Many people, specifically my children, do not know the difference between being aggressive and being passive aggressive. So, I am here to educate the masses, but primarily them. You’re welcome. I will start with the definition of both aggressive and passive aggressive. Then, I’ll provide some examples to clarify. Or, some actionable suggestions. However you want to take it.
According to the dictionary, aggressive means ready or likely to attack or confront; characterized by or resulting from aggression.
To put it in simpler terms, I describe it as not putting up with one second of anyone’s bullshit. There is a difference, in my eyes, in being aggressive in response to a trigger versus for little to no reason. Such as the aggression causing syndrome, Little Man Syndrome. This is not a dig against anyone’s height or stature. I am talking only about Chihuahua’s and my ex-husband.
Passive Aggressive Behaviors
Again, according to the dictionary, passive aggressive means having the personality or characteristics of indirect resisting in response to the demands of others and an avoidance of direct confrontation.
In summary, Aggressive = bitch and Passive Aggressive = Little Bitch
Examples of both
One good example is when you do something extremely helpful for someone unappreciative and they don’t say thank you or show any sort of gratitude. The aggressive way to handle this is to punch them in the face or push them down while yelling, “Get some manners, Dillrod!”
The passive aggressive way to handle this is to whisper or speak very softly and say, “You’re welcome.” Even though they didn’t say thank you.
2. Another example is one my boss shows me constantly. He will get an e-mail with a request he considers to be beneath him. He will respond passive aggressively by typing, “This ain’t Christmas and I ain’t Santa Claus.” He also says this directly to people and via text.
The aggressive way to handle this same scenario would be to e-mail a violent threat over in response.
Please note: e-mails and text messages are admissible in court and as evidence.
3. Being from Georgia, a commonly used passive aggressive statement is saying, “Bless your heart.”
The aggressive version is saying, “F**k you.”
So, obviously, there are benefits to both. Pick which one you use wisely. There are also downsides to both.
I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease at the age of 22. What started out as just weight, bowel, and digestive issues have now progressed to include joint pain and little to no immune system. I catch every bug my six kids bring around me. I worry constantly that the next virus will be my last one. But, I still have stuff to do here before I go home. I have spent countless hours of my life trying to boost my immune system.
I have employed every method known to man to rev my immune system up. I have spent hours of my life hoping and praying I couldone day function like other people seem to do.
I know I am not alone in this battle, so I am noting things that finally seemed to help me. If I listed the items that were worthless and did nothing but take my money, then you would be here for days reading this.
Vitamin C is no joke
I noticed an improvement within eight weeks once I started taking Vitamin C on a daily basis. Especially, through last winter. At my sisters surgeon, I started taking the 500 mg supplement one can purchase at the drugstore. I definitely could tell a difference.
It is always more beneficial if you are able to absorb your vitamins and nutrition through your diet. But as I work 60 hours a week, and have several kids who eat almost only chicken nuggets, it is easier said than done. So, don’t feel guilty about supplements. Anything is better than nothing, said someone once.
Sunlight makes you look and feel good
Most have heard of the sun’s benefits to both physical and mental health, but a lot aren’t aware that, back in the 1800s and since, many hospitals and physicians recommended fresh air and sunshine for almost everything. Of course, they also prescribed slug treatment, cocaine, and heroin, so maybe this wasn’t the best point to go with.
Regardless, every time I get sick, I will go sit outside for at least 30 minutes per day in the fresh air and sunlight. I can almost feel my body soaking up the vitamins and giving my immune system a boost.
Exercise is terrible but it does work
Exercise is the bane of my existence. I hate it. People that run for fun, especially early in the morning, apparently have never, ever had fun in their entire life. Don’t get angry with me, I do realize that it is some sort of addiction or mental illness. So, I generally keep my mouth shut.
Hatred of physical exertion aside, I am still aware that it’s healthy for you. So in desperation, I do try to combine exercising and housework. I love to multitask! especially when I’m doing two activities I hate.
As much as I hate both of them, these sadistic rituals are good for my immune system. I always feel better after I exercise. And I have felt good the few times I have seen my house totally clean.
Diets do not have to be torture
It is true. Everything we have been told growing up by the FDA, seems to be the truth. I still am confused as to how people are able to an entire food pyramid in one day. I feel amazing if I can do it in a week or two. So, I do count my intake on a weekly basis.
Vegetables, fruits, and chicken soup are essential, especially when you are struggling physically. I also swear by chicken pho. I eat it every time I feel bad. It always helps. I almost feel like it would heal a broken bone, but I will not test that theory out.
Elderberry is the fruit we never knew we needed
I am still skeptical, but the elderberry came to my attention in 2018. That year was a particularly rough flu season and I just knew it was a matter of time before I caught it.
I ordered these supplements online and began taking them daily. I started with the syrup and then I progressed to the more advanced gummy version. I have not gotten the flu since then. I know that’s not a terribly long time, but I accredit this to the power of the elderberry.
Water tastes like nothing
I have spent half of my life hating water and avoiding it. It tastes like nothing and one sip will have you urinating 49 times in a row. I would rather be dehydrated than urinate myself to death. but I’m not 12 anymore, so I realized it was time for me to grow up and enjoy the taste of cool tasteless fluid. Can you tell that I will do anything to boost my immune system?
