During a seven-hour flight, the child seated behind me repeatedly kicked my seat. After enduring it for nearly an hour, I politely turned around and asked the mother if she could stop it. Without looking up from her phone, she replied, “Kids kick. It’s a flight, not a library.”

The kicking continued, and after asking again, I was met with frustration. When I made a third request, the mother snapped, “Do you have children?” When I said no, she answered, “Then you don’t understand.” Feeling dismissed, I eventually called a flight attendant for help.

For the next two hours, I could feel the tension and hostility from the mother. I assumed she was simply being rude and inconsiderate. By the time the plane landed, I was convinced I had done the only reasonable thing.

As passengers stood to leave, the mother gently touched my shoulder. Expecting another confrontation, I turned around, but instead she quietly explained that her husband had died just three weeks earlier. Her son hadn’t been sleeping, and neither had she. In that moment, I realized I had judged her too quickly. I still don’t know what the perfect response would have been, but I learned that sometimes people are carrying burdens we cannot see.