Think about having a bad flu, on a day when you can’t stay home huddled under the covers. You have business, you have responsibilities. And so, summoning up reserves you didn’t know you had, you somehow make it through the day, sweating, shaking, nodding politely to colleagues while barely controlling the nausea—because you know that if you can just pull it off, then you can go home, where your couch (or your bed, or a hot bath, or whatever you define as comfort and safety) is waiting. You hold it together, and then, once you’re home, you collapse.
