{"id":18219,"date":"2026-08-01T09:23:09","date_gmt":"2026-08-01T09:23:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/?p=18219"},"modified":"2026-08-01T09:23:09","modified_gmt":"2026-08-01T09:23:09","slug":"my-brother-in-law-humiliated-my-13-year-old-son-in-front-of-the-entire-family-he-never-expected-to-learn-who-i-really-was","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/?p=18219","title":{"rendered":"\u201cMy Brother-in-Law Humiliated My 13-Year-Old Son in Front of the Entire Family\u2014He Never Expected to Learn Who I Really Was\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"
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My Brother-In-Law Pu\/shed My Thirteen-Year-Old Son Onto The Backyard Mat And Humiliated Me In Front Of The Family While My Husband Chose To Stay Silent. Six Seconds Later, He Was On The Mat, Finally Realizing Who I Really Was And Learning How To Respect Others.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/header>\n
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Part 1 \u2014 The Backyard Where Silence Broke<\/h4>\n

My brother-in-law shoved my thirteen-year-old son onto the backyard wrestling mat hard enough that both of Caleb\u2019s palms slapped the canvas before his knees caught up with the fall.<\/p>\n

The whole yard went quiet except for the grill hissing near the patio, a distant firework popping somewhere beyond the subdivision, and the small sharp breath my daughter took behind my hip.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

For a moment, nobody moved.<\/p>\n

Derek Vaughn stood over my son with a grin that made my stomach turn. He was the kind of man who mistook volume for confidence and cruelty for humor, a former supply corporal who spoke about discipline as if he had invented it while letting other people clean up every mess his pride created. He clapped once, loud and theatrical, then looked around the yard for approval.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Caleb,\u201d he said. \u201cIf you want to grow up, you have to stop folding every time somebody touches you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Caleb pushed himself upright, cheeks flushed with pain and humiliation. He did not cry. That almost hurt worse.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

My nine-year-old daughter, Emma, pressed closer to me and whispered, \u201cMom, why does Uncle Derek always do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

The question cut deeper than anything Derek had ever said to me.<\/p>\n

Because I had allowed it. Because I had smiled through it. Because every Fourth of July barbecue, Thanksgiving dinner, birthday party, and emergency family meeting had taught him that I would absorb disrespect quietly if it meant my mother\u2019s blood pressure stayed calm and my sister did not have to choose between her husband and the truth.<\/p>\n

My name is Laurel Bennett. I am forty-four years old, a retired United States Marine Corps lieutenant colonel, and for twenty-two years I let my family believe I had spent my career behind safe desks, managing paperwork at quiet bases and collecting benefits I had not truly earned.<\/p>\n

I let them call me lucky. I let them call me dependable. I let them call me the one who always had money when somebody\u2019s roof leaked, car failed, tuition came due, or tax bill arrived with inconvenient timing.<\/p>\n

I never told them about the missions. I never showed them the scars. I never corrected the small jokes when they became habits. I thought humility meant staying silent until silence hardened into a cage.<\/p>\n

That afternoon, we were in my mother\u2019s backyard in Richmond, Virginia, beneath strings of patio lights and paper flags. My mother, Elaine, sat near the glass table with a plastic cup of iced tea and a worried expression she never turned into action.<\/p>\n

My younger sister, Mallory, stood near the grill, pretending to arrange hamburger buns while her husband performed for relatives who laughed because laughing was easier than stopping him.<\/p>\n

Derek slapped both hands on the mat.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Laurel. Since you are so concerned, maybe you want to teach the boy how it is done.\u201d<\/p>\n

A few cousins chuckled. Derek widened his stance, puffing himself up.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo not worry. I will go easy on the office Marine.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mallory looked down at the buns.<\/p>\n

My mother said, \u201cDerek, do not start.\u201d<\/p>\n

But she did not say, Laurel, you do not deserve that. She had never said that. Not when Derek joked about my \u201cprinter-jam combat experience.\u201d Not when he implied my retirement was easy money.<\/p>\n

Not when he bragged about paying for family repairs I had quietly funded from my own account because Mallory begged me not to embarrass him.<\/p>\n

I looked at Caleb. His eyes were fixed on the mat, and shame sat across his shoulders like a weight someone else had thrown there.<\/p>\n

