Opinion piece by Schuszter Borka
For a long time, I believed that if everything looked fine on the outside, it couldn't be that bad on the inside. I was keeping up with my work, hitting my goals, getting good feedback. Sure, I was tired — and I'd stopped finding real joy in any of it — but getting out of bed was getting harder every morning. Still, I told myself: someone who's truly not okay can't hold their life together. And I was holding mine together just fine. So everything must be fine, right?
Achievement is a remarkably good hiding place
It gives you structure. It gives you purpose. And most importantly, it gives you feedback. Do something well, and you get recognized for it. That's a clean, reliable system — especially compared to what's happening inside when something is deeply wrong. Internally, there's no clear cause and effect, no quick fix, and often not even words for what you're feeling.
But I'd learned from childhood how to stay focused even in the middle of chaos. More than that — I'd learned how focus itself can pull your attention away from every other part of your life that's quietly falling to pieces.
So I just kept doing what I'd always done. I worked. Then I worked a little more. I took on another task, raised my own expectations higher, and while I was performing on every front, the busyness gave me a false sense of comfort — because I never had time to ask myself how I was actually doing.
The moment I couldn't hold it together anymore
The realization that I needed help arrived on a packed, high-stakes day. I had to stand up in front of a room full of people and deliver.
Before that professional moment, I completely broke down. I was on the bathroom floor, sobbing, gasping for air, feeling panic move through my entire body like a wave I couldn't stop.
And then the time came to leave the house. So, like a machine, I wiped my face, got dressed, and gave one of the best presentations of my career.
I'm fairly certain no one in that room doubted my confidence or competence for a single second. But the moment the door closed behind me again, it was as if someone had flipped a switch. I was back on the floor, crying until morning. There was no specific reason. I just felt it clearly: I was burned out.
Depression doesn't always look the way you expect
Depression isn't always dramatic or visible. Sometimes it fits seamlessly into a productive, organized, outwardly successful life. Sometimes it's actually sustained by that productivity — because as long as you're doing something, you don't have to face what's underneath.
For me, that worked — until one day, it simply didn't anymore. That's when I finally reached out to a psychologist.
What I've learned about performance and wellbeing
Today, I try to look at my days differently. I still don't think achievement is worthless or harmful — it isn't. It genuinely feels good to make progress, to create, to see results.
But I no longer confuse it with wellbeing.
Now I use it as a signal instead. When things are truly okay, there's energy behind the work — curiosity, even joy. When those disappear, no matter how much I'm producing on the surface, something is out of balance. And when that happens, it's time to stop and pay attention.
Success and being okay are not the same thing. It took me hitting the bathroom floor to finally understand that.
