Perception vs. Reality...

In work and in life, many have praised my ability to be completely composed during stressful situations. While I am thankful for the positive feedback, I have to confess that internally, there’s a world of difference between the calm exterior they see and the chaos churning inside.

That outward "chill" that I give off-especially when the stakes are high, often belies the reality of what I’m experiencing. Take a recent medical procedure, for example. The nurse, with all good intentions, praised how calm I seemed. What she couldn’t see was the intense anxiety rippling beneath the surface waiting to announce itself at a later, unrelated point in time in the future. This kind of discrepancy between how I look and how I feel is something I’ve become all too familiar with. It’s a common experience where emotional expression doesn’t always align with emotional reality.

So why does this happen? Why do I sometimes seem so composed when, inside, I’m anything but?

For me, it starts with masking. It’s a term that’s become more widely understood in recent years, but the practice itself is something I’ve done for as long as I can remember. Masking is about survival—putting on a socially acceptable face to blend in or meet the expectations of the situation, even when my internal state is a tangled mess of anxiety or distress. It’s a skill I’ve honed over the years, and it often gives the impression that I’m calm and collected, even when I’m far from it.

Then there’s disassociating. When things get overwhelming—when the world gets too loud, too bright, too fast—I sometimes find myself mentally stepping back, detaching from my surroundings. It’s not that I want to check out, but in those moments, it’s the only way to cope with the sensory overload. This can make me seem distant, even aloof, but really, it’s just my way of tuning out the chaos when it becomes too much to bear.

Another reaction I’ve noticed in myself is freezing. It’s like being a deer caught in headlights, a response to extreme stress or sensory overload where I become immobile or unresponsive. This isn’t a conscious choice—it’s just what happens when my system is overwhelmed. People might see it as calmness, but in reality, it’s my body’s way of shutting down in the face of too much stimulation.

Sometimes, my emotional responses are delayed, what I’ve come to understand as delayed emotional processing. During an intense event, I might appear unaffected, almost robotic, only to process and react to the emotional impact hours or even days later, once I’m in a quieter, safer environment. It’s like my emotions are put on hold until I have the space to really feel them.

There’s also the matter of emotional compartmentalization. In crisis situations, I might consciously set aside my emotions to deal with the immediate demands of the moment. I pack them away in a mental box, planning to unpack them later when I have the time and energy to handle them. This compartmentalization helps me stay functional when things get tough, but it can also create the illusion that I’m unfazed by what’s happening around me.

But there’s a double-edged sword to these coping mechanisms. While they can protect me in the moment, they often come with unintended consequences. Because I project such a composed exterior, people might assume I’m handling things just fine and don’t need any help. This can lead to others stepping back or, worse, piling more responsibilities on me, all because my “I got this” vibe is so convincing. It’s crucial for me, and those around me, to recognize that the calm surface doesn’t always mean I’m okay—sometimes, it’s just the opposite.

Navigating this disconnect between appearance and reality is something I’m still learning to do. It’s not just about understanding these coping mechanisms for myself, but also about helping those who care about me understand them too. Encouraging open dialogue is key. Creating safe spaces where I can express my feelings without fear of judgment is something I’m working toward. Clear, consistent support can make all the difference. Just knowing that support is available—without the pressure to ask for it in the moment—helps me. It’s a subtle but significant shift, one that acknowledges the complexity of my internal world.

Key Takeaways:

1. Masking: Often presents a calm exterior, masking inner turmoil, as a means of social survival.

2. Disassociation and Freezing: Defense mechanisms in response to sensory overload, leading to a detached or immobile appearance.

3. Delayed Emotional Processing: Emotions are sometimes processed later, in quieter, safer environments.

4. Emotional Compartmentalization: Emotions are set aside during crises, creating an illusion of calmness.

5. The Importance of Support: Recognizing the need for clear, consistent support despite the appearance of composure.