I just laughed. In a BOARD MEETING. About some stupid joke one of the directors made. It wasn’t even funny. But everyone else chuckled, so I did too. My face felt frozen. My hands were sweating so BAD, I kept wiping them on my trousers under the table, hoping no one saw. This wave of pure, cold dread just washed over me. Right then. It’s always like this. Since I got this PM role. My parents, they’re so proud. “Project Manager,” they say, like it’s a crown. In their village, a job like this… it’s EVERYTHING. For me, for our family. So I have to pretend. I have to be… *this*. Confident. In control. But it’s all a performance. Every single day. Every single meeting. My stomach is in knots. My mouth is dry. I just want to RUN. The director, he’s still talking. Something about Q3 projections. I nod. I smile. I pretend to be engaged. But all I can think about is my hands. Are they still sweaty? Does anyone NOTICE? Does anyone SEE through this? My mind just goes blank. All the numbers, all the strategies… it’s just noise. My heart is THUMPING. They think I’m good at this. My team, my boss. “So calm under pressure,” someone said last week. Calm? I’m dying inside. Every single interaction feels like walking on glass. My phone is blowing up with messages from family back home, asking for updates, asking for advice. They depend on me. I can’t fail. I CAN'T. Sometimes I just want to scream. Like, really scream. In the middle of a meeting. Just drop the whole act. Say I can’t do this anymore. But then what? All that work. All those expectations. It would kill them. It would kill *me*. So I just sit here. And laugh at stupid jokes. And wipe my sweaty palms. Praying it all just ends.