The Frantic Illusion: What You See vs. What I’m Experiencing

Have you ever felt like your mind is running at 100 mph per hour?

That is my reality when my ADHD and anxiety decide to team up. It’s an overwhelming, vibrating, restless energy that makes it feel completely impossible to stay still. I hate it. But what I hate even more is how it looks to the outside world.

To other people, I don't look like someone who is quietly struggling or anxious. I look hyper. I look scattered. I come across as frantic, rushed, and all over the place.

It is a deeply frustrating disconnect. There is a massive, invisible gap between the version of me people see on the outside and the battle I am actually fighting on the inside.

The Reality Behind the Speed

When people see me moving fast, talking rapidly, or shifting from task to task like a whirlwind, they think I’m just being "too much." What they don’t understand is that my brain is currently processing a million sensory inputs at once, and my anxiety is pumping adrenaline into my muscles.

I’m not being frantic because I want to be; I am being frantic because my nervous system is screaming that there is an emergency, even when I'm just trying to get through a normal day.

It takes an immense amount of energy just to exist in that headspace. People see the speed, but they don’t see the exhaustion. They don’t see the sheer effort it takes to try and hold it all together when your mind feels like a pinball machine. It’s incredibly hard for people who don’t live with this to comprehend what it actually feels like.

The Triggerless Storm

Here is the secret that people without anxiety or ADHD don’t understand: there doesn’t have to be a reason.

Sometimes, people see me spinning out and ask, "What’s wrong? What happened?" They expect a logical explanation; something bad happened, a stressful situation, a conflict. But the truth is, a lot of the time, there isn't a specific trigger. It just happens that way.

I can wake up, put on my shoes, and suddenly realize my internal speed dial has been cranked up to a ten. My brain decides it’s time to race, and my body has no choice but to follow. It’s an unpredictable storm. When there’s no clear cause, it’s even harder to explain to others, and honestly, it makes me feel even more out of control.

The Trigger of "Calm Down"

Because people can’t see a reason for my behavior, their default response is often to look at me and say, "Just calm down."If only they knew how deeply aggravating those three words are.

When someone tells me to calm down, it feels like a slap in the face. It minimizes everything I am experiencing. It implies that being calm is a simple choice I am actively refusing to make like I’m choosing to feel this chaotic.

Trust me, I wish I could. I wish it were that easy. If there were a button in my brain to instantly drop my heart rate, stop my hands from moving, and slow my thoughts to a peaceful drift, I would press it every single day. No one wants to feel frantic. Being told to calm down doesn't lower my energy; it just adds a layer of frustration and isolation to the anxiety I’m already drowning in.

The Weight of Embarrassment

Underneath all the frantic movement and frustration, there is an emotion I don’t always like to admit to: embarrassment.

It is incredibly humbling, and honestly, painful to realize you are projecting an image of yourself that feels totally out of control. Whether I’m at work trying to look like a capable professional, or at a social event trying to just fit in and connect, I am acutely aware of my vibe.

Lately, I’ve realized a big part of this is my volume. When my nervous system is racing, I start talking loud and the hardest part is, I do not realize I am doing it at the time. My internal volume meter just completely breaks down. My voice naturally rises to match the intense, loud speed of the thoughts crashing around in my head.

I can see it in people’s eyes when they look at me, or when someone subtly glances around the room. I can tell when my loud voice or scattered focus makes someone uncomfortable or confused, and when I finally notice it, the humiliation hits hard. You feel exposed. You feel like your mental health struggles are on display for everyone to judge, even if they don't understand what they are looking at. Trying to learn how to cope with and navigate ADHD and anxiety combined together is an everyday battle.

The Post-Event Hangover (The Overthinking Loop)

The worst part isn’t even the moment itself it’s what happens afterward.

Once the wave finally passes and my body slows down, my mind takes over with a vengeance. I sit there and analyze everything. I replay the conversations, the hand gestures, and especially the volume of my voice.

The overthinking loop kicks in, and I start picking myself apart: Why was I shouting? Why did I say that so fast? Did I interrupt them? Did I look completely crazy? What do they think of me now?

It’s a vicious, unfair cycle. First, my brain forces me into a frantic state I didn't ask for, and then it punishes me for acting frantic. This post-event analysis doesn’t help; it just keeps the anxiety alive long after the actual moment has ended. It turns a temporary physical spike into hours, sometimes days of mental beating.

Rewriting the Momentum: My Toolkit

Because I am tired of being trapped in the cycle of frantic energy and post-event shame, I am actively learning how to manage both my ADHD and anxiety in real time. I’ve realized I can’t always stop the storm from coming, but I can change how I ride the wave.

Here are a few small, physical tools I am (trying) to learn how to practice to bring myself back to center when I feel myself spinning out at work or in social settings:

• The 50% Rule: When I catch myself moving or talking at hyperspeed, I try to intentionally slow down my next physical action by half. If I am walking to a meeting or picking up an object, I force myself to do it like I’m moving underwater. It sends a silent signal to my brain that there is no emergency.

• Invisible Energy Outlets: You can’t just bottle up hyperactive energy, it leaks out. Instead of letting it make me look frantic, I channel it secretly. I will aggressively wiggle my toes inside my shoes or tightly squeeze my hands together in my lap for ten seconds and release. It dumps the adrenaline without anyone else noticing.

• The One-Breath Pause: Before answering a question or speaking in a group, I am practicing taking one full, deliberate breath. It takes two seconds, but it breaks the frantic momentum and gives me a moment to catch up with my own thoughts.

• The Internal Volume Check: Because I know my volume slips away from me when I’m anxious, I am trying to use environmental cues to reset. If I notice I’m feeling frantic, I will intentionally anchor my voice to the person I’m talking to which does not always work, but I am a work in progress.

  
  

Finding Grace in the Chaos

Learning to navigate a combined ADHD and anxiety diagnosis is a journey, and I am nowhere near perfect at it. There are still days where the frantic illusion wins, and there are still nights where I overanalyze every single interaction.

But I am learning to give myself grace.

If you are reading this and you recognize yourself in this struggle, please know this: Your brain is not broken, and you are not "too much." You are fighting a massive, invisible battle every single day just to find solid ground. We don't owe the world a perfect performance of calmness. It is okay to look at someone, take a breath, and simply say, "My brain is running a little fast today."

By owning our pace, we take the power away from the illusion.