That decided it.<\/p>\n

I stepped forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want a round?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

Derek\u2019s grin spread.<\/p>\n

\u201cFinally. I thought the paperwork department might be too delicate.\u201d<\/p>\n

I took off my watch and handed it to Emma.<\/p>\n

\u201cStand with your grandmother.\u201d<\/p>\n

Emma\u2019s small fingers closed around the watch.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am all right, sweetheart.\u201d<\/p>\n

Derek rolled his neck and stepped onto the mat like a man entering a story where he already knew the ending. He expected fear. He expected hesitation. He expected the quiet woman he had mocked for years to retreat because the family was watching.<\/p>\n

I gave him none of that.<\/p>\n

Part 2 \u2014 Six Seconds<\/h4>\n

Derek came in high, careless, and smiling. He reached as if he were grabbing an unwilling piece of furniture, not entering a controlled physical exchange with another adult. That was his first mistake, though not his last. Men who rely on intimidation often mistake another person\u2019s patience for a lack of options.<\/p>\n

I shifted outside his line, caught his wrist, turned my hips, and borrowed his own forward momentum. My left foot planted. My shoulder dropped. My grip changed without flourish.<\/p>\n

I guided him down hard enough to end the attempt, but not hard enough to injure him. Training is not rage. Control is not cruelty. Strength does not need an audience to prove it exists.<\/p>\n

He hit the mat with a stunned grunt.<\/p>\n

Before he could rebuild his balance, I had his arm secured behind him, one knee pinning his hip, my other hand controlling the collar of his polo shirt so his shoulder stayed safe and his ego did not. It took less than six seconds.<\/p>\n

The backyard became absolutely still.<\/p>\n

Derek thrashed once.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet off me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSay you are finished.\u201d<\/p>\n

He tried to pull free with brute force. I shifted my weight half an inch. The movement was small, but the message was complete. He stopped breathing loudly through his nose and turned red against the mat.<\/p>\n

\u201cSay you are finished,\u201d I repeated.<\/p>\n

His voice came out rough.<\/p>\n

\u201cFinished.\u201d<\/p>\n

I released him immediately and stood back.<\/p>\n

No one clapped. No one laughed. Mallory\u2019s mouth hung slightly open. My mother stared at me as though someone had lifted a curtain and revealed a stranger standing where her daughter had been. Caleb looked first shocked, then proud, then relieved in a way that nearly broke me.<\/p>\n

Derek scrambled upright, rubbing his shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cDirty move.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cControlled move.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou humiliated me in front of my family.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked toward Caleb.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did that to yourself in front of my son.\u201d<\/p>\n

Derek took one step toward me, and chairs scraped behind the patio table.<\/p>\n

A voice from the fence line cut through the air.<\/p>\n

\u201cStep back, Corporal Vaughn.\u201d<\/p>\n

Silas Mercer, my mother\u2019s quiet neighbor, stood beside the gate with one hand on his cane and the other touching the brim of a faded Marine Corps cap. He was in his seventies, narrow-shouldered now, but his voice still had command hidden in the gravel of age.<\/p>\n

Derek turned.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is not your business, old man.\u201d<\/p>\n

Silas straightened as much as his spine allowed.<\/p>\n

\u201cActually, it is exactly my business.\u201d<\/p>\n

My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n

\u201cSilas, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at me, and his eyes filled with a respect I had tried for years to keep outside my family\u2019s yard.<\/p>\n

\u201cLieutenant Colonel Bennett,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Mallory whispered, \u201cLieutenant Colonel?\u201d<\/p>\n

Silas turned toward the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone here should mind their mouths. This woman is not some harmless clerk you people get to mock between hamburgers. In 2011, outside Sangin, her unit pulled six of us from a disabled convoy while rounds were tearing concrete off the wall behind us.<\/p>\n

She carried me when my leg would not move. I remember her voice because she kept telling me I was not allowed to die in such an inconvenient place.\u201d<\/p>\n

The grill hissed. Nobody spoke.<\/p>\n

Derek forced a laugh that sounded weak and ugly.<\/p>\n

\u201cMarine Raider? Her?\u201d<\/p>\n

Caleb had pulled out his phone with both hands shaking. He searched quickly, the way children search when the adult world has cracked open and they need proof before they dare believe. Then he turned the screen toward me.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d he said softly, \u201cis this you?\u201d<\/p>\n

