Ben, an eight-year-old boy with tousled brown hair and curious eyes, sat on his bed hugging his knees. The world felt unusually heavy today, pressing down on his chest like a storm cloud he couldn’t name. He traced circles on his blanket, wishing he could explain the strange swirl inside him.

Mom, gentle but tired, crouched to mop up the mess. Ben watched, fists clenched, eyes stinging with tears he didn’t want. "I didn’t mean to! I just got mad because the numbers wouldn’t listen to me!"

Ben[/@ch_1] sits alone on a swing, feet dragging in the dirt.] Mom sits on the next swing, gently rocking. "It’s okay to feel angry sometimes, Ben. Everyone does. But maybe we can figure out what your anger is trying to tell you?" Ben hesitates, looking down, the storm inside him quieting just a little.

Ben watches a group of kids share a game, their laughter bright and easy. He takes a deep breath, pressing a hand to his chest. "Sometimes it feels like my feelings are too big for me," he whispers. "Feelings can be big," Mom replies, "but talking about them helps. Want to draw me your storm when we get home?"

Ben[/@ch_1] scribbles furiously, his emotions pouring out in streaks of red, blue, and yellow.] Ben hands the paper to Mom, cheeks flushed but eyes brighter. "This is what it feels like inside sometimes," he says. "It’s beautiful, Ben. Thank you for sharing it with me," Mom replies, wrapping him in a warm hug.

Ben[/@ch_1] has softened to a gentle breeze.] Ben lies in bed, feeling lighter, comforted by the soft hum of his mother’s lullaby. He closes his eyes, knowing that even when his feelings feel too big, he has words—and love—to help him weather them.