He didn’t mean it.

He was raised by Brenda, after all, what could you expect.

I had gotten so practiced at this translation that it happened automatically, instantly, before the hurt could even fully register, so that I almost never had to feel the plain unfiltered fact of how he was treating me.

It is exhausting work, that translation, though you do not notice the exhaustion because it has become the constant background hum of your life.

And it robs you of something crucial: the ability to see what is in front of you.