I’m so fucking tired, man. Not just sleep tired, but like, soul tired. I hit my store's sales targets every month, sometimes for like six, seven months in a row. We’re crushing it, or at least that’s what the numbers say, what my regional manager says. But then I check the sister branch’s figures, the ones just across town, and they’re always a hair’s breadth away from ours, sometimes even SURPASSING us. And it's like a punch to the gut every single time. Why? I mean, why do I care so much? It’s not my store, it doesn’t affect my bonus, it shouldn't even be on my radar. But it is. It's like I can’t celebrate my own wins because someone else is winning too, or almost winning just as hard. What the hell is that? Is it just… competition? Are we just wired to always compare, to always feel like we’re falling short even when we’re not? Like, I don’t even know what I'm chasing anymore. I mean, I used to be good at stuff. Really good. Before the kids, before I just became… a mom. A manager, yeah, but a manager who still feels like she’s playing dress-up half the time. And then I come home and it's all "Mommy, can I have a snack?" and "Mommy, where's my toy?" and I love them, I do, but sometimes I just wanna scream, “I am more than a snack dispenser, damn it!” And then I feel guilty for even thinking that because they’re little, and they need me, and this is what I *chose*, right? To be home, to raise them, to sacrifice the career I almost had. But then I see those other store numbers, and it’s like a little shard of what I *could* have been, what I *could* still be if I wasn't so… fractured. I mean I don't even — whatever. It’s just… exhausting. This constant inner battle. The professional me, the mom me, the me that’s just a raw nerve checking sales figures at 2 AM on my phone, feeling like a complete failure even when I’m technically succeeding. Like I’m running a race against myself and everyone else, and the finish line just keeps moving. And for what? So some corporate bigwig can look at a spreadsheet and say "Good job, you met expectations." Who the FUCK wants to just meet expectations? We’re all just out here trying to prove something, aren’t we? To ourselves, to some invisible scoreboard. And when we finally hit that arbitrary mark, it feels… empty. Just a different kind of empty. This is not how it was supposed to feel. God.