Loved ones

The older I become, the clearer I see where I come from. That isn't always a good thing, but it's not bad either as long as I remember that in the end I am still responsible for who I am.

The people in my family seem to believe that being passive aggressive is the same as being compliant, or agreeable. That's only half of it. The other half is what makes it so destructive. The sneakily aggressive part. There is nothing noble about suffering in silence, especially if you use that silence to get even.

Most of us are seething pots of anger and frustration. Even when we hide that anger under smiles, it is simply underground and eventually it explodes into terrible out bursts that might have been avoided in less passive aggressive families. Cups, chairs, even dogs, are thrown in moments of madness the world would be shocked to see.

And last, but not least, is our need to exaggerate and blow things out of proportion. When the doctor told my brother to walk more, he walked seven miles out to the farm and back -- but then he didn't walk again for months. If someone is told not to do something, they don't do it beyond ridiculousness. We know better, but it's part of our passive aggressive personalities even when we are the one who suffers.

I recognized some of this before I even had children, but it is hard to break old habits and what you are raised with is as old as they come. I've spent a life time trying not to be like those I love.