — thanks Mom and Dad!). I have meaningful relationships with lots of different friend groups, I have fulfilling hobbies, and I live with my childhood best friend. I drink plenty of water, I go to the gym, I actually have a decent sleep schedule, and I practice self-care regularly.
By all accounts, I really do “have it together.”
And I know that adulthood is just everyone thinking everyone else knows what they’re doing when no one actually knows what they’re doing, but somehow being told that I’ve got it all together feels like it erases the ways in which I’m struggling. “Having it together” doesn’t leave room for my mental illness and while it doesn’t define me, it’s a huge part of who I am as a person.
It comes down to feeling like I’ve fallen into a gap where I’m too functional to be mentally ill, but too mentally ill to be functional.
Recently, I came across this article from The Mighty on Living With High-Functioning Anxiety and it was so affirming to see high-functioning as a valid category of mental illness. I don’t have to turn in my Mentally Ill badge because I’m not struggling enough.
It feels like Sarah Schuster is convicting me personally when she writes:
“It’s not a noble way to suffer. It’s not a ‘better’ way to be anxious. Just because you’re ‘functioning’ doesn’t always mean you’re happy. And just because you’re functioning doesn’t mean you shouldn’t slow down, breathe and take one damn second to be happy the way things are.”
My relationship with my mental illness is one issue, but the misplaced guilt I feel for handling it well seems to be another beast entirely.
Since being in the IB program in high school, there has always been camaraderie in neglecting your physical and mental health in the pursuit of academic success. It was almost glorified, and that’s the kind of mentality I’ve been in for the past 16 years of my academic life — like you weren’t trying hard enough if you weren’t falling apart.
The thing is, I’m not falling apart anymore. I’m taking care of my mind and my body so that I can continue to be good at my job, have the energy to do things with my friends, and be able to keep doing things that make me happy. I have a lot of self-discipline so that I’m mentally and physically prepared to handle my mental illness when it rears its ugly head.
That was something I thought I’d feel really proud of until I actually made the full transition from undead college student to new adult and found myself feeling guilty about it.
Most of my friends are still students, and I find myself not being able to relate to their struggles anymore. The ‘Yeah but you’ve got it together’ comments are beginning to really get under my skin and make me feel very dismissed and alienated when I try to share my experiences. It makes it seem like I’ve reached the point where there’s no danger of backsliding or relapsing, but simultaneously feeling like I deserve to be struggling as much as them. Why should I be successful when people I care about are struggling? It’s anxiety induced self-talk saying that I don’t deserve this.
It’s like I’m neurotypical-passing but don’t get all the privileges of being neurotypical.
I began to question again if my experiences were valid — if I deserve to raise my voice and take up space in the community if I’m functioning just fine.
It’s like I have no object permanence for my own mental illness. If I’m not actively in the throes of a panic attack, it’s out of sight and out of mind.
I have to remind myself that “having it together” doesn’t mean that I don’t struggle. It just means that I work hard to keep my life together because it’s better for my mental health.
I have to learn to feel proud of myself when people point out that I ‘have it together’ because that means that it shows externally how I’m taking care of myself internally.
This is why I feel that celebrities and role models — anyone with a platform and a modicum of success really — should talk openly about mental illness. We have got to destigmatize mental health issues and start talking openly about it so that high-functioning, mentally ill, young adults like me can learn that success and mental illness do not negate each other.
There is no such thing as not suffering enough or not being mentally ill enough. There is no criteria of panic attacks per month or hours spent anxious that I have to meet to be able to identify as mentally ill and there is no reason that my mental illness should negate my success or how much I ‘have it together.’
I can have my life together and still be able to ask for the support and care that I need when living with high-functioning anxiety.
And I don’t have to feel guilty about that.
