The Wayward Journey Of An Aspiring Martyr

I was once an aspiring martyr. I’d pride myself on how often, or how deeply, I’d suffer when doing too much for someone else. I would brag about how I’d show up for people, even when my own life was falling apart around me. In a distorted messed-up way, I thought this was evidence that I was an outstanding friend, worthy of love and appreciation.

In hindsight, I was delusional and in large part to blame for the decades spent in one-sided and/or abusive relationships and friendships. I allowed those around me to take advantage of my hopes of becoming a martyr. Instead of recognizing my poor functioning boundaries, I chastise myself for “acting selfish,” a heinous characteristic to be snuffed out as soon as possible, through more acts of service. Dramatic, perhaps. But also congruent with how I felt about myself.

The belief that we create value and meaning in our lives through service isn’t wrong, per se. But there’s a caveat that’s often forgotten. Service to others is not instead of service to self. Though the analogy is used to death, it’s apropos here.

“In the event of an emergency, please put on your oxygen mask before assisting others.”

In the early days of high school, I met a girl from the middle school on the other side of town. She was fun, creative, and new. Growing up in a small town, it was refreshing to meet someone I didn’t know through elementary school. It was a clean-slate situation – an opportunity to get a friendship “right,” without any history to muddle it up. We became very close, and I believed we held a mutual admiration for one another. In time, I learned otherwise.

Little by little, the drama in her life began to increase. It seemed like an ever-flowing fountain of issues. Believing we were in a healthy relationship, I saw it as a phase. We all go through struggles, and I’d be there for her through it all. After all, she’d do the same for me, right?

Time marched on. Week after week, my fatigue increased as I took on the role of martyr. That is until her needs overwhelmed me. In the process of trying to help her, I suffered an emotional breakdown.

Unable to cope with her deteriorating mental health by myself, I called her family. Already aware of her self-harm and eating disorder, they showered me with gratitude, praising me for being “such a good friend.” And it’s true. I was a good friend! Too good a friend. The relationship had become (or had always been, unbeknownst to myself) co-dependent. 

After that, we couldn’t repair what had been undone. Her family begged me to remain her steadfast friend through recovery, but I was broken and exhausted. Feeling like a failure, I chastised myself for years. I wasn’t strong enough to fix her. We never spoke after that. 

It could have been a great learning opportunity – a chance to recognize that I couldn’t “save” anyone. Instead, I continued to remain in relationships that went sideways. “This,” I’d tell myself, “Is what friends do.”

Relationship after relationship would chew me up and spit me out. A sick sort of self-loathing came from their unraveling, and my sense of innate value crumbled under their weight. I was blind to both my arrogance (to think I could heal or “fix” anyone) and my self-destructive behavior (to seek out people who were sinking). My hopes of becoming a martyr were slipping out of my control.

Growing up, my parents emphasized generosity and compassion. They rightfully admired people like Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Teresa, and Gandhi. My mistake was seeing compassion and generosity as synonyms for giving everything away. I ignored their request to put my mask on first.

Here’s the thing. When we walk through life, without examining the underlying root of why we do what we do, or why we repeat our mistakes over and over, we become a broken record (karmically speaking). We encounter the same kinds of aggravating people, experience the same sorts of heartache, and get confused by the same types of experiences, without ever understanding why. More often than not, it’s our own dang fault.

As an aspiring martyr, I believed that my self-worth was equal to what I was willing to sacrifice. There was no end to what I “should” do. Sacrificing my life, my home, or my family, for the well-being of someone else, was “admirable.” Doing less than that meant I was, well, less than. 

For a long time, I believed I was a horrible sister. How could I live with myself if I wasn’t going to clothe, house, and feed my younger brother? He’s struggled with his mental health ever since our mom passed away and I’ve been the only family member he’s consistently-ish in touch with. In the early years after our mom passed, living my own life felt like an affront to his struggles. Anything short of becoming his primary caregiver was contemptible. How could I be so selfish?

Years later, I realized how unreasonable it was to expect that of myself. Still, I’ll experience waves of this same guilt wash over me to this day. I’m still learning how to let it pass. Not because I don’t love him, or care about him, or worry for his safety. But because I can’t fix him. All I can do is love him.

It’s still early in my martyr recovery process. More often than not, it feels like more work than it’s worth. But little by little, I’m building up my tolerance for discomfort. I’m becoming more immune to the fear of disappointing people. I cringe less when I say “no” to people who aren’t used to hearing it from me. And my resolve to speak up when people step over my boundaries strengthens every day.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m incredibly grateful for the martyrs like Mohandas Gandhi’s, Mother Teresa, and Martin Luther King Jr. It’s just not the life for me. And I’m beginning to be okay with that.

Recovery of any kind is a long process. I expect I’ll get caught up in unhealthy relationships from time to time, but maybe to a lesser degree. I won’t take every opportunity to articulate my needs, but it will happen more often. Shoddy boundaries take time to reinforce. But entertaining the option to choose me first feels like a good place to start.

I’m donning my oxygen mask first, folks. You should do the same.

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Before you go, I just wanted to say thanks for reading. If you’re passionate about living a meaningful life that you can appreciate right now, you might like some of the other things I’ve written about.

I write here, but I also write over on Medium with publications like Change Becomes You, Illuminations, Be You, and The Writing Cooperative.

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Thanks so much for your support! ~ Anon

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