What’s it like to be on the other side

I walk into the classroom wearing my best fake confidence — tailored, ironed, and held together with the same hope that powers birthday candles. Can they tell how nervous I am? Probably. I’m pacing behind the computer like a stressed-out stage mom, trying not to knock anything over while the projector warms up and my dignity cools down. Every move feels like it's broadcasting “Look at me! I have no idea what I’m doing!”