One evening last week, around 9 p.m., we entered what I like to call the Vortex of Nonsensical Angst, which rolls in a few times a month and involves my daughter alternately barking at me and tearing up over a turmoil she cannot articulate. Interrupting the VoNA with a rational explanation is met with door slamming and calls for your removal. Eventually, in our recent situation, Julia pinpointed that what she was feeling was guilt over a minor incident earlier in the day. She called the person involved to talk it through. But she did not feel better. So then we discussed shame and condemnation
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