Okay, this is going to sound completely insane. I mean, I don't even — whatever. Am I the only one who gets a HUGE opportunity — like, the kind you’ve been dreaming about since art school, the kind that feels like a literal miracle — and then just… freezes? It’s a major publishing contract. Think big-name author, national release, a whole series of books. And I’ve been a freelance illustrator for years, mostly quiet commissions, some local stuff. My portfolio is solid, my technique is there, I’ve worked *hard* for this. But instead of feeling ecstatic, I’m just… numb. Or maybe not numb, exactly. More like a profound sense of impending doom. And I cannot for the life of me articulate why. It’s a cognitive dissonance that feels almost pathological. My husband is beyond supportive, obviously. He's like, "This is IT! You've earned this!" And I have. I really have. But it feels like signing this contract isn’t just about the work anymore. It’s about… everything else. The public scrutiny. The interviews. The expectations from the publisher, the author, the *audience*. I live a very, very private life. My routine is structured around my kids, around their naps and meal times. My creative space is this tiny corner of the living room, usually after they’re asleep. It’s all very… contained. And I know logically that a successful career often requires a certain degree of public presence, a personal brand, whatever. But the thought of it honestly makes my stomach clench. It feels like an exposure that I’m completely unprepared for. Like, will people start having opinions on my *life*? My choices? My art as a reflection of my inner world, which I guard so fiercely? I look at the terms, the deadlines, the sheer scale of it, and a part of me just wants to run in the opposite direction. And then the GUILT hits. Because what kind of person turns down their dream? What kind of parent, especially, when my husband has been busting his ass so I could pursue this? I mean, I spent years feeling like my identity had completely dissolved into "Mom," and now here’s this chance to reclaim a significant part of myself, to actually *achieve* something beyond keeping tiny humans alive. And I'm resisting it. I genuinely don't understand the resistance. Is it imposter syndrome, cranked up to eleven? Or something deeper, an innate fear of disrupting a very fragile equilibrium? Does anyone else experience this existential dread at the precipice of major success? Like you’re being asked to shed a skin you didn’t even realize you were clinging to?