Over the last few years, more than one person has said some version of the same thing to me. "I never would've guessed you were struggling." They always mean it as a compliment. And I always thank them for it. But every time I hear it, it sits with me a little longer than I'd like. Because they're right.
From the outside, my life looks... fine. The business is running. Parents get emails back. Classes start on time every morning. My kids still make it where they need to go. I still post on Instagram. If you looked at my life from ten feet away, you'd probably think I had it together. Maybe that's the problem.
For a long time, I thought being "high functioning" was something to be proud of. Everything still got done. So no one worried. Honestly, I didn't think they needed to.
I could have a panic attack in my office, wash my face, answer three emails, and walk out to greet a new family like nothing had happened. I could smile through a conversation while my brain was convinced something terrible was about to happen. I could spend the night crying over finance flashcards for a class I was taking because my anxiety had convinced me I was the dumbest person in the room, and then show up to class the next morning with my notebook color-coded and ready to go.
When Functioning Becomes an Identity
So somewhere along the way, functioning stopped being something I did. It became part of my identity. I'm the one who figures it out. I'm the one who keeps everything moving. Those things are all true. They're just not the whole truth.
And here's the part I keep coming back to. The more capable people think you are, the less they check on you. Not because they don't care. Because you've spent years showing them you can carry heavy things.
Did they go to work? Did they answer the text? Did they make the appointment? Did they pick up the kids? Then they must be okay. Except none of those things actually tell us how someone is doing. They just tell us what someone is still capable of carrying.
I think this happens to parents, teachers, and nurses. To caregivers, and the friend everyone calls first. To the oldest daughter who somehow became everyone's backup plan. To anyone who's built a life around being dependable. Sometimes competence becomes camouflage.
When someone asks how I'm doing, I usually say what everyone says. "Busy." "Tired." "Things have been crazy." What I don't usually say is, "I've been carrying so much lately that I don't know where to set it down." Those answers feel too big for the grocery store. Too big for a casual, "How've you been?"
I'm still not sure whether "I never would've guessed" is a compliment. Because lately I've started wondering if we've confused resilience with wellness. Maybe they've just gotten really, really good at carrying things no one else can see.
The more capable people think you are, the less they check on you.
Natalie Fuertes
