My Experience Trying to Cover Up My Depression at Work

Despite how I was feeling, on the outside I appeared like everything was OK. Eventually, I chose to be honest about my mental health, and the response surprised me.

“Why do you go to the toilet so much?” my colleague asked, genuine concern meeting bemusement on his face.

“Oh, I just have a weak bladder,” I retorted with a laugh as I finished making my tea, desperate to avoid the question and retreat to the safety of my desk.

The truth is, I used the toilets at the office to smother panic attacks, hide tears, and stare into space without the burden of questions looming over me.

I worked at this company for close to 3 years and spent at least 6 months of that time drowning in depression.

Thanks to the acquisition of a top-quality emotional mask, few people saw the truth as I wrestled with invisible depression.

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Performing and appearing as a fully functioning employee

A whirlwind of excitement, my first professional job threw me into the deep end of London life.

I adored the challenges it conjured up and met so many incredible, talented people who are still my friends today, but depression undermined it all.

While depression haunted my steps, I mastered the art of covering it all with a smile, which created the foundation for an impenetrable shield of professionalism.

On the outside, I looked just like everyone else on the team: I completed my duties, chatted in the break room, and went home waving cheerful goodbyes.

I joined the team for most social events, laughed at silly jokes by the coffee machine, and carefully maintained the appearance of a fully functioning colleague.

Half the time, it wasn’t even a lie. I enjoyed days of genuine happiness, found pride in my work, achieved countless goals, and won the respect of my peers while producing high quality work that benefited the company on a global scale.

They saw a competent adult managing from day to day. I kept the depressive symptoms at bay, performing wellness like a seasoned actor.

What was happening behind closed doors

But beneath the happy smiles, casual chats, and light-hearted humor, my depression bubbled.

It burst out when stress reached a fever pitch. I would retreat to the toilets for a silent cry or muffled panic attack, waiting for it to subside before returning to my desk.

At the height of my depression, I avoided attending social gatherings connected to work, often making excuses or simply leaving before anyone noticed.

When I returned home in the evenings, I would collapse into bed, too exhausted to cook myself a meal or too embroiled in my despair to consider it worthwhile to do anything but stare at the cracked ceiling of my cheap London apartment.

The insomnia demanded the heaviest toll. I barely slept 4 hours a night, tossing and turning between fitful naps before waking up drained.

I survived on caffeine tablets (because I couldn’t stand the taste of coffee) and pinching myself when I felt sleepiness trying to drag me under while at my desk.

Symptoms that bled through

Although I usually maintained a flawless mask, the depression symptoms would sometimes come calling in ways I couldn’t control.

Depression clouded my ability to function on bad days, most notably in the form of brain fog and aphasia.

Brain fog interrupted my mental clarity and concentration, interfering with basic tasks like answering phones or conducting interviews. I covered it by preparing for interviews with detailed questions and notes to bridge the gap between functionality and failure to thrive.

Aphasia — or forgetting words — was the most taxing symptom to hide. Occasionally, my vocabulary failed me while explaining a pitch or the progress of a project. I usually brushed it off with a laugh and a joke about a lack of sleep.

The physical and mental toll of the facade

Maintaining the mask of normalcy demanded an equally heavy price as the depression did.

I expended most of my precious energy on keeping it in place, completing my work on time, and attempting to maintain a semblance of a social life.

The effort depleted every drop of my reserves, leaving me with dark, heavy circles under my eyes and unintentionally dropping weight on the scales thanks to regularly skipping meals.

My social life deteriorated because I invested my energy into maintaining the facade at work, so I lost friends as they lost patience with my flakiness.

Already battling various chronic conditions, I lived with constant flare-ups worsened by a lack of mental strength. My body paid the price for every day I pushed through with a happy mask in place.

Empowering myself to heal and share the truth

I reached a breaking point when I couldn’t drag myself out of bed for work one day.

My body and my mind refused to cooperate with my self-flagellation any longer. Ultimately, this stubborn refusal to carry on saved me from falling down an even darker path than the one I ended up on.

Telling my work was the first crucial step, so I ripped off the bandage and set up a meeting for the next day.

I let the mask fall and told them just how badly my mental health had suffered. They met my real face with kindness and compassion, encouraging me to take any time off that I needed and confirming that my job was safe.

Next, I opened up to my family and friends, stripping away the mask one piece at a time until I felt the air hit my face for the first time in months.

They encouraged me to seek professional help through my doctor, so I contacted my primary care physician and arranged therapy.

The bottom line

Letting go of the mask and learning to accept that my depression needs to be visible for treatment to work saved me from ruining my health and my career.