I know because people tell me.
“Thank you for being a rock,” as they sniffle, wipe their tears, self-soothe with fingers to their neck, their face, their hair.
They thank me for stuffing down my emotions. Putting aside any feelings I have so they can feel safe feeling all they feel.
They thank me for being stable and solid. Taking all of their heavy, dejected weight and not budging, squeaking, or flinching.
They thank me for navigating the turbulence in a way they can’t - with barely a bump during the massive crests and swells.
I am a rock.
Because I have to be.