The Cost of Carrying It Well

Tuesday Pause™

Disclaimer: This reflection discusses anxiety, depression, grief, and suicidal ideation. I am not a medical or mental health professional. I am sharing from personal experience, healing, faith, and self-reflection. If these topics are difficult for you, please care for yourself as you read and reach out for support if needed.

I’m certain that at one point or another you’ve probably been within earshot of a well-intentioned person questioning the severity of anxiety. To many, anxiety is reduced to fear, nervousness, overthinking, or simply worrying too much. While fear certainly plays a role, it is my belief that unless someone has experienced anxiety as a mental illness, it is nearly impossible to fully explain its depth and severity. Anxiety is not merely a fleeting feeling. It is often an exhausting mental, emotional, and sometimes physical experience that can quietly shape the way a person interprets the world around them.

For many years, anxiety disguised itself in my life as things that appeared admirable on the surface. It looked like responsibility. It looked like discernment. It looked like sensitivity and attentiveness. It even looked like creativity. The truth is that I had become so accustomed to functioning while overwhelmed that I no longer recognized the weight I was carrying. I simply assumed this was how everyone moved through life. Looking back now, I realize that I had learned how to survive beneath a level of internal pressure that had become so familiar it no longer felt unusual.

Athough I experience genuine joy, and I am deeply grateful for the life I have, I often describe myself as high-functioning; high-functioning anxious as well as, high-functioning depressive. I laugh, I create, I serve, and I love people sincerely. Yet, I have also learned that functioning well is not always the same thing as being well. The ability to continue producing, caring for others, meeting deadlines, or showing up with a smile can often disguise the reality that someone is struggling beneath the surface. People tend to notice productivity, resilience, and capability. What they do not always see is the exhaustion that accompanies constantly carrying the weight of your own mind.

It was not until my mother suddenly suffered cardiac arrest and I became one of the people responsible for making the decision to remove her from life support that I began to recognize just how much anxiety had already occupied space within me. Ironically, it happened on the first day of spring, a season I had always loved. Spring represented renewal, possibility, beauty, and hope. Yet, after losing my mother, I noticed something changing inside me. It became increasingly difficult to experience joy without first wondering what it might cost me. Moments that should have felt exciting were often accompanied by an undercurrent of apprehension. Even in seasons of blessing, part of my mind remained braced for impact.

That is the part grief rarely tells you beforehand. Sometimes, loss does not simply break your heart; it changes the way your mind interprets safety. When a significant loss occurs, the mind often begins scanning for future threats, searching for signs that something else could be taken away. What once felt secure can suddenly feel fragile. What once felt exciting can feel risky. Joy becomes accompanied by caution because somewhere deep inside, the mind begins trying to protect itself from experiencing that level of pain again.

Over time, I have come to understand that my mind is both a sanctuary and a battlefield. The very qualities that allow me to create, write, imagine, empathize, and connect deeply with others are the same qualities that can sometimes intensify anxiety when left unchecked. Creativity is often celebrated as a gift, and it is. However, what people rarely discuss is that imagination does not only create beauty, it also creates possibilities, scenarios, and outcomes. When anxiety enters the equation, imagination can become a breeding ground for fear. It can transform small uncertainties into elaborate worst-case scenarios and make imagined outcomes feel every bit as real as actual events.

There have been seasons in my life when my mind became so consumed by fear, grief, and emotional exhaustion that I battled suicidal ideation. That is not something I share lightly, nor is it something I share for shock value. I share it because honesty matters. I share it because there are countless people quietly carrying similar thoughts while feeling ashamed to admit them. For me, those thoughts were never rooted in a desire to die. They were rooted in a desperate desire for relief. I wanted the emotional pain to stop. I wanted the mental exhaustion to stop. I wanted the constant pressure and heaviness to stop. There is a significant difference between wanting life to end and wanting suffering to end, yet many people carry that burden in silence because they fear being misunderstood, judged, or labeled.

That silence is often where anxiety and depression thrive. Left unspoken, they grow stronger. They convince us that we are alone in experiences that are actually far more common than we realize. They tell us that vulnerability is weakness and that asking for help is failure. Yet, I have learned that healing often begins when we become willing to tell the truth. Not the polished truth. Not the version that makes everyone comfortable. The real truth.

So, I speak openly about these experiences. Not because I have arrived at perfect healing, but because I believe honesty creates room for healing. I believe that every conversation we have about mental health chips away at stigma. Every time someone finds the courage to say, “I am struggling,” a little more light enters a place that darkness once occupied alone.

So friend, if any part of this reflection resonates with you, I hope you know that you are not alone. You are not weak, because your mind is tired. You are not broken, because you are struggling. You are not failing, because you need support. You are human. And, sometimes being human means carrying things that are heavier than we were ever meant to carry by ourselves and choosing to relinquish it once we become too burdened by it.

Healing is rarely instantaneous. More often, it is found in small moments of honesty, courage, support, and grace. It is found in choosing to keep going when everything inside you wants to quit. It is found in reaching for help, speaking the truth, and extending compassion to yourself the same way you would extend it to someone you love.

There is hope.

There is healing.

And there is still time to make peace with your own mind.

One breath at a time.

One truth at a time.

One step at a time.