By sixteen, I was desperate to understand, no, to predict what might cause a minor “hey, that’s a silly thing to do!” versus a full-blown fight. If I could predict it, I could prevent it from happening by being perfect. If I couldn’t predict it, and I got into trouble, I’d always feel shame. I felt it was my job to solve every emotional mystery. To have known better and been one step ahead. And anyone in my family being upset meant I failed at it.