How to Lose Your Mind Gracefully

Five thirty PM. I was just packing up to leave when a message from my colleague, Karen, popped up on my screen.
It was a document, followed by a pleading emoji.
Then, the text: Kathy, I have to run and pick up my son from school. Could you just finish this little bit for me?
I glanced at the progress bar on the document shed sent. My brow furrowed. Karen, this is a lot more than a little bit. I have plans tonight.
I thought that would be the end of it.
I was wrong. She appeared at my desk, her voice sharp and laced with a grating, matter-of-fact entitlement.
Kathy Kim, are your plans more important than me picking up my child? Besides, its not like you have kids. Youre just going home to an empty house. Just stay and do a little overtime for me.

1.
Karens voice wasnt loud, but it was pitched to carry across the entire open-plan office.
The room fell silent. A few pairs of eyes, glinting with schadenfreude, landed on me.
My fingers tightened on the mouse until my knuckles were white.
Karen, this is your work.
Her volume shot up instantly, her face a mask of disbelief as if I had committed an unforgivable sin. Why are you being so selfish? This is for my child! For the next generation! Whats the big deal with helping out? Have you no compassion?
Another mother from a nearby desk immediately chimed in, her words dripping with passive aggression. Yeah, Kathy. Karens son, Cody, is so adorable. Its not easy being a mom.
A third colleague covered her mouth, whispering in a stagey, sympathetic tone, People without children probably cant understand that feeling. They can be so cold-hearted.
Every word was a needle, pricking at me from all sides.
I took a deep breath and shut down my computer.
I told you. I have plans.
I grabbed my bag and, under Karens stunned gaze, clocked out right on time.
As I stepped out of the building, the evening breeze on my face did little to clear the knot of frustration in my chest.
A black sedan was parked by the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Liam Carters face.
Get in.
I slid into the passenger seat, and he handed me a warm corn juice.
Getting guilt-tripped again?
I didnt answer, just wrapped my hands around the warm cup. The car pulled smoothly into the evening traffic.
Shes dumped the quarterly data on you three times now, Liam said, his voice flat.
He was my fathers most trusted executive assistant, the man who had practically watched me grow up.
Her sons birthday is this month, I recited, leaning back and watching the city lights blur past the window. Next week is a parent-teacher conference, and the week after that is a field trip.
So shell always have another excuse, Liam finished for me, glancing over. What are you going to do?
What can I do? When I cant take it anymore, Ill fight back. I managed a tired smile.
Liam didnt press further.
When I got home, I had just slipped off my shoes when my phone began to vibrate uncontrollably.
It was the department group chat.
Karen had posted a long, tear-jerking monologue.
Its so sad how cold young people are these days. As a mother, all I did was ask for a little help with some finishing touches so I could pick up my son, and she just stormed off. When we were new, we did everything for our seniorsgot them coffee, made copies, you name it. Now? Theres just no sense of team spirit.
A few replies popped up immediately.
Dont be angry, Karen. Some people just have no sense of responsibility.
Shes not a mom. She cant understand your struggles.
Ill mention it to the manager for you tomorrow.
I stared at the screen, my face a blank mask.
Liam walked over and gently took the phone from my hand. Stop looking at that. Shes a buffoon.
Shes not. Shes a mirror. I looked up at him. One that reflects a lot of people.

