When You’re Functioning… But Not Really Okay
The Hidden Cost of Coping with ADHD
When “functioning” becomes a full-time job
There is a particular kind of struggle that doesn’t look like struggling at all. You show up. You meet expectations. You are competent, reliable, often impressive. From the outside, it looks like you are doing fine. Sometimes it even looks like you are thriving.
And yet, internally, things feel brittle. Your mind rarely rests. Your inner critic is loud and persuasive. You are constantly managing yourself; your energy, your emotions, your focus, in ways no one else can see. Rest doesn’t really land. Even when things are “going well,” you feel like you are holding your breath, waiting for it to drop.
The version of coping no one sees
I know this place well. I look pretty normal. I have the certificates, the companies on my CV. I look like I’m coping. Achieving. Functioning. Keeping things moving. People often praise me for “managing it all,” while internally it doesn’t feel like that at all. I’m acutely aware of the array of balls being dropped, with a constant low-level anxiety humming away in the background.
Underneath that competence is constant effort, a kind of invisible vigilance. I genuinely thought this was what adulthood felt like for everyone. I don’t massively love being an adult. I don’t really feel like one. I just feel… responsible all the time.
The invisible labour of appearing fine
What often goes unnoticed is how much work goes into appearing fine.
The overthinking before you speak.
The constant self-correction.
The double and triple checking.
The reliance on urgency just to get started.
The emotional regulation that happens entirely internally so you don’t feel “too much” for others.
This isn’t resilience. It’s coping. And coping costs.
When coping becomes the baseline
It costs energy, self-trust, and self-esteem, especially when you don’t realise you’re doing it. When your nervous system has been running on alert for years, exhaustion starts to feel like a personal failure rather than a predictable outcome.
“Success” can make this even harder to name. If you are outwardly doing well, it becomes easier to dismiss your own struggle. You tell yourself you shouldn’t complain. That other people have it worse. That if things were really that bad, you wouldn’t be managing at all. But ADHD doesn’t disappear because you are capable. It just becomes less visible.
Many high-functioning ADHDers survive through pressure instead of regulation, people-pleasing instead of boundaries, and perfectionism instead of safety. These strategies work, until they quietly start costing too much. When your sense of stability sits largely in the hands of others’ expectations or approval, how could your system ever truly switch off?
A different way of understanding what’s happening
Here’s the part I want to slow down.
We know logically we are “fine” or that “nothing is wrong with me.” But that doesn’t really help because we still feel like a masquerade waiting to drop. What helped was realising how much my nervous system had been doing; constantly scanning, adjusting, compensating in order to keep me functional in environments that rewarded steadiness, linear progress, and emotional containment (who decided that anyway?!).
ADHD brains are often incredibly good at adapting. Too good, sometimes. We learn how to smooth ourselves out. How to meet the brief. How to keep going even when the cost is high. Over time, that adaptation can start to look like personality. Like maturity. Like competence. But inside, there’s often strain. Not because we’re failing, but because we’ve been running a complex internal operation without much external support.
When I began to see my exhaustion not as a flaw but as a signal, something softened. Not everything improved, but the story I was telling myself changed. I stopped asking, “What’s wrong with me?” and started asking, “What do I need?”
That question alone created more space than any productivity strategy ever had.
Gentle curiosity, not self-interrogation
If you feel able, you might gently explore a few questions, not to fix, just to notice.
Where am I relying on pressure to function?
What am I holding together privately that no one sees?
If I stopped coping for a moment, what am I afraid might happen?
You don’t need answers. You don’t need a plan. Even noticing is information.
From coping to support
This work isn’t about doing less or lowering your standards. It’s about slowly shifting from coping to support. From surviving quietly to being resourced enough to breathe. And that shift doesn’t start with pushing harder or demanding more from yourself. It starts with understanding what you’ve already been doing and at what cost.
