I was scrolling through TikTok the other day, probably avoiding some task I needed to do, when a video stopped me dead in my tracks. It was about high functioning depression, and honey, it was like someone had been watching my life through a window I didn't even know was open.

"Be careful with people who have high functioning depression," the creator said. "They get up, they get dressed, they go to work, and we cry in silence when nobody's watching."

We.

That word sat heavy in my chest because I knew exactly what he meant. I AM that "WE."

The Performance of Being Okay

You know what's wild? I can make you laugh until your sides hurt, send you the perfect meme at just the right moment, and check on everyone in my circle to make sure they're good. But ask me how I'M doing? I'll give you the standard "I'm fine" with a smile so convincing, I almost believe it myself.

Since losing my Mama, this performance has become an art form. I get my baby dressed, I make her breakfast, I work on my designs, I plan activities for us, I post content that hopefully helps someone else feel less alone. From the outside, I'm handling it. I'm that strong friend who has it all together.

But here's what you don't see: the nights when I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, missing the sound of my Mother's voice so much it feels like drowning. The mornings when I wake up and for just a split second, I forget she's gone, and then reality hits like a freight train. The way I keep myself so busy during the day that I don't have time to feel the weight of this grief that lives in my chest.

The Productivity Trap

High functioning depression is sneaky like that. It doesn't look like the depression we see in movies where someone can't get out of bed. It looks like me meal prepping on Sunday, creating content, designing graphics, planning toddler activities, and researching ways to help my clients. It looks productive. It looks like I'm winning.

But really? I'm just running. Running from the quiet moments when my brain gets loud and reminds me that I'm navigating this world without my best friend, my compass, my mama. Running from the reality that some days I feel like I'm drowning in plain sight.

The thing about staying busy to avoid feeling is that it works. Until it doesn't. Until you're sitting in your car after a Costco run, and a song comes on that your mom used to love, and you completely fall apart in the parking lot. Until you're home alone after your daughter goes to bed, and the silence becomes so loud you can't breathe.

The Helping Others Paradox

Here's what really gets me: I can pour into everyone else's cup until it's overflowing, but asking for help? That feels impossible. I'll check on my friends, send encouragement, share resources, be that safe space for others. But when someone asks if I need anything, I automatically say "I'm good" even when I'm not.

Maybe it's because I was a teacher and got used to putting everyone else's needs first. Maybe it's because I watched my Mama be strong for everyone around her. Maybe it's because admitting I need help feels like admitting I'm failing at this life thing.

But that TikTok reminded me of something important: just because I don't say "I need help" doesn't mean my thoughts aren't eating me alive. Just because I keep it together in public doesn't mean I'm not struggling behind closed doors.

The Aftermath of Alone Time

You want to know when it hits the hardest? When I get home. When I close the door behind me and my daughter is asleep and it's just me. That's when the mask comes off. That's when I allow myself to feel the full weight of missing my mama so much it physically hurts. That's when I cry the tears I've been holding back all day.

And then I wake up the next morning, and I do it all over again. Because what's the alternative? My baby needs me. My work needs me. The teachers I'm trying to help need me. So I get up, I get dressed, I show up, and I perform "fine" like it's my job.

A Different Kind of Check-In

But here's what I want you to know, and what I'm learning to accept for myself: it's okay to not be okay. It's okay to be high functioning AND struggling. It's okay to be productive AND depressed. It's okay to help others AND need help yourself.

If you're reading this and you see yourself in these words, I want you to know you're not alone. We might be scattered across different cities, different circumstances, but we're connected by this invisible thread of understanding. We're the ones who send the funny memes while crying behind our phones. We're the ones who check on everyone else while drowning in silence.

And if you have someone in your life who might be struggling silently, please don't just repost the "check on your strong friends" caption. Actually check on them. Send that text. Make that call. Show up in a way that feels safe for them to be vulnerable.

Creating Space for Healing

For me, this blog is part of my healing. Writing these words, sharing these feelings, creating something that might help someone else feel less alone, it's how I honor my mama's memory while also taking care of myself. It's how I turn my pain into purpose.

I'm also learning that healing doesn't have to look like expensive therapy sessions or elaborate self-care routines. Sometimes it's as simple as making myself a nourishing meal, stepping outside to feel the sun on my face, or playing that old school music that makes my soul happy. Sometimes it's letting myself cry in the shower. Sometimes it's admitting that I'm not okay, and that's okay.

I recently came across a book that spoke to my soul in the most unexpected way: Self-Healing Isn't Pretty: The Raw, Real, Unfiltered Journey to Getting Better (Even When It Feels Like You're Falling Apart) (affiliate link) by Mira Rowen. Y'all, when I tell you this title alone made me feel seen! Because isn't that the truth? Healing isn't Instagram-worthy. It's messy, it's ugly sometimes, and it definitely doesn't happen in a straight line.

This book gets it. It understands that healing while high functioning means you're often holding it together on the outside while completely falling apart on the inside. It's about those moments when you're doing "all the right things" but still feel like you're drowning. It's permission to acknowledge that getting better doesn't always feel like getting better, and that's completely normal.

The Journey Forward

I don't have all the answers. I'm still figuring out how to chase my dreams while paying bills, how to help other teachers find freedom while finding my own, how to be present for my daughter while grieving my mother. But I'm learning that high functioning depression isn't something to be ashamed of. It's something to be aware of, to acknowledge, to work with instead of against.

If you're in this space with me, please know that your feelings are valid. Your struggle is real. Your pain matters. And you don't have to carry it alone, even when it feels like you do.

We're going to keep getting up, keep getting dressed, keep showing up. But maybe we can also start asking for help. Maybe we can start being honest about how we're really doing. Maybe we can start creating space for ourselves to feel without judgment.

Because at the end of the day, we're not just surviving. We're healing. And healing isn't always pretty, but it's always worth it.

Sending you love and light, especially if you needed to hear this today.

Looking for more support and connection? Check out my podcasts where I dive deeper into topics like this and share more of my journey. You can find them [here].

Check out the TikTok video here. 

Remember: I'm not a licensed therapist or counselor. If you're struggling with depression or mental health issues, please consider reaching out to a mental health professional. You deserve support.

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