You are a teacher who is in the middle of a life-draining divorce process. You wake up at 5.30am after another night of barely sleeping, your mind still as heavy with thoughts from the day before. The court dates, the lawyer's emails, sorting out the finances and alimony, what your child said last night about her father, whether your Year Head noticed how zoned out you have been. By the time you drag yourself to the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror, you are crying silently for someone to give you a break. But you are a responsible teacher. So you put on your best outfit, fix your face, paste on a smile and walk out the door. "Fake it till you make it", they say.

Before the divorce happened, seeing the faces of your students would lift your spirits and you remember your purpose. But now, you dread walking in, worried that broken self would be exposed - and you hate that you feel this way. School begins to feel like a constant performance. Nobody knows about the divorce, the sleepless nights, or that you snuck into the bathroom during recess to cry. You hold a quiet fear you feel you cannot reveal. It's not just about losing the marriage, but of what losing this job would mean. It's not just the salary, but also your visa, your right to stay, custody of your child, and the home you have built in this country. If you lose this, you lose everything.

And then you find yourself having to manage everyone else's lives as well. Your ex, who is making the process as difficult as possible. Your child, whom you are desperately trying to protect even as she says things that break your heart. Family and friends, who give you well-meaning advice that are more stressful than useful. Your students, whose exams should not be compromised because of your divorce. You fight these battles alone in a country where you built a home that is about to fall apart. You keep waiting for things to settle. But the weight gets heavier and nothing seems to get sorted out.