✨Im Literary Anxious✨

🕒𝟲 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱🕒

𝙄 𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙚𝙙𝙄𝙣 𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙈𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙝, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 (𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩) 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡.

𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗚𝗢𝗘𝗦 𝗨𝗣, 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡

Here’s something you might not know about me—I’m a walking, talking dichotomy. I have no idea how to gracefully or unabashedly take a compliment… but I thrive on validation.

If we’ve worked together but aren’t close, you might be thinking, “Who is this person and why are they hacking Nat’s LinkedIn account?” But if you’ve ever seen me receive praise, tell me this: how often has my response involved a joke? A quip? Some level of deflection wrapped in humor?

I graduated college with a double major in event and hospitality management. I landed a great job post-graduation and spent the next six years reaching for more. I became the “go-to.” The power user. The problem solver. The person who got the Skype ping when something hit the fan. Exhaustion became a badge of honor; being on top of everything was my gold medal.

But here’s the thing about going up: eventually, you come down.

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚—𝗡𝗢, 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗖 𝗧𝗬𝗣𝗘

“Masking—also called camouflaging or compensating—is when individuals repress or hide signs of a mental health condition to blend in or adapt to the neurotypical world.”
— Psychology Today

Let’s clear the air: “𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵 𝗳𝘂𝗻𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴” 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗴𝗻𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘀. You won’t find it in the DSM or any psych manual. You might, however, find the term tossed around like confetti in mental health convos, especially now that conversations are happening more out in the open and less behind closed doors.

I’ve been called high functioning. Hell, I’ve called myself high functioning. Also: Type A. Overachiever. Perfectionist. And sure, there’s some truth there—but those labels always came laced with a mix of self-criticism (and, ok, a tiny bit of humble brag energy.)

To most people, I looked like a gold star student. The “go-to” colleague. The person who thrived under pressure. In reality, 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝘅𝗶𝗲𝘁𝘆, 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗺, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘀𝘆𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗼𝗺𝘀 I hadn’t even realized I was carrying around.

And the real mindf*ck?
I didn’t even realize I was masking. Or overcompensating. Or quietly crumbling inside while saying, “No worries at all!” when I was, in fact, all worries.

So what did masking look like for me? 👇🏻

Powered by Anxiety, Rewarded by Applause

I turned hyper-productivity into a personality trait. If something could be done well, I’d do it bigger, better. More detailed. More organized. More thorough.
(Gold star, please and thank you.)

Surviving with Hacks, Not Talent

I’ve struggled with math my entire life. It’s not that I’m “bad at it”—my brain just short-circuits when numbers get involved (Figures genetics would pass down the depressy without the math finessey.) 

In college, passing a required math class with a B meant attending every lecture, completing all assignments, and spending 2–4 extra hours a week watching YouTube tutorials until something clicked.

Sometimes people just need the information presented in a way their brain can actually process.

In my retail days, when a customer handed me extra change after I’d rung up the purchase? Cue panic mode. I’d smile and say, “Oh, sorry! Can’t override it once it’s entered or it messes up the system.” (Spoiler: the real issue was that my brain couldn’t mentally recalibrate that fast without imploding.)

Clinging to Structure to Stay Afloat

I built SOPs, created training manuals, templated everything—because structure calmed the chaos. I’ve learned I genuinely enjoy building systems, but the reason I started? Pure survival. Systems made me feel safe.

I over-formatted every doc—emails, spreadsheets, reports—not because I was a perfectionist, but because disorganization overwhelmed me on a visceral level. If I couldn’t format things the way my brain needed, the frustration built until it boiled over: racing heart, lump in my throat, tears I couldn’t always keep down.

Even if no one else would see the file, I’d spend hours “fixing” it. All that formatting? Pristine. My nervous system? Absolutely not.

You didn’t see the cracks—because I only let them show behind closed doors. Literally. Usually in the storage closet.

Fidgeting Through the Overwhelm

I used to fidget with my hair during meetings as a stim*. Once it was pointed out, I started focusing more on not doing it than anything being said. (Same with leg bouncing—but that one’s here to stay. Sorry not sorry.)

Phone calls? Dreaded. Every. Single. Time.
I’d mentally script the entire conversation before dialing. Email was safer. Cleaner. I could breathe and get the tone right without fear of word-vomit.

When Words Become Armor

I became the person with the insanely detailed emails. Not because I was a master communicator—but because I was 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗹𝘆 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗶𝘁𝘆 and constantly worried I hadn’t said enough or missed something important.

And it didn’t stop at emails. My docs, timelines, proposals—anything I touched—were color-coded, hyper-organized, and annotated within an inch of their lives. Sometimes it was helpful, even praised. Other times? I was the only one who noticed. But it didn’t matter—because in my head, if I explained everything in 17 bullet points, no one could blame me… or ask me to hop on a call.

Over-communicating became my armor.
Clarity was control.
And control felt like safety.

