I just defended my thesis. *Defended*. That word… it’s so martial, isn’t it? Like I was in a battle, and in some ways, I was. A battle against myself, mostly. I mean, my committee was fine, all smiles and polite nods, even Dr. Evans who usually looks like he smells something bad. But inside, I was a goddamn earthquake. My hands, dude. My hands were shaking so bad I had to clasp them behind my back, hard, pressing my palms together like I was trying to fuse them. Just so they wouldn’t see. Just so they wouldn’t see the absolute terror that was gripping me, the sheer, bone-deep panic that said *you are a fraud, you are not smart enough, they will find you out*. And the questions! They kept asking, and I kept answering, calmly. (On the outside, anyway.) My voice, it was this smooth, academic thing, like it belonged to someone else entirely. Someone who hadn’t spent the last five years juggling research with toddler meltdowns and trying to write footnotes while a baby gummed her rattle on my lap. Someone who hadn't forgotten what it felt like to be a whole person, not just a brain attached to a milk machine. "Can you elaborate on your methodology here, Ms. Rodriguez?" Yeah, sure, Dr. Chen. Let me elaborate on how my methodology involved bribing a three-year-old with Paw Patrol just to get an hour of uninterrupted thought. (It’s not in the appendix.) The whole time, I could feel the tremor, snaking up my arms, through my shoulders, trying to make itself known. It was like a trapped animal inside me, scratching to get out. But I held it down. I kept my posture straight, my eyes on them, nodding thoughtfully even as I felt my stomach clench and my throat tighten. “Excellent point,” I said, or “Indeed, that’s a crucial distinction.” All these words, these *big* words, coming out of me, and I felt like a ventriloquist's dummy, the words not truly mine, just sounds escaping. Who was that person in the room? Was it me? Or the version of me I’d painstakingly constructed for the esteemed academics? And now it’s over. I passed. They congratulated me. I even got a hug from Professor Davies, which was... unexpected. And I should be ecstatic, right? Like, this is the thing I’ve been working for, sacrificing for, losing myself in. But I just feel… empty. Like I fooled them all. Like I *really* pulled one over on them. I look at my kids sleeping in their beds, so innocent, so unaware that their Mami just pretended to be a grown-up intellectual for two hours. It makes me feel sick, actually. Because who was that woman in the defense room? And if she isn't me, then who *am* I? Just the stay-at-home-mom who can write a mean lit review, but still forgets to pack snacks sometimes? God, I’m tired. And honestly, I just want to cry but I can't even find the tears. It’s like they all dried up somewhere inside, along with everything else.