You’re sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic after picking up your kids. You still have to get home, make dinner, help with homework, and get everyone to bed at a reasonable hour. Maybe—maybe—you’ll have a moment to yourself at the end of it all.

As the frustration builds, you start to vent. There’s a part of you that knows your kids aren’t the right people to unload on. And then there’s another part, perhaps the louder part in this moment that is just crying out for help.