Don’t feel guilty for your sharp edges. We are meant to live like hedgehogs.

The other day, a friend said something that hit me — right in that space between guilt and waking up. She said, for girls like us who grew up trying to be good, getting our aggression back is how we start returning to ourselves

As East Asians, we were raised to always consider others first. If someone says something that hurts us, we’re expected to swallow it for the sake of harmony. Especially with elders — showing anger or talking back means you are “immature” or “ill-mannered.”

This is what they call being “well-behaved.”

Making others comfortable became a virtue.

Sacrificing yourself became a skill.

I lived in this quiet erasure of self for many years.

When relatives made mean comments, I smiled.

When friends crossed my boundaries, I forgave.

When my heart screamed, I silenced it.

But lately — maybe it’s age, maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe I’m finally starting to care about myself — I want to live a little happier. So when I hear those subtle jabs again, I’m learning to push back. I’m starting to arm myself with my own sharpness, like a hedgehog.

It began with a counter-remark, a boundary drawn, a calm “I don’t accept that.”

And god, it felt amazing.

Like lungs collapsing and then filling with air again.

Like reclaiming territory that was always mine.

Before, when someone spoke to me in a passive-aggressive way, I stayed silent. Later in bed, I replayed the scene over and over, imagining the comeback I should have said. The more I thought, the more furious I became. And the more awake. And the less I slept.

Until recently, when I responded on the spot to a tactless relative. The satisfaction rose from the bone.

Because your silence doesn’t earn respect — it invites further invasion.

Being “well-behaved” is a slow and deliberate self-murder.

From childhood, we were taught to be sensible, considerate, and to think of others. So we learned: to give away our favourite toys, to swallow our words, and to hide our true feelings behind a smile.

But no one ever tells us:

Being overly sensible is actually a form of slow suicide. It kills your needs, it kills your boundaries, it kills your individuality. Until one day, you suddenly realise — you seem to have ceased to exist.

Those who never lose their temper will never have their boundaries remembered. For there exists a cruel truth about human nature: how others treat you is precisely what you have taught them.

Each time you yield, they advance further; each time you remain unruffled, they grow accustomed to your lack of reaction. Those who never lose their temper are like gardens without walls — anyone can come in and trample them underfoot.

Human nature is such a delicate thing — when you make your first unconditional concession, the other party feels grateful; when you make your tenth concession, they take it for granted; when you refuse for the first time, they feel you’ve changed.

It’s like that person who always brings coffee for colleagues without ever charging, yet when they suddenly ask for payment one day, it makes them seem stingy. Or when you’ve long endured something, only to voice your dislike of a relative’s behaviour, others won’t see the relative as problematic, but instead think you’re being overly sensitive.

Many illnesses are brought on by enduring them.

The cost of prolonged acquiescence far exceeds your imagination. The concept of ‘invisible aggression’ I mentioned earlier is a psychological term describing how, when an individual suppresses genuine emotions over an extended period and dares not express dissatisfaction directly, these feelings do not vanish. Instead, they manifest through other channels — such as work procrastination, emotional withdrawal, covert sabotage, or passive resistance.

More alarmingly, long-term emotional suppression can ultimately take a toll on one’s physical health.

This is the lesson paid for with their health by countless “good souls”. Those swallowed emotions do not vanish into thin air; they transform into anxiety weighing heavily upon the chest, become sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, and ultimately manifest as upward-pointing arrows on medical reports.

But learning becomes assertive, not through uncontrolled outbursts, but through self-protection with boundaries.

When it comes to “assertiveness”, many associate it with losing control, anger, or causing harm. Yet true assertiveness is not about emotional breakdowns, but about establishing boundaries.

It means: having the courage to express genuine feelings, daring to refuse unreasonable demands, being bold enough to speak up for one’s rights, and accepting that one might disappoint others.

It is not a life-or-death struggle, but rather a clear and resolute act of self-preservation: calmly saying ‘no’ when others overstep boundaries; candidly expressing discomfort when it arises; and composedly explaining oneself when misunderstood.

One who possesses the capacity to unleash aggression moves with equal ease in offence and defence. Even when choosing not to act, they naturally command a formidable presence.

This is the essence of truly controllable power — like a dormant volcano, quiet yet never to be underestimated.

Practise expressing your true feelings in small matters, such as: if you don’t fancy pizza today, simply suggest trying a different restaurant; if you don’t wish to lend something, politely decline with a smile.

Start by replacing ‘you always’ with ‘I feel’, for example: ‘I feel disrespected’ carries far more weight than ‘you always pick on me’; ‘I need to finish this task first’ is more readily accepted than ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’; Be flexible on minor matters but stand firm on major ones — be accommodating about lunch choices, yet unyielding on matters of principle; Establish boundaries beforehand, just as one must know the rules before playing a game; Allow yourself to disappoint others — ‘I’m not a dollar bill; I can’t please everyone.’

Start practising saying “no” — “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that” — try saying it once, and you’ll find the world won’t come crashing down. In fact, people may even begin to respect you in a different way.

Of course, sometimes pride is wounded and relationships are fractured, but if truth can shatter a bond, then it was fragile to begin with.

Are relationships that shatter the moment one expresses their true thoughts really worth maintaining?

True kindness lies not in unquestioning compliance or flattery, but in sincere expression and steadfast conviction.

Once you learn to channel assertiveness appropriately, you will observe: those who once took advantage of your perceived vulnerability will temper their insolence; those who habitually overlooked you will begin to notice; those who habitually shifted troubles onto your shoulders will learn to resolve matters independently; and those who exploited your goodwill will start to rein in their behaviour.

Most significantly, you will grow to appreciate this new version of yourself — one who dares to speak their mind.

Rediscover yourself by embracing your assertiveness.

Aggression is not a blemish upon human nature, but the very wellspring of vitality. It is the most primal force of life, the instinct to defend oneself, the backbone of being human. When a sensible person begins to display aggression, it is not that they have turned bad, but that they have finally understood: your kindness must possess a certain edge, lest it become a licence for malice.

Think of the last moment you regretted staying silent.

If you could do it again, what would you say?

Say it now. Even softly.

Starting tomorrow, when someone crosses your boundaries, speak.

You will discover:

Being the “bad one” feels unbelievably good.