I’m sitting here in the dark and I just keep thinking about that day, like, it was three weeks ago but it feels like it just happened this morning. I’m fifty-one and I’m back in school because my boss basically told me I hit the ceiling at the firm without those extra letters after my name, you know? So there I am, in this stuffy little room with these three professors who look like they haven’t seen the sun since the 90s. And I'm just... I'm a mess. My dad's been forgeting my name lately and my daughter is asking for rent money again and I’m just trying to keep my head above water. They start asking these questions and I can feel the sweat already, like, just dripping down my back under my blazer. I spent sixty bucks on this blazer just for today. And I’m talking, right? I’m saying all the right things about the data and the methodology or whatever, but my heart is just HAMMERING in my chest. I felt like if I stopped talking for even a second I would just start crying or maybe throw up on the table. It’s so stupid. I’m a grown woman. I've raised two kids, I've managed a team of twenty, and here I am terrified of three people in corduroy. Then my hands started doing it. That shaking. It wasn't just a little twitch, it was like... like I was holding a live wire. I didn’t want them to see. God, if they saw me shaking like that they’d think I didn’t know my stuff or that I was weak. And at my age, you can't be weak. You're supposed to be the one who has it all together, right? So I just... I put them behind my back. I gripped my left wrist with my right hand so hard I actually had bruises the next day. I just stood there, shoulders back, smiling like I was at a Sunday brunch, while my fingers were literally vibrating against my spine. One of them, Dr. Aris or whatever, he keeps pushing on this one section about the budget analysis. And I'm answering him, I'm being real calm, my voice is steady, but inside I'm screaming. I’m thinking about how my car needs a new transmission and how my mom called me three times this morning because she couldn’t find her glasses. I’m standing there acting like this thesis is the most important thing in the world while my actual life is just... falling apart at the seams. I’m nodding and saying "That’s a great point, thank you for asking," and the whole time my hands are just spasm-ing behind me. The room smelled like old paper and that cheap coffee they have in the breakroom. You know that smell? It’s like sadness and caffeine. And the clock on the wall was doing that loud ticking thing. Tick. Tick. Tick. Every time it ticked, I felt another jolt in my hands. I was so scared they’d hear it, or see my shoulders moving because of the shaking. I kept thinking, if I can just get through the next ten minutes, I can go to my car and just... stop. But for now, I have to be the professional. I have to be the one who’s "on." I look at these people and I wonder if they can see through it. Like, do they know I’m a fraud? Do they know I spent last night crying in the laundry room because I forgot to pay the electric bill? They’re looking at me like I’m this successful, put-together professional woman but I’m really just a kid pretending to be an adult. Still. Even at my age. It’s exhausting, you know? Keeping the mask on. Keeping the hands hidden. I was so focused on not letting them see the shaking that I almost forgot what I was even saying half the time. When they finally told me to step out so they could deliberate, I walked out of that room and I didn't even make it to the chairs. I went straight to the handicap stall in the bathroom and just... I let go. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn't even unzip my bag to get a tissue. I just stood there looking at them. They looked like someone else’s hands. Not mine. Not the hands that cook dinner and sign payroll checks. They were just these pathetic, trembling things. And I hate that I’m even telling people this, even on the internet, because it feels so... I don't know. Weak. My kids think I’m some kind of rock. My son texted me later that day asking for help with his taxes and I just... I wanted to scream. I wanted to say "I can't even hold a pen straight right now!" But I didn't. I just sent him a thumbs up emoji and told him I'd look at it later. That’s what we do, right? We just keep it all inside and hope nobody notices the cracks. I got the degree, by the way. They passed me. Everyone said I did such a "composed" job. Composed. If they only knew what was happening behind my back. I still wake up at night and my hands feel... buzzy. Like the shaking is still there, just waiting to come back out. I’m sitting here now, typing this with one thumb on my phone, and I keep deleting things because I’m worried I sound crazy. Or like I’m whining. I’m not whining, I’m just... I’m tired. I’m so tired of the act. Does it ever stop? Do you ever get to a point where you don't have to hide the shaking anymore? I don’t think so. I think I’m just gonna be 70 years old and still hiding my hands behind my back so nobody sees how scared I am of... everything. Anyway, I should probably try to sleep. I have a meeting at 8am and then I have to go see my dad and explain for the tenth time why he can’t drive his car anymore. It’s just a lot. It’s a lot and I’m just... I'm just one person, you know? I hope I didn't mess this up too much. I'm probably gonna regret posting this in the morning. Just needed to say it somewhere. To someone who isn't gonna look at me and see "the rock." Just someone who sees... this.