2.
The moment I stepped into the office the next morning, I knew something was wrong.
My desk was buried under a mountain of files, far more than a days worth of work.
Karen sauntered over, a smug smirk on her face and a coffee in her hand. Kathy, darling. The manager noticed you left early yesterday, so you must have plenty of energy. He said you can handle all of this today.
The manager poked his head out of his office. Thats right, Kathy. Its a blessing for young people to work hard.
I ignored them, sat down, and turned on my computer.
Then, I stood up. I gathered the tallest stack of files from my desk and walked, step by deliberate step, over to the large office trash can.
With a thunderous crash, I dumped the entire stack inside.
Paper scattered like snowflakes, a few sheets drifting to rest at the managers feet.
The office fell dead silent.
Karens coffee cup slipped, splashing hot liquid on her hand. She let out a sharp cry. Kathy Kim! Are you insane? Those are important documents!
Important documents? I turned, my gaze pinning her in place. If they were so important, why were they piled on my desk instead of being properly filed in the archives?
I advanced on her, the click of my heels on the linoleum floor sounding like a death knell. In this pile, there were three sets of old data that should have been archived last month, five procedural forms from other departments, and two of your own personal expense reports. Am I wrong?
Karens face cycled through shades of red, white, and a sickly green. You Youre lying!
Am I? We can just dig through the trash and find out. My eyes swept over her, then landed on the terrified manager. Or, we could call down someone from the Chairmans office to help us assess the value of these important documents.
The managers face turned the color of liver. He shot Karen a venomous glare before forcing a smile that was uglier than a grimace. A misunderstanding! Its all a misunderstanding. Kathy, dont get worked up. Karen was just joking with you.
He scurried over to the trash can, pathetically trying to salvage the papers.
I didnt stop him. A joke? I looked at him, the contempt in my eyes palpable. Joking with company work? Is that your management style?
His hands froze mid-air. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. I of course thats not what I meant.
Then what did you mean? I pressed, my voice low but every word a dagger.
The other colleagues didnt dare breathe, desperately trying to merge with their computer screens. The ones who had cheered Karen on in the group chat last night looked like they wanted to crawl inside their monitors and disappear.
Karen stood frozen, her lips trembling, unable to utter a single word.
Finally, the manager broke. Its my fault. My management was lacking. Kathy, please, calm down. I promise I will give you a proper resolution to this.
He yanked Karen into his office, and the door slammed shut with a resounding boom.
I returned to my desk. The world was finally quiet.
During my lunch break, a message from Liam came through.
Heard you went on a rampage this morning.
I replied: Just taking out the trash.
A few minutes later, another message.
Well done. But now theyll just move their attacks from the open to the shadows.
I stared at the screen and typed back.
Im waiting.

3.
After being reprimanded, Karen kept a low profile for a few days. She stopped openly pushing her work onto me, but the whispers and gossip about me in the office multiplied.
She thinks she can challenge her seniors and the manager just because shes young and pretty.
I heard she has connections. How else could she be so arrogant?
Its always the ones who look innocent. Theyre the most calculating.
I ignored it all.
That afternoon, our department was given an urgent, high-stakes assignment: design the invitation for a major charity gala. The deadline was tight, and the manager put Karen in charge.
The first thing she did was come to me.
This time, her posture was different. She was humble, almost pleading.
Kathy, I know youre the strongest designer we have. This invitation is incredibly important; its our whole departments reputation on the line. Can you please help me? She paused, then added the clincher. Im begging you. You know I have Cody to take care of. I just dont have the energy for something this big.
I saw the glint in her eye and asked calmly, Help you? Does that mean I lead, or you do?
You lead, of course! she said quickly. Ill be your assistant! And the credit will all be yours in the end!
I nodded. Fine.
I took the project and dove in headfirst. This wasnt just an invitation; it was a representation of the entire corporations image.
I researched extensively, and inspired by the galas theme, A River of Stars, I developed a concept that blended a celestial night sky with silhouettes of ancient architecture. To achieve the perfect effect, I even asked Liam to connect me with a master artisan, a specialist in the traditional craft of silhouette cutting. He handcrafted the silhouette portion, which I then scanned for digital post-processing.
For three straight days, I practically lived at the office.
Karen, my supposed assistant, did nothing but leave on the dot every day to pick up her son. Shed occasionally pop by my desk to ask, Hows it coming along? before snapping a few pictures of me hard at work. Shed then post them in the department group chat with captions like, Kathy is working so hard! Lets all cheer her on!
On Friday, the final proof was ready. The exquisite, hollowed-out star map, paired with the elegant, classic silhouette, was breathtaking.
The manager was effusive with his praise. This is brilliant! Karen, youve really hit a home run this time!
Karen beamed. Oh, it was nothing. I just had a good initial concept, and Kathy helped out a lot, of course.
I stood to the side, silent.
Karen clutched the design proofs as if they were her newborn child. Sir, Ill take this over to the project lead at corporate headquarters myself. Itll be a good chance to explain my design philosophy in person.
The manager nodded eagerly. Excellent idea, excellent.
I watched her stride triumphantly out of the office, a cold smile playing on my lips.
Liam was right. They had just moved their methods into the shadows.
And I had already built the stage for their performance.
I opened my laptop and sent an encrypted file to Liam. It contained every draft of my design from the past three days, my inspiration notes, the communication records with the silhouette artist, and, hidden in the bottom right corner of the final design, my initialsCVencoded in Morse code.
I sent him a message.
Fish is on the hook.
He replied instantly.
The net is ready.

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