If you know me, you know I have ANXIETY. Not just your everyday stress, but the kind where my family and friends can immediately tell when I’m spiraling, and they just ride the wave with me. So, naturally, we decided that a packed Rainforest Café on a busy Spring Break Sunday night was the perfect dinner choice.

For those unfamiliar, Rainforest Café is loud. Kids everywhere. Animatronic animals swinging from the ceiling. A Build-A-Bear. A water ride. And let’s not forget the hourly thunderstorm simulation—because what’s dinner without flashing lights and sudden, booming thunder?

So, there I am, sitting in sensory overload, trying to hold it together. The restaurant is packed. Birthday celebrations are happening left and right, and instead of normal candles, they use sparklers. Giant, sizzling sparklers passing right behind me as I slowly descend into madness.

To cope, I do what any reasonable person with anxiety does—I eat ice cubes. (Fun fact: placing an ice cube on the roof of your mouth helps redirect focus when anxiety is peaking. Highly recommend.) Meanwhile, my family—true to form—laughs it off, because humor is our survival mechanism.

Then comes the food. My stepdad orders Thousand Island dressing, but they bring him something white. Instead of questioning it, he just rolls with it. My mom is excited about her pasta—until she starts picking out half of the ingredients. Turns out, it’s spicy. My sister’s food is just meh. And I’m still chewing on ice cubes, trying to exist.

At some point, I notice a little kid nearby going through the same struggle I am—overwhelmed, anxious, and just trying to make it through dinner. It reminded me that I’m not alone in this, and I wish I had been brave enough to offer some tips to the parents. Maybe next time.

Then it happens—my stepdad starts sweating. Like, really sweating. Turns out, his “Thousand Island” was actually jalapeño ranch. He insists it’s “not that bad” but decides to test the spice level in the most dad way possible:

He places a napkin on his bald spot.

“If it sticks, it’s too spicy,” he declares.

Well, folks, the napkin stuck. And we lost it. We were laughing so hard we could barely breathe. My mom finally admits her pasta is too spicy to take home. My stepdad keeps eating his “not that bad” spicy salad while sweating through his soul. And me? I’m just happy that somehow, even in my worst anxiety moments, my family turns it into something hilarious.

Moral of the story? Anxiety sucks, but laughter makes it better. And maybe double-check your salad dressing before you commit.