A weekly meeting is taking place in the conference room, and the colleagues across from me are sharing something incessantly. I locked my thoughts and butt in my seat, preparing myself to hold the meeting until I was hungry, my blood sugar was negative, and my brain was deprived of oxygen. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a black bug, buzzing towards my forehead like a fighter jet. I was so frightened that I screamed, ah~, and suddenly got under the table. There was a sound of chairs losing their center of gravity and falling backwards in panic. Apparently everyone was startled by me. After a few piapia calls, I heard a colleague picking up a notebook and killing the \”enemies\” for me. Soon a colleague said, \”He\’s dead, he\’s dead, come out quickly.\” I breathed a sigh of relief, popped my head up, and saw that the \”enemy\” was smashed flat on the table and fell into pieces, so I still gave him a shot. Shivering, I got goosebumps all over my body. \”It\’s just a bee, why are you so scared?\” a colleague asked in confusion. I said weakly: \”I was stung when I was a child, so I was afraid of bees, wasps and the like.\” I also touched my arm that had goosebumps. Someone asked again: \”Then I was stung when I was a child, why am I not afraid?\” Yes, this question suddenly took the tone of the meeting. Everyone couldn\’t help but recall how they felt after being stung by a bee. No one was spared the cruel childhood, and each one was more miserable than the other. Finally, I discovered that in this group of people who were poisoned by bees, I was actually the one who suffered the least damage. I had never been attacked by a swarm of bees, had never been stung all over my face, nor had the swelling gone away in a week, nor had I been stung. After passing the hospital… I was just out of curiosity and picked up a bee lying on the ground \”playing dead\”, and then it stung my palm without hesitation, causing a sharp sting, which scared me so much that I cried all the way home, thinking that I Dying, that\’s all. Why is it that although the physical damage is minimal, the fear in the heart is the greatest? This fear continues until it can dominate a woman in her thirties and get under the table in front of her boss and colleagues without caring about her image? I really have never thought about this question. After the meeting, I thought hard and looked for where my memory was lost. Finally, finally, I remembered the second half of the childhood movie, when I held my red and swollen hand in grievance and showed it to my mother, and there was a loud slap in the face. She roughly pulled my hand away and started to curse. What was she cursing? To be honest, I forgot. You probably deserve it, you bring it upon yourself, who wants you to mess with bees or something like that? She has always been a proponent of strict discipline, and I may have been scolded too much by her growing up. Most of the childhood movies in my mind are silenced versions. In short, after finally extracting this dark scene, I asked my colleagues around me as if I had made a major discovery, will your future experience of being stung be as miserable as mine? They were excited to participate in the disaster competition just now. This time, they each transformed into happy babies. Either their parents applied medicine themselves, or they were rescued by their grandma. Although one of them treated the wound by himself, he was still beaten without me. The scolding was miserable. There is no doubt that I won the competition. Because of the caring and loving care of adults, the wounds they received from bee stings, no matter how serious they were, were just physical wounds. After they recovered, they could still share the strange experience with the people around them because of the strange experience.The \”newborn calf is not afraid of tigers\” side of me. And the wounds on my palms have long since healed without leaving any trace. The fear, panic, and confusion in my heart have all been suppressed, frozen in the silent movies over the years. The fear projected on the bees stubbornly accompanies me as I grow up. . The only difference is that adults\’ different attitudes towards children when they encounter setbacks have left a lasting scar on me. Perhaps in the eyes of adults, being stung by a bee is not a setback, but in the eyes of a child who ran home crying, it is a terrible thing. I even think that if I had expected my mother\’s attitude towards me earlier, I should not have gone to her to scold her, so that I would not be so afraid of bees. I remember watching the Japanese movie \”Matsuko\’s Disliked Life\”. Matsuko\’s writer boyfriend Yaonagawa committed suicide standing in front of a speeding train. His last words were \”I\’m sorry for being a human being.\” This sentence was like a thousand arrows piercing my heart. I couldn\’t stop crying in front of the computer and couldn\’t breathe. My feelings have never been seen by love, and existence itself is a mistake. It perfectly and appropriately explains why when I was a child, I always wanted to die. Now that I am a mother, I don\’t want my daughter to cry in front of \”Songzi\’s Disliked Life\” one day. I want her to know that no matter what setbacks you encounter, your mother will always be your backing. But it\’s not that easy to do. My daughter was over 2 years old. Once she ran wildly in the square in front of our house. I couldn\’t catch up with her on my scooter, so I had to yell, \”Stop running, be careful not to fall!\” As soon as she finished speaking, she fell down in front of me and couldn\’t lift her head for a long time. I ran forward, and my first reaction was to blurt out – I told you not to run, but you still ran, did you deserve to fall down now? But when I saw her raising her head and crying loudly, her chin was scratched, and her body was covered in dust, I quickly squatted down and hugged her and said, \”Didn\’t it hurt a lot? Mommy feels so bad.\” She hugged her. He held me tightly and cried at the top of his lungs in my arms. His nose and saliva were all smeared on my body, but I breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, the words in my throat were not shouted out by me. The child\’s father stood nearby and expressed his opinion: \”You doted on her too much. She fell down because she didn\’t listen to you, so she needs to learn a lesson. This is called frustration education, do you understand?\” I held my daughter in my arms. , ignored him. If I turned around right now, his saliva would be sprayed on my face. The daughter gradually calmed down, patted the dust with her hand, blinked her tear-stained eyes, and muttered: \”I will walk slowly.\” After saying that, she turned around, leaving a bold little back to her father. At that time, my mother, perhaps thinking the same as her son-in-law, felt that children must be allowed to experience setbacks on their own and learn lessons from setbacks, so that children can endure hardship and be resilient. However, in my limited experience as a mother, I feel more and more that the real frustration education is to face the setbacks with the children, and ultimately to accompany the children to get out of the setbacks. Go see her feelings, discuss with your child how to view the difficulties she encounters, and cultivate her way of thinking in solving problems. If the child\’s age, ability, and personality are not enough to withstand the setbacks she encounters,I just let her face it alone, even blaming and cursing… Frustration is likely to bring about neglect, depression and psychological trauma, which is far from being able to endure hardship and be resilient. However, I don’t want to use this principle to change my mother, nor do I want to argue with my child’s father. I silently stick to what I believe in and do it, that’s enough. I remember Wu Zhihong said in \”Why Family Hurts People\”: If you are lucky enough to have a good mother or good upbringing, and your feelings are constantly touched and confirmed, you will form a rich and agile self. If you lack this luck, you will have to work hard to achieve this goal. I secretly lamented that I was not a lucky person because I did not have a mother who took good care of my wounds; but I was also a lucky person because I had a daughter who gave me the opportunity to heal my wounds.