Coping with Anxiety While Functioning: The Soft Strength of Vulnerability

There’s a version of me that used to believe vulnerability was a liability — a crack in the armor, an invitation for disappointment, a neon sign that said “Handle with care… or don’t.”

But lately, I’ve been learning that vulnerability isn’t the crack. It’s the light. It’s the part of us that refuses to harden, even after life gives us every reason to build a fortress.

And let me tell you: choosing softness in a world that rewards performance? That’s not weakness. That’s courage with its sleeves rolled up.

I’m sharing this because being honest about coping with anxiety while functioning helps me show where I am is its own kind of strength. It's 2026 and for me, it's the year of doing new things. So, what better way then this.

This peaceful Zen garden mirrors the blog’s message: vulnerability isn’t weakness — it’s the art of staying grounded, even when life feels messy.

When “Functioning” Doesn’t Mean “Fine”: The Myth of “I’m Fine”

We’ve all done it — the tight smile, the quick nod, the “I’m good!” that tastes like a lie the moment it leaves your mouth.

But pretending to be okay is exhausting. It’s like holding your breath underwater and hoping no one notices the bubbles.

Vulnerability, on the other hand, is the exhale. The moment you stop performing and start being.

There’s a version of anxiety and depression that doesn’t look like the movies. No dramatic collapse. No visible unraveling. No one rushing in with tissues and soft piano music.

It’s called functional anxiety and depression — the kind where you still show up, still perform, still hit deadlines, still smile in pictures… all while feeling like your inner world is quietly glitching.

For me, it looks like this:

• Getting everything done, but feeling like I’m moving through molasses.

• Smiling on Zoom while my brain is whispering, “Can we not?”

• Being the dependable one, the strong one, the organized one — and then crashing the moment the door closes.

• Feeling overwhelmed by things that normally wouldn’t even register.

• Carrying a heaviness that no one else can see because I’ve learned how to tuck it neatly behind competence.

It’s the emotional equivalent of having a cracked phone screen: still works, still functional, still gets the job done… but every now and then, the glitch shows.

Every now and then, I hit what I call an “episode.” Not a breakdown — more like a shutdown. A moment where my mind says, “We’re done here,” and my body follows suit.

Sometimes it’s triggered. Sometimes it’s random. Sometimes it’s a slow build. Sometimes it’s a sneak attack.

And because I’m “functional,” most people never know it’s happening. But I do. My spirit does. My energy does.

I came off my anxiety meds last summer and felt like I had things under control. But these past few weeks have shown me that I need them again. And that’s okay. Between the medication and new coping tools I’ve been practicing, I know I’ll be alright.

When You Tell the Truth, You Make Space about Coping with Anxiety While Functioning

The wildest thing about vulnerability is how contagious it is. The moment you say, “Actually, today was heavy,” someone else suddenly feels safe enough to say, “Me too.”

And just like that, connection happens — not the curated, filtered kind, but the real, human, messy kind. The kind that reminds you you’re not navigating this life alone.

This one is the hardest. Because being “functional” can trick you into believing you don’t get to struggle. But I remind myself: I’m allowed to have limits. I’m allowed to have off days. I’m allowed to be a whole person — not just a productive one.

Being vulnerable doesn’t shrink you. It expands you. It stretches your capacity for empathy, for joy, for love, for boundaries, for self-respect. It teaches you to trust your voice, even when it trembles. It teaches you to trust your story, even when it’s still unfolding.

And it teaches you to trust yourself — especially the parts you once tried to hide.

Vulnerability isn’t a one-time declaration. It’s a practice. A daily decision to show up as your whole self — not the polished version, not the “strong friend” version, not the “I’ve got it all together” version.

Just you.

Soft, honest, evolving you.

And the more you practice it, the more you realize that the people who are meant for you don’t need your perfection. They need your presence.

Why I’m Sharing This

I haven’t felt like myself these past couple of months. I’ve gotten good at hiding it, but some days it slips through. Recently, I started overthinking everything — misreading texts, misinterpreting emails, questioning people’s words or their silence. I've been thinking everyone is against me and hate me. The anxiety of trying to figure out what I “did wrong” eventually drags my mood down.

And going through perimenopause definitely isn’t helping!

That’s usually when I know I need support. Asking for help is hard for me — sometimes I don’t know how, and sometimes I’m scared of being judged or talked about. But my mental health matters just as much as anyone else’s. I can't be good for my family if I'm not good to myself.

As I mentioned above, last summer I came off my anxiety meds. For a while, things seemed great. I was managing. But all of a sudden, I felt my mood start to shift around September/October. I don't know if it was because I received my first cortisol shot in my knee and was told by the doctor that running for me is done. Or if was knowing the holidays was coming and yet again it would be another reminder that my parents are not here. Or was it the little things that were happening between me and people I thought were my friends that maybe my mind was overthinking. Whatever it was, it was the beginning indication that I needed to get back on my meds. Before I called my doctor, I wanted to try one more thing.

I bought an ice bath. I had already thought about buying one because I noticed

at physical therapy, they would wrap my legs in this ice pouches and it made my knees feel amazing afterwards. So I wanted that at home. But I also read that ice baths are great for anxiety. I've used it a handful of times and it actually helps me control my thoughts and emotions.

But I realized, as good as this ice bath is, and I added in relaxing essential oils, I needed additional support. So I called my doctor and back on the meds I go.

And it's ok.

Because vulnerability isn’t just about telling the pretty truths. It’s about telling the ones that make your voice shake a little.

And if someone else out there is carrying their own invisible heaviness while still showing up for work, for family, for community, for life — I want them to know they’re not alone.

Functioning doesn’t mean you’re not struggling. Struggling doesn’t mean you’re not strong. And being vulnerable about it doesn’t make you weak — it makes you real.

A Final Truth

Here’s what I know now: Vulnerability isn’t the opposite of strength. It is strength — the quiet kind, the steady kind, the kind that doesn’t need applause to be powerful.

When we tell the truth about our inner world — the light and the shadows — we give ourselves permission to breathe. We give others permission to breathe. We create connection, compassion, and community in places where silence once lived.

If you’re reading this and you’ve been holding your breath — emotionally, spiritually, creatively — consider this your invitation to exhale.

You don’t have to be invincible to be worthy. You don’t have to be unbothered to be lovable. You don’t have to be perfect to be powerful.

You just have to be real.

And real is more than enough.

A quiet moment of reflection in nature, echoing the blog’s message: vulnerability is where healing begins.