Anxiety doesn’t wear one face. Sometimes it’s loud, sometimes invisible. Often, it’s both.
Anxiety has a way of disguising itself. It doesn’t announce its presence with a single, recognisable sign. It slips into people’s lives quietly, taking different shapes depending on who it visits. One person can’t stop talking, another can’t find words at all. Someone else jokes too much, another retreats from everyone. The outside view is misleading; the inside is often chaos.
We like categories. They make us feel safe, as if understanding a problem means we can control it. But anxiety refuses to fit neatly into any one box. It’s not always panic attacks or trembling hands. Sometimes it’s the overthinking that keeps someone awake at 2 a.m., replaying every word they said that day. Other times it’s a polite smile that hides the fact that they’re barely holding it together.
For some, anxiety looks like restlessness — fidgeting, pacing, tapping fingers, the mind racing faster than the body can keep up. For others, it’s paralysis. They freeze. They stare at a simple task and can’t move toward it, their thoughts looping like a broken record. One person says yes to everything because saying no feels terrifying; another avoids every invitation because the world feels unsafe. Both are anxious. Both are trying to cope.
Anxiety is often misread as personality. The quiet person might be called shy or detached. The overly busy one, driven or enthusiastic. The overthinker, meticulous. The people pleaser, generous. None of these labels are wrong, but they can miss the pain that sits underneath. Anxiety doesn’t always look distressed — it can look like overachievement, humour, caretaking, or constant productivity.
That’s why “you don’t look anxious” is such an unfair sentence. What should anxiety look like? Tears? Shaking? A panic attack on cue? Most people who live with it learn to mask it because that’s how they survive. They show up to work, take care of their children, make jokes, keep the house running — all while their body is humming with alarm.
And then there’s the double standard: if someone hides their anxiety well, they’re told they’re fine; if they show it, they’re told to calm down. Either way, they lose. So many people end up living in the quiet middle ground — distressed but functioning, exhausted but pretending.
It’s easy to miss anxiety because it doesn’t always stand out. It can sound like the friend who apologises for “being silly” after sharing a worry. It can look like the colleague who stays late every night because they’re afraid of being judged. It can hide in the parent who micromanages every detail, terrified of getting something wrong.
Sometimes anxiety is silent. It doesn’t always scream; sometimes it whispers, and sometimes it hides behind competence. The person who always seems in control might be the one who lies awake, heart racing, trying to predict every possible mistake. The one who cancels plans again and again might not be unreliable — just overwhelmed.
Anxiety can even disguise itself as the opposite of fear. Some people become loud, funny, and charming when anxious. It’s their shield. They fill the air so there’s no space left for silence — and no one can see what’s really happening inside.
The danger is not only in misunderstanding others but also in misunderstanding ourselves. Many people don’t realise they’re anxious because their version doesn’t fit the stereotype. They think, I’m not having panic attacks, so I must be fine. But anxiety can live quietly — in tension headaches, in overthinking, in irritability, in exhaustion.
Recognising the many faces of anxiety isn’t about labelling everyone as unwell. It’s about seeing the full range of human experience with honesty and compassion. Some people need therapy or medication. Some need understanding, safety, or rest. All need to be seen without judgement.
So when someone freezes in conversation, or cancels at the last minute, or talks too much, try not to rush to conclusions. You might be witnessing anxiety in motion. When someone seems fine, don’t assume they are. And when you catch yourself dismissing your own symptoms because they don’t “look serious,” pause. You deserve care, too.
Being kind costs nothing, but it can change everything.
Anxiety doesn’t always look the same. It doesn’t always stand out. It’s not one size fits all — it’s a hundred shades of struggle, many of them invisible. The least we can do is stop deciding which ones are real.