Sometime after she turned three, my daughter started experimenting with various kinds of tantrums. When met with an obstacle — like a mother who didn’t want to let her run into the street, or a babysitter who made her leave a dead bird on the sidewalk where she found it, or a father who had the audacity to deliver a banana sliced exactly how she requested it (iykyk) — my daughter wouldn’t just scream and flail in the timeless tradition of toddler tantrums. Instead, sighing dramatically, and with all the weariness of a certain cartoon donkey renowned for his gloominess, she’d announce some version of the following: “Okay, I guess I’ll just never be happy again.” 

“With all the weariness of a certain cartoon donkey renowned for his gloominess, she’d announce some version of the following: ‘Okay, I guess I’ll just never be happy again.'”

While this was often such an outsized and unexpected reaction as to be almost funny, it soon began to trigger big feelings in me. I noticed this happening most in scenarios where I was either trying my best to juggle multiple things at once or going out of my way to do something special for her; harried and doing my best, I’d receive this provoking display of dramatic disappointment as a kind of judge’s score card announcing my failure. Since the relationship between a young child and her mother is a fairly straightforward contract of her expressing needs and me meeting them, this disappointment was worse than her rage or frustration — it felt like I’d let her down. And it stung, even if I knew intellectually that it was not the case.

I also noticed feeling a surge of frustration. This happened when I had done exactly what we’d planned, and all of her apparent needs were met. I’d finish setting up an elaborate craft she requested or pass over a plate of her favorite crackers and see her face fall. It was, at times, mystifying. I couldn’t tell what it was she wanted exactly, and she couldn’t tell me. Instead, she seemed only intent on letting me know that she wasn’t pleased, and it was my fault. 

“I’d receive this provoking display of dramatic disappointment as a kind of judge’s score card announcing my failure.”

I knew this was all normal, developmentally appropriate behavior, and, on my best days, I could meet my little Eeyore with patience and understanding. “You sound disappointed,” I might say. “It can be hard when we don’t get exactly what we want. That’s okay; you can be disappointed.” Other times…well.

“If you want something different, you’re going to have to say it,” I’ve said, stomping away. “I can’t read your mind.”

Even in the moment, I’d know that my toddler was not always sure either, and that getting into a big argument about it wasn’t going to do much but escalate both of us. And yet, this swarm of impatience and confusion would build up in my body, often accompanied by a very pointed inner critic reminding me of all the ways I didn’t really do the best job that day. Maybe I should have shown her a picture of the craft set up before spending all that time doing it, or asked her if she wanted to try a new cracker before just assuming she wanted the same ones. Maybe she’s right, and I really did let her down. Maybe my best isn’t remotely enough.

In those days, I was freelancing and had a flexible schedule that allowed me to juggle work with childcare. My husband (who is my favorite person and a deeply devoted father and partner) worked outside of the home at an office 15 minutes away. By the time he got home, I was often in a mild panic about the work deadlines I was still under, with dinner and bedtime looming. I’d try to put him instantly on the childcare clock, greeting him at the door with a list of concerns and complaints about the day. If he was anything less than buoyantly engaged, eagerly jumping in to entertain our child while cooking up dinner, my mood would plummet. Within minutes, I’d go from anxiously chatty to a stony silence. I’d march off to the kitchen where I’d slam around dishes and, fuming and resentful, start making dinner. 

“Within minutes, I’d go from anxiously chatty to a stony silence.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise to learn that this behavior did not elicit the buoyantly engaged, eager version of my partner I’d silently expected. Instead, he’d become frustrated and withdrawn, and we’d start working our way toward a post-bedtime, late-night argument that neither one of us wanted or had the energy for. 

“Just tell me what it is that you want,” he would often say. I felt like I shouldn’t have to ask him, that it should be fairly obvious what I was upset about, and even more obvious how to fix it. When I said this, he’d nearly howl with frustration. “That’s a game with no winner,” he’d say. “Those are rules no one can follow.” For some reason, I struggled with how to ask directly without feeling like I was inviting more conflict. Instead, I did my own grownup Eeyore impersonation, hoping to somehow evoke my unarticulated desires into being.

This is passive aggression, and it’s the worst — for everyone. 

What is passive aggression (and what’s a better way to communicate)?

Any online search about passive aggressive behavior turns up mountains of vitriol. Of course it does! Unlike overt aggression, passive aggression is sneaky, coming out in ways that aren’t always easy to identify, even if you can feel the negative impact from the interaction in your body. Because while there are lots of different ways to be passive aggressive, being on the receiving end of any type feels terrible. Whether it’s in the form of backhanded compliments, sarcasm, moodiness, evasive behavior, wistful comments, or the silent treatment, passive aggression is covert and indirect, making it difficult to know how best to respond. Directly addressing it usually doesn’t bring more clarity or information, as the person is likely to deny that anything is wrong, even as their tone and body language might indicate otherwise. 

“Whether it’s in the form of backhanded compliments, sarcasm, moodiness, evasive behavior, wistful comments, or the silent treatment, passive aggression is covert and indirect, making it difficult to know how best to respond.”

