If you saw me back then, you’d never guess I was struggling. Or so I thought, anyway, that was my plan.
I got up every morning, went to work, paid my bills, smiled at people, and said, “I’m fine.”
I showed up for everyone else, even when I couldn’t show up for myself.
But inside, I felt like I was not feeling at all. Often on the inside, I felt up against the wall, with no way forward. And I always tried to keep it so no one could see behind the curtain.
That’s what high-functioning (or concealed) depression can look like. You keep moving. You keep working. You keep smiling. But the truth is — you’re tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix.
I didn’t call it depression back then. I called it “just being tired.” I told myself I was lazy. Or not strong enough. But I wasn’t weak. I was hurting — quietly. And I felt all alone, even with someone I loved. Thank you, Willie Nelson.
What Concealed Depression Feels Like
I remember sitting in my car in the parking lot one morning. The engine was off. My lunch sat next to me. I just stared at the steering wheel, trying to build up the energy to walk through the door.
Someone passing by waved and said, “Morning, Joel!”
I smiled, waved back, and said, “Morning!” like everything was fine.
But inside, I was running on fumes.
I thought as long as I was still doing “the things” — working, laughing, taking care of people — then I couldn’t really be depressed. But I was wrong. Concealed depression hides in plain sight, even from the person living with it. Maybe I would have figured it out sooner, but after each episode, I would walk away, sweeping what was left under a rug.
Why look at something that was not happening right then?
On the outside, I looked put together. On the inside, I felt empty. Like I was living life behind a pane of glass and watching, not feeling. I ignored signs for years and focused my energy on looking normal.
The Signs I Missed
I didn’t see the signs for a long time. They didn’t look like what I thought depression was supposed to look like. There weren’t a lot of tears or dark days in bed. There was just… quiet pain. What I remember most was the lack of feeling. Almost anything would have felt better than nothing. While I have never practiced it that I know of, I now understand why people engage in self-harm.
Looking back, the signs were everywhere:
- I said “I’m fine” too fast — almost like hitting a reflex.
- I felt tired all the time, even after a good night’s sleep.
- I helped everyone else but ignored my own needs.
- I felt numb more often than sad.
- I overthought everything. Tiny problems became full movies in my head.
- I smiled on the outside when I wanted to cry on the inside.
- I reached goals, but didn’t feel any joy when I got there.
If you see yourself in any of these, it doesn’t mean you’re broken. It might mean you’re carrying more than people realize.
Why It’s So Easy to Miss
Concealed depression is sneaky.
I thought, “I’m still going to work. I’m still showing up. So, I must be fine.”
I told myself other people had it worse. I convinced myself I didn’t need help.
That’s the thing — you can do all the “right things” and still be struggling inside.
Depression doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it whispers. I was so afraid of the stigma associated with a mental illness that I wouldn’t allow myself even to consider it. Depression happened to other people, but not to me..
What Finally Changed
There wasn’t one big moment when everything clicked. It was small things.
One day, I paused before saying “I’m fine.” That pause scared me.
I started to notice how tired I really was — not just in my body, but in my soul.
I remember the morning I went to the ER. I could only think of three choices:
- End it all by committing suicide
- Keep doing what I’ve done before, and expect a different outcome
- Get professional medical help
As I have written many times, I am competitive and expect to live to 100.
So, door #1 was out. And #2 seemed now to be the ultimate definition of crazy. (Am I allowed to say that?) This only left door #3, seeking professional medical attention. I chose #3 because it was the least scary of the three options, I felt I had that morning.
With nothing left to lose, I admitted to myself: I have depression.
Saying it didn’t fix everything. But it opened a door I had kept shut for all of my adult life. And it started me on a journey with my depression, which will play out the rest of my life.
What Help Looked Like for Me
Getting help wasn’t easy. It meant letting people see the real me — not the polished “I’m fine” version. The chance to get help was almost not enough. I had to advocate many times in 12 hours for the chance to get professional medical help. I was so good at looking OK that several doctors thought sending me to the hospital was not necessary.
For me, help looked like:
- Talking with my therapist and actually being honest.
- Letting trusted people in instead of pushing them away.
- Writing down what I felt instead of stuffing it down.
- Learning to slow down and give myself permission to rest.
In my mind, this meant:
- I finally found a therapist I trust. This makes me feel confident that what I say is safe with her. I have shared things with her I have never said out loud before.
- My Peer Advocate from On Our Own in Charlottesville, VA has called me once a week for over six years. I am still amazed that she keeps up with my life, my medication, and my depression
- I have used my blog to work through issues related to my depression. This is blog post number 665,
- I am still learning to use the word “self-care” with myself. But I am doing things like taking short naps and sitting on the front porch first thing in the morning with my coffee. I leave the phone in the house and enjoy 15 to 30 minutes of wildlife,
I didn’t do it perfectly. I still don’t. But every step I take now is better than pretending. And that was how I lived my life for decades, I ignored what was happening and was glad when it was over,
A Message to Anyone Hiding Their Pain
If this sounds like you, please know this:
You’re not weak. You’re not broken. You’re not alone.
Concealed or high-functioning depression doesn’t make you less deserving of care. It just makes it harder to be seen. But you matter — even if your pain is quiet.
Asking for help isn’t giving up.
It’s fighting to be seen. And that takes strength. If you’re struggling and don’t know where to turn, please reach out. Talk to someone you trust. Or call or text 988 in the U.S. (Suicide & Crisis Lifeline). You matter too much to carry this alone.
Final Thought
I spent years perfecting the line: “I’m fine.” I said it to everyone — even myself.
But the day I finally put on clean underwear and clothes and drove to the ER, something shifted. Not all at once. Not perfectly. But enough to let some light in. By the time I went home, 4 days later, I wasn’t feeling up against the wall, with no way forward. I finally felt some hope that I was finally on a path that would lead me to a balanced life with my depression.
If you’re carrying your pain quietly, I see you.
You’re not invisible. You’re not alone.
And saying just one honest sentence — even if it’s whispered to yourself — can be the start of everything changing.
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