On the screen was an old association article I had never shown them. The photograph was grainy but unmistakable: me in dress blues beside a Marine general, receiving a Bronze Star with valor. Beneath the caption was a reference to a Purple Heart and a humanitarian evacuation command citation.<\/p>\n

Emma read over her brother\u2019s arm.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, you were hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the voice that reached the place I had protected badly for too long.<\/p>\n

I could endure Derek\u2019s jokes. I could endure my mother\u2019s selective helplessness. I could endure Mallory\u2019s silence because she needed my money more than my dignity.<\/p>\n

But I could not endure my children learning that their mother had taught them disrespect could be survived by pretending it was not happening.<\/p>\n

Mallory stepped toward me.<\/p>\n

\u201cLaurel, why did you never tell us?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked across the yard, at the grill, the paper plates, the family I had helped keep afloat while letting them believe I was small enough to use.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause every time I tried to be more than useful, this family became uncomfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s eyes filled.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is not fair.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cIt is not.\u201d<\/p>\n

Part 3 \u2014 The Drive Home<\/h4>\n

I did not stay for fireworks. I put Caleb and Emma into my truck while Derek sat on the grass rubbing his shoulder, suddenly smaller than the stories he had built around himself. Mallory followed me down the driveway, but Derek called her name like an order. She stopped.<\/p>\n

That told me everything I needed to know.<\/p>\n

The road home was dark except for porch lights, firework flashes, and the soft glow of the dashboard. Emma fell asleep with my folded jacket under her cheek. Caleb stayed awake, staring through the windshield as if the night had become a question.<\/p>\n

After nearly twenty minutes, he spoke.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, why did you let him talk to you like that?\u201d<\/p>\n

I gripped the steering wheel.<\/p>\n

The old answer was simple: because I was tired, because family was complicated, because my mother needed help, because Mallory was trapped in a marriage she defended in public and complained about in private. None of those answers were good enough for my son.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I thought enduring disrespect quietly made me strong.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned toward me.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid it?\u201d<\/p>\n

Children can be merciless when they are honest.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cIt made me forget I deserved better.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked down at his hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not want to learn that.\u201d<\/p>\n

The words landed with more force than Derek ever could have.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen I will stop teaching it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The next morning, I called Tasha Reed, the woman who had pulled me through the hardest year after my retirement and never allowed me to romanticize self-erasure. She answered with no greeting.<\/p>\n

\u201cSilas called me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course he did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow bad?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI put Derek on the mat in front of the family.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTasha.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo not Tasha me. That man has been using your patience as a public punching bag for years.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sat at my kitchen table with coffee cooling between my hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mother cried.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet her,\u201d Tasha said. \u201cPeople cry when the appliance they have depended on suddenly reminds them it is human.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was harsh. It was also accurate.<\/p>\n

After the call, I opened my banking app and canceled the automatic transfers: part of my mother\u2019s utilities, Mallory\u2019s mortgage support, the emergency savings fund that was supposed to be temporary three years earlier. Then I requested a public summary of my military record and wrote one email to my mother and sister.<\/p>\n

I love you. I have spent most of my adult life helping this family, and I do not regret generosity freely given. What I will not continue is financial support in a family system where I am mocked, diminished, or treated as useful but not respected.<\/p>\n

If you want me present, that presence will now require honesty, boundaries, and basic dignity.<\/p>\n

I attached the record.<\/p>\n

I stared at the screen for a long time before pressing send.<\/p>\n

For twenty-two years, I had been terrified that revealing myself would sound like bragging. But there is a difference between humility and burial. Humility does not ask your children to watch you disappear.<\/p>\n

Mallory called first.<\/p>\n

She was crying so hard I barely understood her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew Derek went too far sometimes, but I told myself you did not mind because you always smiled.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was easier for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

She inhaled shakily.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. It was. I let him make you the joke because it kept the peace in my house.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was the first honest sentence anyone in my family had given me in years.<\/p>\n

\u201cI cannot fix your house for you anymore,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you?\u201d<\/p>\n

