Thunder shook the windows. Lights flickered. The air felt heavy.
“This is fine,” someone said, voice a little too bright.
Every nervous system in the room disagreed.
Gray felt it first: the tight smiles, the extra jokes, the kids asking about snacks like food could drown out fear. His own chest felt tight, like the room was shrinking.
Once Gray took a breath deep enough to steady his voice and said, “Can we just admit this is actually scary?”
Silence. Then a small laugh. Then three kids and one adult confessed, “Yeah. I hate storms.”
They ended up building a blanket fort and counting the seconds between lightning and thunder like it was a game.
The storm outside didn’t change at all. But everyone’s nervous systems did: from “pretend we’re fine” to “we’re in this together.”
Sometimes regulation starts with the bravest sentence in the room: “This is not fine… and I’m still here.”