Taste aside, I admit nothing makes me feel better faster than being hydrated. It makes a huge and immediate difference in the way I feel. I believe it also powers up our immune systems. It literally is the magic cure for everything.
Whether you are sickly or just wanting to power up your immune system, I hope these tips are as effective for you as they have been for me.
I pray that anyone reading this, and everyone else also, is blessed with good health as we head into another season of doubt and uncertainty.
Being a vibrant, head-turning woman is almost a memory for me. I have since faded, turning by shades into a middle aged woman with affinities for animals and gardening. The smaller my beauty becomes, the larger my mouth and personality gets. With something lost, something is gained elsewhere I suppose.
I envision myself at 80 and the images my mind creates are all vastly different from the next, causing my emotions to fluctuate between fear, sadness, pride, and contentment. In one vision, I am eighty with pink hair. I yell at whomever I decide deserves it and take no shit from anyone. I hang out with my other old friends all the time and am spoiled by my children and grandchildren.
Another vision of 80 me is quite different. I am sitting in a one bedroom apartment that is subsidized. I have almost no food, no visitors, and nineteen cats. Every day is the same as the one before. I am just waiting to die.
I don’t know what steps to take to get to the vision I want to live out, but I’m going to start with continuing to live f&*k-free. I will act silly, laugh when I want to, and continue not to conform to other’s ways of living. I am original, as we all are, and have no desire to fit the mold.
This is my plan. At 65, I will go ahead and get those really cool glasses holders that dangle and start dressing like Stevie Nicks. But a redneck version, obviously. I will be way too cool to ever join the Red Hat society. I will start my own spinoff called the Turquoise Sombrero Society.
At 75, I will start dying my hair red or purple. I will fight every instinct in my body to go get a curling set at the beauty salon on a weekly basis. Maybe then I will set the stage for the cool old me to come out. haphazard as it may be, at least I have a plan of action.
I am trying to focus on the present instead of longing for the past. With age, I have developed into the person I have always wanted to be. I hope that eventually I have grandchildren and I hope I get to see my children walk down the aisle or across the stage of their choosing. Unfortunately, some family and friends that I thought cared have proven otherwise. I am learning to let go of the bad to make room for better to find it’s way into my life.
One thing I do know is that life is short and I intend to savor the rest of mine.
People ask me what my goal is. They ask what would be the most perfect scenario I could envision for my life. That is too easy.
I have fought for my entire life. I fought for attention, for peace, for health, for my children. I fought for my husbands, and I fought for others. I fought for a true friend, for beauty, and for respect.
I fought to eat, to survive, and to live. I fought to matter, for someone to be proud of, for family, for support. I fought to be heard, seen, and known. I fought to not be my family’s past. I fought for my own future. I fought family and I fought friends. I fought love given and I fought love received.
So, what I want now and what I have wanted for a long time is only peace. Quiet and tranquil peace. At least for a while. I want to stop fighting for a moment.
I’ve never been to war, but I go to war every day.
My lady bits eerily resembled a cantaloupe with a Hitler mustache. It was definitely not what I was envisioning when I made the appointment at a local spa to have a full Brazilian bikini wax done.
I was young and newly married. Our oldest daughter was but three or four years old. Our relationship had taken a backseat to my complete and total addiction to my daughter. I felt like an amazing mother, but not a sexual being. I laugh now, because I was no older than twenty-five back then. They aren’t lying when they say youth is wasted on the young. I don’t know who “they” are, but they’re right.
So, I was feeling unattractive with my flat stomach and beautiful skin. I can tell you that 40-year-old me really hates that bitch. Anyway, I made an appointment to go get a Brazilian wax. I thought maybe if I was as smooth as a glass ball, I would stimulate some activity in the bedroom or some desire anyway.
I made an appointment with a local salon that was locally renowned for its excellence which was also reflected in the prices.
I showed up for my appointment appropriately dressed, groomed, and medicated as per my phone instructions. Please note what I’m saying here. I did what I was supposed to do.
My waxing specialist exited. She looked to be no more than 16, but said she was 19. That did not inspire me with confidence in her experience level. But being raised with manners in the south, I overlooked the lack of experience and decided to have faith in her abilities. The first lesson I learned was to always listen to that little warning bell in my head.
In my birthday suit basically, I was maneuvered into the most awkward positions available to the imagination. All the while trying to maintain small talk while someone ripped the hair off of my privates. With wax that was not hot enough. I mentioned a few times that the wax did not seem to be warm, but she seemed to be unconcerned.
When I tell you that I was in agony, I am not exaggerating. This little sadistic heifer used cold wax on my taint. I would’ve stood most of it, but when she got to the little man in the boat, aka my clitoris, I jumped up off the table like my life was at stake.
Still clinging to my manners, I said, “You’ve done a great job, but I think I’m good now. We will just leave that there.”
I high tailed it out of there and went home to sit on a bag of ice. Three days later, my vagina still looked like a cantaloupe with a Hitler mustache. I never had this procedure done again. I was very proud of myself for not yelling out Kelly Clarkson’s name during the painful parts.
Moral of the story is, don’t do a Brazilian. Or if you do, just do it yourself. With a hedge trimmer. Or a flamethrower.