I don’t care how zen you think you are—someone kicking the back of your seat nonstop on a five-hour flight will test every nerve you’ve got. I was flying from Seattle to Charlotte for my cousin’s wedding. Already stressed ‘cause my dress didn’t fit right and my plus-one bailed last minute. So yeah, I was hoping the flight would at least be chill.

Nope.

The kicking started before we even took off. Just little thumps at first, like someone shifting around. I gave it a pass. But then it turned into this rhythmic tapping. Like clockwork. I glanced back, expecting a kid. Nope. It was a grown dude. Probably late 20s, hoodie up, AirPods in, completely zoned out.

I did the polite lean-back-and-smile move. Nothing. Then I tried the half-turn with a firm “Excuse me?” Still nothing. He just blinked like I interrupted his audiobook or whatever.

Flight attendant came by with drinks, so I casually mentioned it. She nodded like she’d handle it—but when she spoke to him, all he did was shrug and say, “Wasn’t me.” Like I didn’t know what the back of my own seat felt like.

It kept happening. And here’s the kicker (no pun intended)—the guy in the window seat next to him? Looked real uncomfortable. Kept side-eyeing him like he knew something but didn’t want to get involved.

About an hour before landing, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up, turned around fully, and said—louder than I meant to—“Can you seriously stop?”

That’s when window-seat guy suddenly blurted something out that made my stomach drop.

He said, “He’s having withdrawals.”

The whole row went quiet. Even the guy behind me, the kicker, looked up like he wasn’t expecting that to be said out loud.

I was confused. “Withdrawals from what?” I asked, my voice way softer now.

“Pills,” window-seat guy whispered. “He told me before we boarded. Said he lost his bag, and he’s trying to tough it out.”

Now, I’m not gonna lie—I felt a mix of emotions. First was guilt. Then a weird kind of fear. And then frustration again, because none of this explained why he had to kick my seat to cope.

Still, I sat down and stayed quiet for a bit. I’m not heartless. I get that addiction is real and messy and complicated. But dang, all I wanted was to get to Charlotte in one piece without my spine being used as a drum set.

A few minutes later, the same flight attendant walked by again. I pulled her aside and quietly told her what the guy next to the kicker had said. She nodded, eyes serious, and went to the back. A few minutes later, another flight attendant came and crouched down beside the guy. She spoke calmly, clearly trained for situations like this. He finally admitted he was detoxing and hadn’t slept in two days. Said he was on his way to stay with his sister in Concord, trying to clean up his life.

I sat there, staring at the seatback in front of me, unsure what to do with all of that.

Then something weird happened. He tapped my shoulder. Gently. I turned around, bracing for who-knows-what.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Quiet. Honest. “Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

And I believed him.

His name was Eron. Not Erin. Eron. He told me that when we landed, while we were all waiting to deplane. Said he’d been clean for three weeks, but losing his meds and being stuck in an airport all night had nearly broken him.

The window-seat guy, whose name was Vincent, helped him carry his bag off the plane. Eron shook my hand before he left and said, “Thanks for not losing it completely on me. I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

I don’t know what happened to him after that. But I think about him sometimes.

The truth is, we never really know what the person next to us is going through. I was wrapped up in my own stress—wedding stuff, heartbreak, whatever. But that guy? He was just trying to survive the day.

It doesn’t mean what he did was okay. But sometimes it helps to pause before reacting too hard. You never know when someone might just need a little patience instead of a meltdown.

I still flinch when someone taps my airplane seat. But now, I think twice before assuming they’re just being rude.

You never know.

If this made you think twice too, give it a like or share. We need more grace in the skies—and everywhere else.