The Secret Lives of Functional People

by Arielle Arbushites, LSW

I think a lot of us assume mental health struggles should look dramatic. We expect panic attacks. Breakdowns. Crying on bathroom floors.

And sometimes mental health struggles do look like that. But sometimes they look like reading the same email three times because your brain won’t retain the words. Sometimes they look like forgetting why you walked into a room. Sometimes they look like lying awake at night mentally going over conversations that happened six years ago or ones that might happen six years from now. Sometimes they look like functioning so well that nobody realizes you’re exhausted.

We live in a culture that treats suffering as evidence that something is not okay. If it doesn’t show, all is well.

As if needing rest means we’re lazy. As if anxiety means we’re weak. As if sadness means we’re broken. So we put our best foot forward when it’s possible to do so, and we fool the world into thinking we are fine, even great.

But being human has always involved periods of uncertainty, grief, loneliness, fear, and overwhelm. Mental health isn’t the absence of difficult feelings. It’s the ability to remain in relationship with yourself when those feelings arrive.

I can’t tell you exactly when it gets easier if you’re feeling the pressure beneath the functional mask. I can’t promise tomorrow will feel lighter.

What I can tell you is this:

You are participating in one of the oldest human experiences there is.

You are carrying something difficult. And so are millions of other people who look perfectly fine from the outside. You do not need to earn compassion by reaching a breaking point. You do not need to prove your pain is serious enough. You do not need to compare yourself to those around you. You do not need to wait until you’re falling apart to deserve care.

As a writer, I believe some of the most important stories are the ones we are afraid to tell because we think we are the only ones living them. As a social worker, I know that suffering is far more common than it appears and that healing often begins the moment someone feels seen. As a human being, I try to offer myself the same compassion I freely extend to everyone else…and I hope you will too. We are all in this together.