She did not answer immediately.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am trying to.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was not enough to repair anything, but it was enough to keep the line open.<\/p>\n

My mother called three days later. She did not begin with an apology. She began with a question.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe year you sent money for my roof, were you recovering from the injury in that record?\u201d<\/p>\n

I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou told me you fell down concrete steps.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI did not want you to worry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her voice broke.<\/p>\n

\u201cI let you carry everything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cYou did.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was the first time I had agreed with her pain instead of rescuing her from it.<\/p>\n

Part 4 \u2014 The Ceremony<\/h4>\n

Two months later, my old unit held a small recognition event at Quantico for several retired service members involved in a mentorship program.<\/p>\n

I had avoided those ceremonies for years because they made me feel exposed in ways combat never had. This time, I invited my family because secrecy had already cost too much.<\/p>\n

Mallory asked whether Derek could come.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly if he understands this is not about his pride.\u201d<\/p>\n

He came in a dark suit, silent for once, hands folded in front of him instead of spread wide across other people\u2019s space. He did not look humble exactly. He looked like a man trying to imitate humility until he could understand what it required.<\/p>\n

My mother sat between Caleb and Emma. She clutched a program so tightly that the paper wrinkled beneath her fingers.<\/p>\n

When Colonel Hayes read my record, the room seemed to tilt backward through time.<\/p>\n

Bronze Star with valor. Purple Heart. Special operations deployments. Humanitarian evacuation command. Advisory work with wounded service members. Twenty-two years of things my family had turned into vague office jokes because I had let them.<\/p>\n

Emma leaned against my mother and whispered loudly enough for me to hear.<\/p>\n

\u201cGrandma, Mom is really brave.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother covered her mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sweetheart. She is.\u201d<\/p>\n

After the ceremony, Derek approached me near the hallway windows. He stopped at a respectful distance, which was already an improvement.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was wrong,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I waited.<\/p>\n

He swallowed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI made you smaller because I needed to feel larger. I did it in front of your children, and I did it because nobody stopped me. That does not excuse it.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the first time since I had known him, he did not add a joke.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am sorry, Lieutenant Colonel.\u201d<\/p>\n

I studied him. Apologies are easy when someone has been publicly corrected. Change is harder when the audience goes home.<\/p>\n

\u201cI accept the apology,\u201d I said. \u201cThat does not restore trust.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you?\u201d<\/p>\n

His face tightened, but he did not argue.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am beginning to.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mallory joined us a moment later. She looked at him, then at me, and I saw a decision moving through her expression. Not a dramatic one. Not a final one. The beginning of a woman realizing peace built on another woman\u2019s silence was not peace at all.<\/p>\n

\u201cDerek is moving into the guest room for a while,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cWe are starting counseling next week.\u201d<\/p>\n

Derek looked embarrassed but did not contradict her.<\/p>\n

I nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds like a beginning.\u201d<\/p>\n

On the drive home, Caleb held the ceremony program in his lap.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I tell people about you?\u201d<\/p>\n

I smiled sadly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can tell the truth. Just remember that the medals are not the whole story.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is the whole story?\u201d<\/p>\n

I glanced at him, then back at the road.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat strength is supposed to protect people, not make them feel small.\u201d<\/p>\n

He folded the program carefully.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds better than Uncle Derek\u2019s version.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is.\u201d<\/p>\n

Part 5 \u2014 Thanksgiving At My House<\/h4>\n

By Thanksgiving, the family gathered at my house for the first time in years. I agreed to host because hosting no longer meant surrendering. The difference was visible before anyone arrived.<\/p>\n

I did not pay for everyone\u2019s travel. I did not send Mallory grocery money. I did not transfer anything to my mother\u2019s account when she hinted that winter utilities would be higher. I told them what I was cooking and what they could bring.<\/p>\n

They brought things.<\/p>\n

It felt almost miraculous.<\/p>\n

My mother arrived with a sweet potato casserole and a nervous expression. Mallory brought pies.<\/p>\n

Derek carried folding chairs from his truck without announcing how heavy they were. Caleb and Emma watched him with the skeptical interest children reserve for adults on probation.<\/p>\n

Dinner was awkward at first, which made it honest. Nobody made jokes about my career.<\/p>\n

