You know that feeling when you finally decide to just… stop? Like, with the third-grade teacher who doesn't bring work home on weekends anymore, because her kids need her. But then you see those elaborate, handmade classroom decorations from other teachers and a part of you just SHRINKS. It’s like, why do we do this to ourselves? Why does wanting to be a good parent mean you suddenly feel like less of a… anything else? It’s a weird kind of shame, like you're failing at this whole 'adulting' thing, even when you're just trying to survive.