My son got punched at school. My daughter is afraid to speak in class. My son wants to spend all his money on LEGOs we don't need. And I'm sitting in my too-quiet house on bereavement leave, realizing I have no idea how to help them with any of it. I'm a working mom with depression, a job I hate but can't leave, and a life that looks perfect from the outside but feels like drowning on the inside. So I'm starting to write. About the parking lot moments, the unanswered questions, and what it's really like to raise humans while trying to figure out how to be one myself.