I just got back from a third date. THREE. And I’m sitting here, like, buzzing, but not in a good way. Not in the ‘oh he’s great’ kind of way, more like the ‘oh god, what just happened’ kind of way. He was talking, you know, about his ex, and it wasn’t even a bad story, just like, a normal breakup, whatever. And I was just… sitting there, nodding, smiling, keeping my voice steady. Steady. That’s the key. Like I was in a performance review, giving a confident update on a struggling project. My voice was calm, my eyes were engaged, I even laughed at the appropriate parts. But inside, I was just screaming. Full-on, blood-curdling, like a banshee in a suit screaming. Because what I really wanted to do was just stand up and walk out. Or maybe just grab his hands across the table and be like, ‘Do you have any idea how much effort this is? This whole thing? Every single time?’ My last relationship ended because I kept getting passed over for promotions, and I was so furious all the time, just simmering, that it poisoned everything. He said I was ‘too intense.’ Too intense. Me. Who literally schedules my panic attacks so they don’t disrupt my work day. And now I’m on a third date, trying to be chill, trying to be *breezy*, and I feel that same goddamn feeling creeping back in. That frantic, just-keep-swimming feeling that says if you stop treading water for even a second, you’re gonna drown in a sea of mediocrity and disappointment. And I know, I KNOW, it’s not his fault. He’s nice. He’s fine. But it’s this whole… charade. This whole song and dance where I have to be this polished, effortless version of myself. Like I haven't just spent the past week fighting a passive-aggressive battle with a coworker over who gets to lead the next client pitch, or like I didn't cry in my car on Tuesday because my boss said my ‘communication style’ could be ‘more collaborative.’ More collaborative. When what he meant was ‘smile more, bitch.’ And I did. I smiled. And I kept my voice steady tonight. And I’m just so FUCKING tired of it. I just want to… not. You know? Just exist without the performance. But then what? Then I’m alone and I’m just the ‘intense’ woman who never gets the corner office. Merde.