---

The thing about masking is that yes, it can help you succeed in environments like school or work. That’s why it develops.
But it’s also exhausting.

“Above and beyond” became my baseline.
And here’s the problem: when perfection is your default setting… what’s left to strive for?

𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗕𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗢𝗠?

When is it age-appropriate to have a nervous breakdown?
For me, it was 33.

𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲’𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗲𝗱 𝗔𝗻𝘅𝗶𝗲𝘁𝘆 𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗿: 𝗶𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝘂𝘁. It’s always there—buzzing in the background like a fluorescent light you didn’t realize was making noise… until everything else goes quiet.
And then that’s all you can hear.

Now throw in a high-stress job that demands perfection at all times, and yeah… things tend to escalate.

Event planning had always required a ton of emotional labor. Then the pandemic hit. Mass layoffs swept through my company—like many others—and while I was lucky to still have a job, the fallout was isolating. I found myself working remotely, sitting in an empty home office, staring into the void and wondering what would come next.

Add to that the stress of planning—and postponing—my wedding. Twice.

And once the world started opening back up, things didn’t ease in. They accelerated. Work ramped up fast, and suddenly three of us were doing the work that used to be handled by ten.

I hit critical mass.

I started waking my now-husband up in the middle of the night, panicked, convinced something was wrong. I’d be drenched in cold sweat, nauseous, and disoriented.

One of the hardest parts of anxiety—for me—is that 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴.

𝗘𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗶𝘀𝘁.
So it’s a testament to just how close to the edge I was that I did it anyway.

It took a few sessions and one particularly tough night to realize what I was experiencing weren’t just bad dreams or stress spirals.

They were panic attacks.

That first therapy appointment became the start of one of several turning points for me. And while it wasn’t a magic fix, it was the first time I stopped surviving and actually started trying to understand what was happening in my own brain.

𝗡𝗢 𝗜𝗦 𝗔 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘

If you’re in events, picture working a nine-hour event—on your feet, nonstop, constant interaction, no breaks.
If you’re in hospitality, maybe it’s a front desk shift during peak season.
If you’re in food service, imagine back-to-back private parties.

You get the gist. Imagine your most high-interaction scenario—with zero time to recharge.

Now ask yourself: how would you feel afterward?

That level of exhaustion?
That was my everyday baseline. Masking (or compensating if you prefer) left me in a permanent state of being “on.” 

Masking has been linked to higher levels of anxiety and depression—especially in women (Livingston & Happé, 2017). Yay me 🙃.

In the months (if I’m honest, years) after my “cracked wide open” moment, I started learning a lot—though applying it? That took a little longer.

One of the biggest lessons?

𝗕𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀.

I had to figure out how to set them—and then actually honor them.

It might sound simple, even silly, but stumbling across the phrase “No is a complete sentence” genuinely changed something in me.

It wasn’t easy, and it sure as hell wasn’t fun (and at times pulling out my eyelashes seemed like a better way to spend my time), but I began the slow, uncomfortable work of learning that 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝. (Even if it still feels that way sometimes.)

𝗜𝗧’𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗔 𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗘, 𝗜𝗧’𝗦 𝗔 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗡

There is no “happily ever after, the end” to this.

None of my brain quirks come with an off switch—and learning how to navigate life with them (especially after only getting answers in my 30s) is… well, in the words of my therapist: “that shit is hard.”

But along the way, I’ve picked up a few lessons that have helped me move forward—maybe not toward a finish line, but at least in the right direction.

Plot twist: maybe there is no finish line…

🛑 No is a complete sentence.

You don’t need to justify how you spend your time and energy. To anyone. (Yes, even friends and family!)

🤷🏻‍♀️ “Is this a problem, or is this a me problem?”

How often do we spiral over things not being done “right,” when really… they’re just not done our way?

🔒 Set—and honor—your boundaries.

Whatever they look like for you. For me, it started with logging out of email and Teams at the end of the workday.
And honestly? Some tiny part of me still cringes as I type that and screams “SLACKER!”
But here’s the kicker: people will push back on your boundaries.
As my therapist says, “If people start complaining? You’re doing some really deep shit.”

🛑→🟡 Your knee-jerk reaction doesn’t have to be a life sentence.

You’re allowed to pause. To rethink. To say, “Actually, I might’ve taken on too much.”
Changing your mind isn’t failure—it’s growth.

May is Mental Health Awareness Month, but this isn’t a Hallmark holiday.
One post, one card, one conversation a year isn’t enough.

Those of us on mental health journeys don’t get to step off the rollercoaster.
But having people who acknowledge the ride? Who want to know how they can help us navigate it?

That makes all the difference.

*Stim is short for stimming, or self-stimulating behavior. It can include repetitive actions (like tapping, fidgeting, or rocking) or repeating certain sounds. Stimming is often used as a way to self-soothe, manage emotions, or regulate sensory input.