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Trauma Translation

The whole family has been fighting the flu. Last night was rough with me up most of the night with James. This morning I was groggy and grumpy.

The girls are ridiculously cheerful upon waking. Always. Without fail. Not only chatty. Actually bouncy. It's disturbing, really.

So this morning I'm without sleep and flu-ish, again, and I tell the girls that mama doesn't feel well so they need to be very quiet.

They stare are me, wide-eyed and go very still. Instantly deeply frightened.

This has been their reaction every time over the past few weeks when I've told them I don't feel well and need to lay down, or can't read a book, etc.

I finally figured it out. They think I'm hungover. Or high. Or whatever you call it when someone is coming off a high. Do you say hungover for that, too? They probably think I'm about to blow up and lash out at them.

They don't know what the plain old flu looks like.

Translating their lived experience to my lived experience and coming out the sadder for it, yet again.

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