Tired Ass Mom

I know — dramatic title. But it’s actually a quote.

Before we get into it, this isn’t a tragic love story or a heart-wrenching event. It’s something said during my performance review. And because my mind never stops, I’ve been replaying the conversation ever since.

Some context.

I work in healthcare on the clerical side. I’m not a nurse or clinical staff — I support appointment scheduling and operations. Our team is going through major changes, and we recently found out it’s being divided.

My boss currently has two assistants. I’m one of them.

Because her team is shrinking, she’ll only be able to keep one.

I’ve known changes were coming for a long time, but it didn’t really sink in until the last few weeks that it might come down to me or her — my counterpart. She’s been on a six-month leave and just recently returned. I respect her a lot. There’s no tension between us. No competition. Just reality.

On one hand, I don’t want a new boss or a new team. On the other, I’d feel terrible if she had to move. And if it’s me who goes, I already know what my brain will do.

Were they relieved to let me go?

Do they assume I’ll move into something bigger soon?

Was this strategic? Or personal? Or inevitable?

You know. The usual mental Olympics.

So today, I had my performance review.

It was an Exceeds Expectations. Of course it was.

She told me I’d been her support all year. That she hoped she’d get to keep me. We talked through strengths, growth areas — the usual review stuff. And then she said something that stuck.

“This is truly the best review I’ve ever given,” she said. “It really sets you up nicely… for when you leave me.”

For when you leave me.

She went on to explain that she knows we’ll both be peers soon.

And that’s where my brain latched on.

Because what does that mean?

Did she just assume I’m moving on?

Did she slip and say something she wasn’t supposed to?

Does she already know who she’s keeping?

Am I being pushed? Or positioned?

I replayed every sentence. Every tone shift. Every pause.

And here’s the thing: nothing bad actually happened.

I wasn’t criticized. I wasn’t warned. I wasn’t dismissed. I was praised — genuinely, enthusiastically. And still, one sentence cracked the door open for doubt.

This is what overthinking looks like.

Not panic. Not meltdown. Just quiet, persistent analysis of a moment that didn’t come with enough certainty to feel safe.

I know my boss knows who she’s getting. I know she has relationships and insight I don’t. I know there are conversations happening above my pay grade. And I also know that no amount of replaying this moment will give me information I don’t already have.

But my brain doesn’t care.

It wants clarity. Control. Certainty.

So it fills the gap with questions.

Maybe “when you leave me” was confidence in my future.

Maybe it was reassurance.

Maybe it was nothing at all.

And maybe this is just another example of how a capable, high-functioning mind can still get stuck on ambiguity.

No conclusions yet. Just a sentence echoing a little louder than it should.