Let me tell you about the time I showed up to a dinner party two hours early because I was so worried about being late that I left my house before the host had even started cooking.
Yeah. That’s high-functioning anxiety in a nutshell.
From the outside, I look like I have my life together. I show up on time (or ridiculously early). I meet my deadlines. My emails are well written and professional. People call me “organized” and “responsible.” Some even say I’m “killing it.”
But here’s what they don’t see: the three hours I spent the night before rewriting that email seventeen times because I was convinced the word “regards” sounded too cold but “warmly” sounded too fake. Or the fact that I’ve checked my phone forty-two times in the last hour to make sure I didn’t miss an important message that would cause everything in my life to fall apart: there was no important message.
What High-Functioning Anxiety Actually Feels Like
High-functioning anxiety is like having a really aggressive personal assistant living in your brain who’s constantly yelling at you about everything you need to do, everything you forgot to do, and everything that could possibly go wrong in the next five years.
“Did you send that text?” Brain Assistant screams at 2 AM.
“Yes,” I reply.
“But did it sound weird?”
“No.”
“Are you SURE? Because maybe they thought you were being passive aggressive when you used that period at the end.”
“It was ONE period.”
“That’s how it starts.”
This is my life.
People with high-functioning anxiety don’t look anxious. We look productive. We look like we’re handling everything. And technically, we are handling everything. We’re just doing it while our internal monologue sounds like a sports commentator narrating a disaster film.
The Art of Overthinking Everything
I once spent an entire weekend worrying about a work presentation that wasn’t until the following Thursday. I practiced it so many times that our dog could probably deliver it better than me. I made backup slides for my backup slides. I prepared answers to questions nobody would ever ask.
The presentation went fine. Actually, it went great. But did that stop me from lying awake that night thinking about how I said “um” twice and made weird hand gestures? Of course not.
That’s the thing about high-functioning anxiety. It doesn’t care about your actual performance. It only cares about the imaginary performance happening in your head where everything goes wrong and everyone secretly thinks you’re a fraud.
The Checklist That Never Ends
My to-do lists have to-do lists. I’m not even joking.
I wake up and immediately start running through everything I need to accomplish that day. Then I think about everything I need to accomplish that week. Then that month. Then I’m suddenly planning my entire life strategy while I’m still in bed with morning breath.
Before I’ve even had coffee, I’ve mentally written three emails, planned two meetings, worried about a deadline that’s three weeks away, and convinced myself that I’m behind on everything.
The weird part? I’m not actually behind on anything. I’m usually ahead. But high-functioning anxiety doesn’t care about facts. It cares about feelings. And the feeling is always “you’re not doing enough.”
Looking Calm While Internally Screaming
Here’s a fun game I play called “Guess What I’m Anxious About Right Now.”
I could be sitting in a meeting, nodding thoughtfully, looking totally engaged. Meanwhile, my brain is having a full breakdown because I just remembered I forgot to reply to an email from three days ago and now that person definitely hates me and thinks I’m unprofessional and probably told everyone else that I’m unreliable.
The email was about lunch plans.
Or I’m having coffee with a friend, laughing at their jokes, appearing completely normal. But inside, I’m replaying something I said five minutes ago and analyzing whether it sounded stupid. Then I’m thinking about what I’m going to say next. Then I’m worried I’m not listening well enough. Then I’m anxious that they can tell I’m anxious.
It’s exhausting being me sometimes.
The Productivity Trap
People always tell me, “Wow, you get so much done! What’s your secret?”
My secret is crippling fear of failure and an overwhelming need to prove I’m competent at all times.
Not exactly a productivity hack they teach you in those online courses.
High-functioning anxiety turns you into a productivity machine because staying busy is the only way to quiet the worry. If I’m working, I can’t think about all the things that might go wrong. If I’m checking items off my list, I feel like I’m in control.
