I sat in the car, stomach grumbling. Eyeing my mom, I cleared my throat and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants…”Uh, mom? Can we stop at the next bathroom? My tummy really hurts…” She glanced back at me in the rearview mirror, “Again? You just went! What’s wrong with you?”
She said it with exasperation. It was always met with exasperation–inconvenience–and my reaction became shame and embarrassment.
Why did my stomach always hurt? I didn’t know. Continue reading