About this time last year, I was traveling with my parents to visit my sister in the Bay Area when a familiar clench appeared in my stomach.

“Long-term Lot B,” my mother said, as my father drove us to the airport outside of Baltimore, Maryland. “Look for long-term Lot B.”

It was 4:30 in the morning, we hadn’t had coffee yet, and we had a plane to catch. The conditions were ripe for a bickering match. My mother had been repeating the name of the parking lot we needed to get to for ten minutes. Though in my early 30s, I felt like an irritated teenager. Old thoughts ran through my mind: She’s so anxious. Why can’t she be present? I need to grow up and not allow her to trigger me. Click here to read more…

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