The problem? You can’t outrun anxiety with accomplishments. Trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve achieved goals, met targets, impressed people, and received praise. And you know what happened? My brain just moved the goalposts and found new things to worry about.
“Great job on that project! But what about the next one?”
Thanks, Brain. Super helpful.
The Social Anxiety That Nobody Notices
I’m going to tell you something wild. I can give presentations to fifty people without breaking a sweat. But sending a casual text to a friend? That requires a full risk assessment and three drafts.
Going to parties is an Olympic sport. I spend hours beforehand planning conversation topics. I practice small talk in my head. I decide what I’m going to wear, then change my mind six times. I show up looking completely fine and friendly.
And then I spend the entire party monitoring myself. Am I talking too much? Not enough? Was that joke funny or weird? Should I have laughed at their joke more enthusiastically? Why is everyone else so relaxed?
Afterwards, I replay every single interaction and find at least twelve moments where I definitely said something awkward and now everyone thinks I’m strange.
Meanwhile, my friends text me the next day saying, “Great seeing you! You’re always so fun!”
The irony is not lost on me.
When “Self-Care” Becomes Another Task
Everyone tells people with anxiety to practice self-care. So I do. I make time for exercise, meditation, journaling, and healthy eating.
But here’s what happens with high-functioning anxiety: self-care becomes another thing to be good at.
Now I’m anxious about whether I’m doing self-care correctly. Am I meditating enough? Is my meditation technique right? Should I be journaling more? Am I eating too healthy? Not healthy enough?
I once felt guilty about taking a relaxing bath because I thought I should be doing something more productive with that time.
A bath. I felt guilty about a bath.
This is the level of ridiculous we’re working with here.
The Weird Coping Mechanisms
I’ve developed some interesting habits over the years. Like arriving everywhere early (thus the dinner party incident). Or triple-checking that my alarm is set even though I’ve checked it twice already and I always wake up before it anyway because I’m too anxious about oversleeping.
I keep backup plans for my backup plans. I save every important document in seventeen different places. I send myself reminder emails about things I definitely won’t forget.
And you know what the weirdest part is? These things actually help. Not because they’re rational, but because they give my anxiety something to do. It’s like throwing a stick for a very anxious dog.
“Here, Brain, go check that alarm again. Good boy.”
What I Wish People Understood
High-functioning anxiety doesn’t mean I don’t need support. It just means I’m really good at hiding when I’m struggling.
It doesn’t mean my anxiety isn’t serious. It means I’ve gotten skilled at managing it while still showing up for my responsibilities.
It doesn’t mean I’m “just a perfectionist” or “type A.” It means I’m dealing with a real mental health challenge that happens to manifest in ways that look productive.
And it definitely doesn’t mean I have everything figured out. It means I’m working really hard every single day to keep things together, and sometimes I need understanding when the effort gets to be too much.
The Real Talk
High-functioning anxiety has taught me I’m capable of way more than I thought. Not because anxiety is good (it’s not), but because I’ve learned to do hard things while feeling afraid.
I’ve given presentations while my heart was racing. I’ve had difficult conversations while my stomach was in knots. I’ve taken risks while my brain was listing every possible way things could go wrong.
And mostly? Things turned out okay.
I’m not saying anxiety is a superpower or that it’s made me better. That’s nonsense. But I am saying that living with it has taught me I’m stronger than I feel in the moment.
Also, I’m getting better at showing up to dinner parties at the actual correct time. Progress.
If this sounds familiar to you, you’re not alone. A lot of us are walking around looking fine while internally running a marathon of worry.
And here’s what I want you to know: you don’t have to be productive to be valuable. You don’t have to achieve things to be worthy. And you definitely don’t have to have it all together all the time.
Also, nobody cares about that period at the end of your text message. I promise.
Well, nobody except your anxiety. But we already know that guy’s not invited to the party anymore.
Even if we probably need to send him a polite decline text.
In three drafts.
Just to be safe.
