Stop calling me high-functioning

On being too broken to belong and too functional to be helped.

Jun 11, 2026

I hate the term high-functioning.

It implies I exist adequately as a healthy, happy, functioning human. Given the fact I’m writing this in my parents’ house on a Tuesday afternoon running on nothing but vibes and a redbull, I’m inclined to disagree.

And yet, apparently, I function. Highly.

It also implies there is such a thing as low-functioning. Which I would argue is just people who are worse at hiding it, or people who were good at hiding it for so long that eventually they couldn’t anymore.

In either case, it’s less about how you actually function and more about how well you perform functioning for the people watching.

The performance is exhausting, by the way. Turns out spending 80% of your mental energy looking like a normal person doesn’t leave a lot left over for, you know, actually being one.

And the phrase high-functioning gets thrown about like a compliment, an award. But the gift isn’t support, no, it’s being dismissed and left to fend for yourself. The better you are at the performance, the less help you qualify for. You get penalised for coping.

You get told you’re ‘so articulate,’ ‘so self-aware,’ ‘so high-functioning’. As if understanding your own brain is proof that it works fine.

The red flags look more like amber. That’s the problem. Misread under the soft glow of overcompensation, perfectionism, masking. You’re not falling apart…you’re just very, very good at falling apart neatly.

Ah yes, the neurodivergent urge to suffer politely.

I’ve had special ed teachers actually tell me that I didn’t ‘present as someone who needed help’. I half wanted to detach the top of my head and invite them to take a look around the neuro-manic mess.

Come on in. You’ll hate it in here!

Then pop my head back on like a neurodivergent Barbie. (Burnout and destructive coping mechanisms sold separately.)

Because when people say you’re high-functioning, they really mean your struggles don’t cause enough disruption that someone has to intervene. And when they see high functioning, they’re conveniently blind to the destructive coping mechanisms that allow you to be.

The masking that’s one conversation away from burnout. The strict food rules that give the illusion of control. The continuous hyperfixations on anything to give you meaning.

When you label me as high-functioning, you're praising the very self-destructive behaviours I need help with.

You’re slapping a gold star on my poor coping skills and then acting shocked when they cause detrimental harm.

When you label me as high-functioning, you’re reinforcing the feeling that I have to be.

You’re closing doors to accessing help.

You’re feeding into my people-pleasing and perfectionism.

When you label me as high-functioning, you’re telling me I’m too neurodivergent to fit in, but not neurodivergent enough to need support.

And so I’m left in that awkward neuro-no-man’s-land. Never quite belonging, always just surviving. Leaning on any coping mechanisms I can.

Just because I’m high-functioning doesn’t mean I’m low neurodivergent. It doesn’t mean my struggles are any less visible just because you choose to ignore them.

It just means I get better at hiding them.

I’m not saying the term isn’t valid; I’m glad we have language to reflect our circumstances. I’m also not saying that I don’t identify with it. I am, by all definitions, a high-functioning neurodivergent woman.

(Well, I was until my inevitable breakdown…at this point I’m barely functioning as a human- full stop)

Maybe the term empowers you, and that’s genuinely fine. But it doesn’t mean I can’t flinch whenever I hear the word.

Because it’s not the average person using the term that bothers me, it’s the way society wields it to dismiss an entire group of people who were already being ignored. How it’s baked into education, healthcare, and workplaces. How it’s reinforced through gender biases and perceived pain.

And look, I’m not claiming I know how to fix this. Honestly, it’s at the bottom of my to-do list, behind finally replying to a text and getting my entire life together.

But I’m saying it in case someone else couldn’t. That’s what this newsletter is, a space for people to say the hard stuff out loud.

So if you’re reading this and nodding along, you’re probably labelled as high-functioning too. And I want you to know that the exhaustion you feel at the end of every day isn’t weakness. It’s the bill coming due for a performance nobody asked you to give.

I’m not going to keep being impressive about my struggles. That’s not strength. It’s just unpaid labour.

And I’m done pretending to function otherwise.

If you are too, you belong here.

I’ll be here,

- Ella <3

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What label have you been handed that closed a door for you? Drop it in the comments, I genuinely want to know!