You know when you finally get a little break? Just a tiny one? Like the kids are grown and (mostly) out of the house, and mom’s actually doing okay for a minute after her last fall, and you actually get to sit down for five damn minutes without someone needing something. That feeling. Yeah. Well, that’s when the universe decides to laugh in your face, right? Because just when you think you might actually catch your breath, BAM. New problem. Bigger problem. So my boss, he pulls me into his office last week. "Great job," "fantastic work," "really stepped up." All that jazz. And I’m thinking, okay, cool, maybe a raise. Because god knows what another doctor’s visit for mom is gonna cost. But no. It’s a promotion. Director. Director of Marketing. It’s a big deal. The kind of thing you work your whole life for, right? It’s what I used to dream about when I was juggling baby food and spreadsheets, trying to make it all work. You’d think I’d be ecstatic. But all I could think was… oh, FML. Seriously. Because you know what that means. More visibility. More *attention*. And not the good kind. The kind where everyone’s watching. Waiting. You know how it is in an office, especially a competitive one like ours. The other junior managers? They’re like sharks. They’ve been circling my desk for years, whispering, "How'd *she* get that?" and "Must be nice." You miss one thing, one tiny little detail, one word in an email, and suddenly it’s a whole damn thing. A meeting about it. A "concern." Like you can’t possibly handle it because your brain is half-gone from calling pharmacies and coordinating rides for your mom. I keep picturing it. Every move I make, every campaign, every presentation… someone’s gonna be picking it apart. Finding the flaw. Pointing it out in front of everyone. "Oh, *Director* Smith, did you miss this?" With that little smirk. And the worst part is, I know it. I *know* I’ll screw something up. I’m exhausted. My brain feels like scrambled eggs most days. How am I supposed to be this perfect, unflappable director when I sometimes forget if I even ate lunch? So now I’m just staring at this offer. It’s good money. Money that would really help. And it’s… prestige, I guess. But honestly, all I can see is the giant spotlight. And all the knives coming out. I’m supposed to say yes, right? It’s the smart thing. The responsible thing. But god, I just want to crawl under my duvet and not come out until everyone forgets my name. Sometimes you just wish you could do a good job without everyone making it a competition. Or a crucifixion. It’s just too much. All of it.