My Story with High-Functioning Stress.

In my last blog, I shared insights on High-Functioning Stress. Today, I want to share my personal story—how it affected me, what it taught me, and how I learned to navigate through it.

My story begins about six years ago. I was in a happy relationship, working as a CEO, making plans for the future. Life was beautiful, and the future seemed bright. But unexpectedly, everything changed. My partner didn’t die, but he was arrested as a key figure in a major criminal group—something I had no idea about. Suddenly, I found myself living with a stranger, someone I had made future plans with, but no longer knew.

Everything collapsed.

I lived in constant fear as the investigation continued, and I was frequently followed by the police. I moved out of our shared home and distanced myself from most people, unsure of who I could trust. Only my closest family and friends remained by my side, and for them, I’m forever grateful.

While I was trying to cope with the changes—losing my relationship and living in fear—my daughter, who was 12 at the time, became a victim of school bullying. This led to her falling into depression. Her depression worsened, and she began to self-harm and even attempted to take her own life. I realized then that I had to push my own fears and emotions aside to be there for her. As a parent, I can’t imagine anything worse than seeing your child suffer and live in constant emotional pain. The fear of losing her was overwhelming.

In time, we were able to manage her depression, but soon after, we lost her dog. To us, she wasn’t just a dog—she was a family member. A few months later, I lost my father. I remember the call informing me of his death, but I didn’t cry. It wasn’t until the day I went to pick up flowers for his funeral that I allowed myself to grieve. You might wonder why I didn’t cry earlier. Was I numb? Emotionless?

No, I was living in denial.

In that year, which began with my partner’s arrest, my daughter’s depression, the loss of our dog, and my father’s death, I found it easier to hide from my emotions rather than feel them. I convinced myself that I had to stay strong for others—for my daughter, who needed me the most at that time, and for my family. Crying, feeling weak—those weren’t options. I buried myself in work to avoid thinking about my losses, fears, and emotions. On the outside, I appeared to be living a normal life—socializing, attending events, traveling—but inside, I was slowly withering away.

I kept telling myself I was the strongest person in the world, capable of handling anything life threw at me. But one beautiful summer morning, while having coffee on my balcony, I was struck by a terrifying thought: "What would it feel like to jump from this third-floor balcony?" It was the scariest moment of my life. I couldn’t explain where these suicidal thoughts had come from, and I was frightened by my own mind. Could I actually do something like that?

That moment was a turning point for me. I realized that no matter how much I tried to bury my feelings and emotions, I couldn’t run from them forever. They would always catch up with me, and I had to face them. I had to change something. I needed to start taking care of myself. That thought—on my balcony—made me realize how much I had been neglecting my mental and emotional health.

At the time, we were in full COVID lockdown, and I had finally decided to get my daughter a new dog. I’ve always believed that things happen for a reason, and there was a reason why Sam, our new dog, came into my life at just the right time. I call him my "soul dog" because, in many ways, he saved me.

Living near the beach, instead of diving straight into work after my morning coffee, I would take Sam for a walk. There’s something incredibly healing about having coffee in a thermos, walking on the beach, and listening to your favorite music. Those 30 minutes a day became my time to slow down. I wasn’t just walking the dog—I was learning to be present, to reconnect with myself. Slowly, I started allowing myself to feel emotions again, one step at a time. I had to face my feelings, not run from them.

What did this period teach me?

It taught me how easy it is to hide stress—even from yourself. You can live with it and not even realize the toll it’s taking on you. But eventually, it catches up with you. I learned the importance of taking care of myself. I learned how to process my emotions, to cry when I needed to, and to stop trying to show the world how strong I could be. I allowed myself to be vulnerable, to feel weak when I needed to. And most importantly, I learned how to care for my mind and soul.