Nobody asked me to fix a bill. Nobody treated my silence like permission. When Derek began telling a loud story about a man at work, he stopped himself halfway through, looked at Caleb, and lowered his voice.<\/p>\n

Small things matter when they are repeated.<\/p>\n

After dinner, my mother stood beside me at the sink. For most of my life, she had let me wash while she rested because I was \u201cbetter at keeping things moving.\u201d This time she rolled up her sleeves.<\/p>\n

\u201cI should have asked more questions,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I handed her a plate.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

She washed it slowly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I was afraid of the answers. If you were stronger than I understood, then I had fewer excuses for leaning on you so hard.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was not a perfect apology. It was better than a perfect performance.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to be leaned on,\u201d I said. \u201cThat was part of the problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

I watched steam rise from the sink.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause being needed felt safer than being known.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother began crying quietly, but she kept washing the plate. I loved her for that more than I expected. For once, her tears did not require me to stop the conversation and comfort her before the truth could finish entering the room.<\/p>\n

Later, after everyone left, I found Caleb and Emma in the living room looking at the framed photograph from the ceremony. I had placed it on the shelf because hiding it would have taught the wrong lesson again.<\/p>\n

Emma asked, \u201cWere you scared when you were a Marine?\u201d<\/p>\n

I sat beside her.<\/p>\n

\u201cMany times.\u201d<\/p>\n

She frowned.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut brave people are not scared.\u201d<\/p>\n

Caleb answered before I could.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, brave people do the right thing while they are scared.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at him, and something inside me eased.<\/p>\n

The next spring, I began mentoring young veterans transitioning out of active duty. Some had medals they never mentioned. Some had wounds people could not see.<\/p>\n

Some had families who wanted heroic stories but not complicated aftermath. I told them what Tasha had told me, though I softened the language for people not used to her particular brand of mercy.<\/p>\n

\u201cHumility is a virtue,\u201d I said during the first session. \u201cDisappearing is not.\u201d<\/p>\n

I had spent decades confusing the two.<\/p>\n

Derek changed slowly. Not dramatically, not cleanly, and not always successfully. He apologized to Caleb without being prompted. He stopped wrestling with younger relatives. He still spoke too loudly sometimes, but Mallory no longer laughed to smooth the edges.<\/p>\n

When he overstepped, she corrected him in the moment. The first time she did it, my mother looked startled, then proud, then ashamed that pride had taken so long.<\/p>\n

Some bridges rebuild one board at a time.<\/p>\n

Others remain closed because safety matters more than nostalgia.<\/p>\n

Ours became something in between: cautious, inspected, still standing.<\/p>\n

Every Fourth of July now, we meet at a public park instead of my mother\u2019s backyard. There is no wrestling mat. Derek grills because he is genuinely good at it. Mallory brings salads she pretends she did not buy from a deli.<\/p>\n

My mother sits beneath a canopy and tells Emma stories about my father, an aircraft mechanic who taught me that quiet service mattered long before I twisted that lesson into self-erasure.<\/p>\n

This year, as fireworks started beyond the trees, Caleb stood beside me with his hands in his pockets.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you ever wish Silas had not said anything?\u201d<\/p>\n

I considered the question.<\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes I wish I had said it first.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou say things now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am learning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fireworks opened red and gold above the park. Families cheered. Children covered their ears and laughed. Derek called from the grill that burgers were ready, then looked at me and added, carefully, \u201cWhen you are ready, Colonel.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not as a joke.<\/p>\n

Not as a challenge.<\/p>\n

As respect.<\/p>\n

I walked toward the picnic table with my children beside me and understood that the six seconds everyone remembered were not the moment I defeated Derek. They were the moment my children saw me stop agreeing to disappear.<\/p>\n

That was the victory worth keeping.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My Brother-In-Law Pu\/shed My Thirteen-Year-Old Son Onto The Backyard Mat And Humiliated Me In Front Of The Family While My Husband Chose To Stay Silent. Six Seconds Later, He Was … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":16849,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[14,13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18219","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-family","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18219","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=18219"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18219\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18220,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18219\/revisions\/18220"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/16849"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=18219"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=18219"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/readingmydairy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=18219"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}