I always ate lunch alone in my car. Not because I loved cold sandwiches or the way the steering wheel dug into my wrist when I leaned forward. I did it because the breakroom demanded small talk, forced smiles, and pretending I wasn’t exhausted. In my car, no one called my silence “awkward.”
I always ate lunch alone in my car. Not because I enjoyed cold sandwiches or the way the steering wheel pressed into my wrist when I leaned forward. I did it because the breakroom required smiling, small talk, and answering questions I didn’t have the energy for. In my car, silence wasn’t labeled awkward. It … Read more