Held Together by Caffeine, Sarcasm & High-functioning Anxiety

There’s a strange thing that happens every May during Mental Health Awareness Month. Suddenly everybody starts posting inspirational quotes over sunsets and telling people to “just check on your strong friends,” which is fine, I guess… except most of us “strong friends” are actively avoiding phone calls and surviving almost entirely on caffeine, sarcasm, and high functioning anxiety. But sure. We’ll circle back to the sunset quote.

The truth is, mental health has become one of those things we talk about more publicly than ever while somehow still struggling to talk about honestly. We’ve gotten better at posting about it. Better at branding it. Better at making graphics in calming shades of sage green. But vulnerability? Actual vulnerability? Whew. That still scares people to death.

Especially around here. I say this with love because Appalachia made me who I am, but we come from generations of people who survived hard things by simply continuing to wake up the next morning. That’s the culture. You work. You push through. You keep moving. You do not inconvenience other people with your feelings unless those feelings can be disguised as humor at a family cookout.

Somewhere along the way, “being strong” became synonymous with “never letting anyone know you’re struggling.” Which is a terrible definition of strength, by the way! Because real strength is honesty. Real strength is saying, “I’m not doing okay right now.” Real strength is going to therapy instead of just threatening to “drive into the woods and disappear for a while” every time life gets overwhelming. Real strength is taking your medication even though somebody on Facebook told you vitamins and positive thinking should be enough. And maybe most importantly, real strength is understanding that mental health is not just about crisis. It’s about maintenance.

We somehow understand this concept with literally everything else in life. You do not wait until your engine explodes to get an oil change. You do not wait until your kitchen is on fire to buy a smoke detector (aka a “timer”). You do not look at a plant turning brown and say, “Well, if it were stronger, it wouldn’t need water.”

And yet we treat our own minds that way all the time. We wait. And wait. And wait. Until burnout becomes a personality trait. Until anxiety becomes normal. Until exhaustion becomes identity. Until functioning on survival mode feels so familiar that peace actually feels uncomfortable. That’s the part nobody talks about enough.

Sometimes people don’t recognize they’re struggling because they’re still technically functioning. They’re still going to work. Still showing up for everybody else. Still answering emails. Still making dinner. Still volunteering. Still smiling in public. But internally? They are hanging on by a thread and a Dunkin iced coffee.

Mental health doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like irritability. Disconnection. Constant fatigue. Forgetfulness. Cynicism. Feeling numb in rooms where you used to feel joy. Sometimes it looks like becoming a version of yourself you barely recognize.

And if I can say one thing this Mental Health Awareness Month, it’s this:

You deserve support before you hit rock bottom. Not after. Not once everybody else finally notices. Not once your life completely falls apart. Before.

That matters because somewhere along the line we created this weird hierarchy where people feel like they have to “earn” help by suffering enough first. Meanwhile, we would never apply that logic anywhere else. Imagine telling someone: “Well, your appendix hasn’t burst yet, so maybe let’s hold off on medical care.” Ridiculous. Your mental health deserves attention long before crisis enters the room.

And while we’re here, can we also retire the idea that self-care is always bubble baths and candles? Sometimes self-care is therapy. Sometimes it’s medication. Sometimes it’s setting boundaries. Sometimes it’s turning your phone off. Sometimes it’s grieving. Sometimes it’s admitting you cannot continue carrying everybody else while abandoning yourself. And honestly? Sometimes self-care is sitting in your car in complete silence for ten minutes before walking into another meeting because if one more person asks you for something, you may legally become a villain. That counts too.

The other thing I’ve learned through this work is that healing rarely happens in isolation. People need people. Safe people. Consistent people. People who know how to listen without immediately trying to fix everything. People who can sit in hard conversations without flinching. Connection is protective. Community is protective. Being seen matters.

That’s why awareness alone isn’t enough. Awareness is the invitation. Action is the work. Check on people. Learn the signs. Have the uncomfortable conversations. Normalize therapy. Normalize rest. Normalize asking for help. Normalize not being okay every second of every day.

And maybe, just maybe, we stop glorifying exhaustion like it’s some kind of moral achievement.  Because you were never designed to carry all of this alone. Not the grief. Not the stress. Not the trauma. Not the expectations. Not the pressure to keep smiling when you’re barely holding it together.

This Mental Health Awareness Month, I hope we move beyond slogans and into something more honest. I hope we create communities where people can tell the truth about how they’re doing without fear of judgment. I hope we stop confusing survival with wellness. And I hope people remember this: Taking care of your mental health is not weakness. It is not selfish. It is not attention-seeking. It is maintenance for being human. And frankly, being human lately has been a lot. So be kind to yourself and to each other.

• Jamie McGrew