We’re nearing that season — you know the one. The sniffles start, cough drops appear in every bag and pocket, tissues are tucked in coat sleeves like contraband, and someone is inevitably knocked down by whatever bug is making the rounds. Cold and flu season has a way of humbling all of us.

Ever wonder where the saying “man flu” or “man cold” comes from?

I ask this because I’ll willfully admit — I am the epitome of what so many wives complain about when it comes to their husbands being sick.

There was a time when I would sit quietly, listening as women around me all chanted in unison about the drama of having a sick man at home. I would smirk, nod and maybe even roll my eyes, as if I totally got what they were saying.

Now, though — just like naps — I am no longer pretending. I am loud and proud in admitting it: yes, I am a baby when I’m sick. But that’s because…I’m sick.

Case in point, as I type this, I’m wrapped up in my favorite gray plaid blanket, TV technically “on” but not tuned to anything, laptop balanced on my lap while I confess to you that I’m living, breathing proof of the stereotype.

And kind of offended by the exclusion of my gender.

My body is down, my mood is fragile, and I am utterly derailed by whatever overzealous bug decided to crash my life this week.

Yet, those that get the badge of pride are the ones who push through. And maybe you’ve been there too — sending kids off to school sick, dragging yourself to work sick, running errands sick.

You tell yourself you’re being tough or responsible, but let’s think for a minute about the repercussions.

Because what happens when you push through? You don’t heal as fast. Your body, already working overtime, gets stretched thinner and thinner. And then — like clockwork — you share the gift no one asked for.

Suddenly, unsuspecting people like me are curled up in bed too, with the same crud, paying the price for someone else’s “grit.”

I get it. As much as I’m complaining, I’m also that person who firmly believes activity can help fight off illness.

I don’t know if the “sweat it out” method is medically sound, but I try it anyway.

A walk, a little yoga, a ride on my stationary bike, maybe some movement to convince myself my body is stronger than the virus.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

What I know for sure is this — I hate being sick. It makes me bitter. It makes me sad. It makes me feel like a total baby. My whole rhythm — my game plan, my forward momentum — gets hijacked by a microscopic invader, and suddenly I’m sidelined, sulking with tissues and tea.

And honestly, I wonder if the editor will even publish this or just tell me what this really is — a vent session disguised as an article.

So maybe “man flu” isn’t about men at all. Maybe it’s about the universal truth that sickness humbles us.

It strips away our routines, exposes how fragile we are, and forces us to admit — sometimes out loud — that we’re not invincible. And if admitting that makes me a baby, well… hand me another blanket, because I’ll wear that badge with pride.

And maybe, just maybe, the next time you feel knocked down — whether it’s by a bug, a bad day or life’s chaos — you’ll let yourself be a baby for a minute, too. Wrap up in the blanket. Call it what it is. And don’t apologize for needing the pause.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.