musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

Sugar-coated hostility


Do you ever get upset -or swear? I do, although probably much less than when I was in my prime. But what do you do if somebody does or says something on purpose that is intended to upset you? Swearing is less acceptable from an octogenarian than from a 20ies-somebody. For one thing, I would be less able to defend myself if my expletive were directed at a more able-bodied younger person; for another, I seldom get very angry nowadays because more of my neurons are now depending on detours rather than an efficient A to B connection; in fact, I think some of them get lost and quickly forget the destination to which they were initially directed. No, with Age comes Wisdom which sometimes misses the bus. At any rate, Time has engineered other mechanisms with which to riposte for a senior -if done politely.

Walking away is an obvious strategy for an intended fauxpology (a social media phrase I kind of liked) of course, but in an elevator, or a date (actually I’ve forgotten what that is, so ignore the stratagem) -so maybe a supermarket lineup with the person ahead of you talking on their phone and purposely ignoring the fact that the line has moved; I mean then I couldn’t move away without losing my place, and the inconsiderate lunkhead in front of me being awarded an undeserved dollop of Schadenfreude -if they turn around. 

Sugar-coated hostility is a safer fall-back plan that avoids obscene gestures, or annoying teeth-grinding -okay, it’s passive aggressiveness if you want to use the CBT label. But whatever name you use, it kind of dims the aggression you feel without inducing undimmed aggression in the other person… hopefully. Well at the very least it tones it down; it’s anger-lite with little or no likelihood of physical reprisal; I hate painful confrontation…

Anyway, it conveys the same message: I’m upset with something you’ve done or said, but I don’t want you to retaliate by excusing yourself with a white lie -sorry: verbalize a completely unbelievable excuse for your abysmal manners. I mean I want you to know that I know, but am disguising it because I am a good and thoughtful person who prefers to seem non-committal -well, ambiguous– about your inconsiderate and tactless behaviour. And, of course, since I’ve outmaneuvered you, there’s nothing about my conduct for you to rebut: no accusations, no piercing stare, no furrowed brow. You can’t challenge me or my reaction, because I haven’t -reacted, I mean. So I win…?

Some might say that it is better to allow both sides of a disagreement to express their feelings openly though; admitting where you both really stand on the matter at hand is a more helpful catharsis: a better laxative. Neither side wins, but neither side loses either; we’ve both purged ourselves of unwanted feelings -hopefully without alienating each other or coming to blows.

Now that I’ve thought about it, however, I’m not sure where I stand anymore. I mean, should I just ignore a trespass, pretend I’m not really upset and therefore risk it being repeated? Or, should I behave as Oscar Wilde once suggested: ‘always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much’? Well, maybe, but still there are times when I feel I should be brave: let the perpetrator know to their face that I’m really upset and kick them -or whatever the average octogenarian has left in their diminishing repertoire.

Of course, passive aggressiveness is very useful at muddying the water and allowing me, the aggrievant, to confuse myself sufficiently to feel philanthropic and relegate you, the aggriever, to the uncertainty of an eleemosynar (look it up; I’m the aggrievant after all, eh?). But I fear that is just jockeying around the central problem: whether or not anger -deserved or not- is ever justified; whether or not it should be simply disguised under a mask, which both sides realize is just a pretence.

Still, having tucked more than 80 years under my belt, I find myself drawn to non-verbal, non-hypermobile responses whenever possible: I’m a believer in using what my mother taught me about manipulation: engendering guilt; wordless accusations; the look, which promised a withholding of dessert if I didn’t eat the wilted spinach on my plate. Although the effectiveness of her threat was largely eye-driven, subtle changes in the position of her lips, or the sudden appearance of brow wrinkles were her unpaid apostles. If memory serves, though, she was probably in her early forties when she aimed at me, and had better control of her facial and threatening hand-signals than my additional forty years would ever allow. And besides, in those days, once she’d dropped the gauntlet, I knew to go and tidy up my bedroom.

To be sure I can’t ever hope to emulate my mother in such things: I admit that my permanent set of wrinkles sometimes obtunds my clarity, and confuses the perpetrator into worrying about whether my pained expression justifies calling an ambulance. But that’s okay: I think it makes them reflect on their own mortality, and worry whether they have altered mine…

Also, I should mention a silent dark-ops weapon I only use when I feel my advanced age is not being taken taken into account: I have a particular smile that makes the aggriever wonder if my teeth are really my own, and confuses them as to how best to consider the all too expected reassurances that might accompany my passive aggressive denials of a need for their apology.

There is also a tactic about which I have heard, but have never myself tried: if someone pseudo-apologizes for doing something wrong, or pretends they didn’t think it would upset me, I should simply confront them with their deceit and quote Hamlet: ‘One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.’ Or, even better, look the aggreiver in the eye and say, slowly and with a curled lip: ‘O, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!’ Hearing that, I would expect that they would roll their eyes sarcastically and, pretending erudite literary knowledge, accuse me of using Shakespeare as if I really knew the context. At which point I would smile, over-furrow my brow, shake my head and say “Actually, it was written by Sir Walter Scott…”

Some oppressors can easily turn into victims, I think: ‘At this hour lie at my mercy all mine enemies.’ Of course I wouldn’t say that, because my opponent would likely not have read Shakespeare’s The Tempest, either…

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gozzter

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