I remember walking into the cafeteria of my new school, and it was like someone punched me in the stomach. I was in sixth grade. My family had just moved from Virginia to Ohio. At first, I attended the local Catholic school. Within the first two months, I was begging my parents to go to the public school because the girls were so mean to me. And when I look back, wow, were they cruel.

I never realized that I have a temper until I became a mother. Sure, people bothered me. I’d been in arguments and even a few physical altercations, but even then I never truly lost my shit. Then I had children, and my dormant crazy bitch came bubbling to the surface. It always catches me off-guard how quickly I go from zero to pissed off over seemingly minor infractions. It’s just that when I am in a state of perpetual exhaustion, small things are actually really big things. I don’t want to get mad at my child for splashing toothpaste water all over the bathroom mirror for the hundredth time after I reminded him repeatedly not to. I want to channel my inner Gandhi and remain calm but...