Despite how confusing and frustrating it is to experience passive aggressiveness, many of us exhibit this behavior ourselves in times when we might not feel comfortable or safe expressing ourselves directly. We might not believe that our needs are valued, or have even learned that our emotions or desires could invite conflict.

And sometimes we might be experiencing feelings before we can articulate what they are, and we don’t yet have good tools for what to do in those moments. So even though all the behaviors of passive aggressiveness can make me absolutely spike with anger and impatience, I also have compassion for all the reasons why we might act this way. 

The opposite of being passive aggressive is assertiveness — the ability to confidently and clearly state your own needs or desires. This is notably distinct from active aggression, which is not about advocating for yourself but about attacking someone else. 

“You’re always late, and you know I’m on deadline. I can’t believe I even have to ask for you to take over right now,” is aggressive behavior. 

“It’s fine, I’ll handle it. I’ll just drink coffee so I can stay up late to finish my work after doing everything else,” is passive aggression. 

“I am on a deadline. Can you take over dinner?” is assertive communication.

Sounds easy! 

Then…why do so many of us find it so hard? 

“If we grew up in places where our emotional needs weren’t met, we can develop coping mechanisms that might turn into passive aggression. “

If we grew up in places where our emotional needs weren’t met, we can develop coping mechanisms that might turn into passive aggression. We might learn to mask our desires and to take up as little space as possible if we learned that our needs are inconvenient or a burden. If our needs were met erratically, we might not trust that asking directly even works, and fear the pain of being openly rejected.

Or maybe we were raised to be helpful and caring about others at our own expense, that this is what it means to be a good person. It might feel aggressive to state what we want, even though it is okay to have needs, and it is okay to ask for them to be met. Maybe no one ever told us that, and asserting ourselves comes with feelings of guilt and discomfort. 

Without the tools or confidence to speak directly, our negative feelings come out in ways that neither help us achieve our desired outcomes nor clearly communicate what they are. And even worse? This habit, left unchecked, can cause a cycle of resentment and frustration between those on the receiving end of our passive aggression — usually our closest loved ones and family.

How to change a habit by teaching a new one

Whatever my own reasons, I did not like the patterns I was developing with my partner, and I really did not like the idea that my daughter might be learning any of this behavior herself. So as awkward and anxious as it made me feel to figure out how to assert myself without aggression (overtly or covertly!), I committed to giving it the ol’ college try. 

“I did not like the patterns I was developing with my partner, and I really did not like the idea that my daughter might be learning any of this behavior herself.”

Since I learn best by teaching, and I’m motivated by visibility, I knew that starting with my daughter was going to be the key to changing my habits. So one day, when she ignored my question about which cup she wanted and then gave me a big, hound-dog mope over getting the pink cup I chose instead of the blue cup she apparently really wanted, I was ready. 

“You seem bummed,” I asked. “What’s up?” After a series of leading questions (because toddler), we finally got it out. “I wanted the blue cup,” she said. “Ah,” I told her. “Okay, good to know. I wish you’d said so when I asked. Since we already have milk in the pink cup, how about we save the blue cup for dinner?”

(Reader, I should go ahead and temper your expectations: this did not produce cheery acquiescence. But I was playing the long game, so please stick with me.)

When this wasn’t a satisfactory suggestion, I told her that next time, I’ll ask her again, and she’ll remember to choose. “You can tell me what you want, and then I will know,” I told her. “If you don’t tell me until it’s too late, I can’t always fix it.” My daughter expressed negative feelings about this idea, and we went back and forth a bit. I didn’t want to change the cup right then, because I wanted to reward the future behavior of asking directly, and also I think it’s important for both of us to get more comfortable with her feeling disappointment from time to time. 

It took…awhile. And it took some games, and a lot of repetition and consistency. But now, almost age five, she knows that if she doesn’t say what she wants, Mom won’t magically provide it. She knows that I will let her feel disappointed, but also that I will meet her needs as often as I can. She can express her feelings safely with me, even the negative ones. “You’re allowed to be upset,” I often tell her. “You can’t be unkind with your words or unsafe with your body, but it’s okay to feel upset.” 

“Now, almost age five, she knows that if she doesn’t say what she wants, Mom won’t magically provide it.”

All of this I use on myself as well. When I feel my deeply ingrained passive aggressiveness coming out, I try to pause and have the same conversation with myself that I have with my daughter: “Okay lady, you seem bummed. What’s up?”

My personal passive aggressiveness tends to come out when I feel like the care and attention I give to my family isn’t being returned, especially in times of big stress. I am reluctant to point out that I need help because I’m already feeling rejected. But I also have learned that continuing down that road only builds resentment in my marriage. While I might feel like I’m avoiding conflict in the short term, I’m courting a much bigger conflict down the road. 

If I want my daughter to feel confident that her emotional needs are being met, then I have to support the growth of her own assertive communication by modeling it for her. So even as I am weathering an internal storm of self-doubt and fear and anxiety, I force myself to take a leap of faith that asking for what I need will be better than what I’ve been doing. Angrily doing dishes while saying “Nothing’s wrong! I’m fine!” feels terrible, and it doesn’t actually help me get my needs met.

