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“I’m sick of everybody’s problems when I cannot do a single thing to solve them.”  I said this sentence to my mother the other day and I was met with a beat of absolute silence, though I swear I could also hear the rhythmic throb of a horrified subtext in the blankness that followed.

“You can’t say that,” she finally responded, an extra breath or two of surprise folded into the disappointment that coated her words like butter turned sour.

“I most certainly can say that,” I said immediately – and the forcefulness of my words quieted us both.

This isn’t who I was, but this might just be who I am now.