The Quiet Roar Beneath the Calm

Jun 28 , 2025
By Kidist Yidnekachew

---

There is often a sense of awe when encountering someone who appears to have everything under control. Impeccably dressed, composed, and seemingly immune to stress, such individuals exude a calm that feels almost enviable. Yet, beneath that exterior may lie a hidden condition known as highly functional anxiety. It has become increasingly common, slipping by unnoticed precisely because it wears the mask of competence.

Outwardly, life seems polished: achievements line up neatly, calendars are colour-coded, and every detail appears mastered. Inwardly, however, there is a relentless current of unease, a silent but persistent hum of anxiety that never quite fades. This form of anxiety does not paralyse; instead, it propels, driving one to overachieve, overthink, and overprepare. It whispers incessantly, posing endless “what ifs” that rarely rest.

A personal encounter once brought this reality into sharp focus. Someone deeply admired for their composure and success shared, in quiet confidence, their inner turmoil. Behind their carefully curated routine was a constant fear of failure, self-criticism, and mental exhaustion. The image of serenity was, in truth, the product of an exhausting internal struggle.

That is the paradox of highly functional anxiety: it thrives beneath the surface of high performance. Many who experience it are perfectionists, meticulously organised and often the most dependable people in the room. They succeed not out of ease, but from a deep-seated need to stay ahead of the next potential crisis. Every achievement offers only a brief reprieve before the cycle of worry resumes.

The drive to excel is rarely about joy or growth; more often, it is about controlling chaos or silencing self-doubt. Each task becomes a lifeline, a temporary barrier against the creeping dread that something might go wrong. Even when celebrated, success can feel hollow, overshadowed by the anticipation of the next hurdle. It is not ambition for its own sake, but rather a constant bracing for disaster.

This kind of anxiety feels like waking with a vague sense of dread, as if something vital has been forgotten but cannot be recalled. It is rarely a sharp panic, more a dull, persistent hum that shadows every activity. The mind replays past conversations, forecasts future catastrophes, and clings to the illusion of control through endless mental rehearsal. Rest becomes elusive when thoughts refuse to slow.

Physical signs often go unnoticed or are normalised: clenched jaws, tight shoulders, and shallow breaths. Nervous habits emerge unconsciously tapping feet, twisting jewellery, fingers fidgeting with whatever is nearby. Social interactions, even with loved ones, can become performances curated to avoid judgment or boredom. What truly exhausts is not the activity itself, but the mental vigilance required to appear unaffected.

The origins of such anxiety may lie in something deeply foundational: the ability to trust the world. Erik Erikson’s theory of “Trust vs. Mistrust” suggests that when infants receive consistent care, they internalise the world as safe and dependable. But when that care is inconsistent or frightening, they may learn that the world cannot be relied upon. This early imprint shapes how future stress and uncertainty are processed.

Zooming out, the wider environment seems increasingly untrustworthy. Employment is precarious, economic pressures are mounting, and global crises dominate daily news cycles. Social media reinforces feelings of inadequacy through curated glimpses of perfection, while community ties, once sources of stability, grow thinner. When the external world feels unsafe, many attempt to build inner stability through over-functioning and hyper-control.

Thus, highly functional anxiety emerges not just as a personal burden but as a collective symptom. Societies that prize productivity above well-being reward those who appear most composed, regardless of what lies beneath. Expressing struggle is often mistaken for weakness, while silence is mistaken for strength. The better one becomes at hiding anxiety, the more invisible the struggle becomes.

To recognise this hidden roar in oneself or others is a powerful beginning. It requires an attuned awareness that the calmest face in the room may carry the heaviest emotional load. It challenges the notion that worthiness is tied to productivity or constant motion. Most of all, it calls for a gentler, more compassionate way of living, one that allows room for imperfection, rest, and vulnerability.

---

PUBLISHED ON Jun 28,2025 [ VOL 26 , NO 1313]

---

[ssba-buttons]