“If I want my daughter to feel confident that her emotional needs are being met, then I have to support the growth of her own assertive communication by modeling it for her.”

I’m often reminding my daughter that being brave doesn’t mean feeling no fear; it means feeling fear, and doing something anyway. So that’s what I did: Heart pounding, I gathered up my resolve, and I told my partner I needed him to cook dinner. 

And everything went perfectly after that, and we never had conflict again! 😅

Not exactly! But it did feel good to be direct, and I know he appreciated this approach. Did he express joy or enthusiasm about getting a new task the minute he walked in the door? No. Did he cook dinner? Yes.

I call this progress, for both of us!

Things I’ve learned from practicing assertiveness:

It turns out that unlearning bad habits that are rooted in self-preservation takes a very long time. But here are some things that I’ve learned:

  1. Asserting my needs is infinitely more effective in getting them met than covertly expressing my disappointment about it. 

If I am upset that my spouse didn’t intuit ways to give me what I want around the house but I never actually expressed these desires, then it’s pretty petulant to throw a fit about it. Like the blue cup debacle with my daughter, the lesson here is simple: If I don’t ask for it, I can’t expect him to magically know. If I didn’t ask, I can’t throw a fit about it. 

  1. It gets easier to ask with practice. 

It still feels awkward for me to ask for help sometimes because I have internalized a desire to prove my value through high performance and constant achievement. It feels weirdly vulnerable to admit that I can’t do it all, and it can even feel hard to fully let go of a task without trying to manage and control every aspect of how it gets done (the catch-22 of over-stretched perfectionists everywhere!). If practice doesn’t exactly make perfect, it does make asking for what I want more familiar. And that makes it easier all around.

  1. Even if I don’t feel confident that my needs will be met, the practice of asserting them anyway raises the expectation that they deserve to be. 

This is the part that I think about when reflecting out how I’m modeling assertiveness to my daughter. Confidence is all about believing that you are worthy of respect, and not shying away from asking for it. In moments of deep insecurity, my inner critic is working hard to persuade me that asking for what I want is a burden; I have to resist. I have to choose to trust that my family and loved ones do not believe what my self-doubt whispers to me, and I have to do this by behaving with the confidence I want for both myself and my daughter. I am asserting not only the individual ask, but also that I am allowed to do so because I deserve care and respect. It’s a powerful choice that only I can make for myself, and while it doesn’t make my inner critic go away, it does make his voice less effective.

  1. Asking for what I want doesn’t mean I will get it, but it’s a disappointment that comes without resentment.

We all have needs and desires, and not all of these are reasonable or possible to meet. But asserting these things with honesty and clarity prevents the resentment that often accompanies passive aggression from building up inside us. If my needs aren’t met or I don’t get what I want, it’s usually because of circumstances, not disrespect. I am allowed to be upset or disappointed. But it’s a cleaner feeling, one that passes more easily. It isn’t muddled with all the insecurities and compounding bitterness that comes from keeping my true emotions to myself. 

  1. Stress does not bring out our best selves; a little grace goes a long way. 

I don’t want to be rejected, and my high hopes for enthusiasm are rarely met when I’m asking for help with chores as my spouse is on his way out the door. When I first started working on breaking the passive aggressive habit, I realized I was putting a lot of pressure on both of us to perform this communication perfectly. That’s just not fair. When we are both stressed, we’re going to look and sound it. “I need you to take over the dogs in the mornings on camp days” is an assertion that is just not going to inspire a cheerleader’s response from my spouse. If he nods and sighs, that’s okay! (Also.. maybe I didn’t actually need to add that “If they are fed or walked is not my business anymore during the weekdays…” Hey, habits are hard to break!)

Periods of high stress are not truth-telling moments about our character. We are muddling through, and we can let some of the little things slide. I’ve learned that this is actually an act of faith and trust in a much bigger way. ✨

If you struggle with passive aggressive behavior or you are often on the receiving end of it, first and foremost, try to find a little compassion. Assertiveness can feel aggressive to people used to making themselves small and convenient for others! So whether you are going to embark on a journey to build assertiveness in yourself or you want to try to make it easier for someone around you to do so, remember that it takes time, practice, and a lot of grace. 

“We are allowed to take up space and say what we want.”

We deserve to feel confident that stating our emotional needs is welcomed by our loved ones. We are allowed to take up space and say what we want. And if we have a hard day and fall into old habits out of fear that asserting our needs will make us a burden, we deserve to give ourselves love and forgiveness. We deserve to give ourselves permission to try again.

We all deserve every single chance it takes to get it right.

Stephanie H. Fallon is a Contributing Editor at The Good Trade. She is a writer originally from Houston, Texas. She has an MFA from the Jackson Center of Creative Writing at Hollins University. She lives with her family in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, where she writes about motherhood, artmaking, and work culture. You can find her on Instagram or learn more on her website.