#2 martyr compex

I’ve begun the process of putting into words the tightly tangled mess of thoughts and emotions that I’ve been painstakingly unknotting over the last few years. A loose end of the thread surfaced as I began to actually feel the emotions that had been brewing beneath my busyness.  Tugging at that thread, I slowly admitted to myself that my internal world was primarily colored by bitterness, loneliness, pressure and fear. Have you ever gone in and out of your closet and never noticed it until one day you suddenly see it in all its cluttered, messy, disheveled truth? It felt like that. I began to unpack how I had truly been feeling, how I had been perceiving my circumstances and how those beliefs led to actions that landed me in a state that was less than where I wanted to be.

Why was I always heavy? Why did I always feel like I had to carry the problems of the world? Why was I always in hard situations, but always seemed to miss out on moments of fun or connection? 

One day, I was wrestling with frustration at myself for once again, in an effort to help, assuming an internal sense of responsibility over a situation I couldn’t control. Someone needed me and I was all in, ready to do whatever it took to fix the problem, only to feel that familiar seesaw of obligation and resentment teetering in the back of my mind. Even having awareness of that happening was a testament to my growth. So, I asked myself all of those questions and I heard myself think, “I feel like I believe that I’m better off dead.” 

Now, at that moment, I didn’t mean that I should literally die. I was trying to put into words that feeling that my place is to suffer for others. That how I offer value, how I earn my right to exist, is by carrying the weight of all that’s wrong in the world. “Other people can pursue happiness and connection, and that’s great for them. But I have to stay here and hold all of this together.” I wasn’t meaning literal death, so it first felt a bit….melodramatic. But that word helped me see what mindset I was operating from - a martyr complex. According to WebMD,

“A martyr complex is a recognized psychological pattern. It’s marked by self-sacrifice and service to others at your own expense.” 

When operating with a martyr complex, we believe that we are at our most valuable when we are “dead.” Spent. Suffering. We deny our own needs, feeling unable or unwilling to have needs of our own, yet we feel compelled to absorb the needs and burdens of everyone else. We long for connection and acceptance but have come to believe that that will never happen for us. So we latch onto the next best thing - admiration. If we can be good enough, noble enough, or strong enough, then maybe people will admire us. We’ll earn a gold star and a stamp of approval and respect from those around us. 

As social service providers, who live a life defined by service and walking alongside others in their journey to healing and wholeness, we can unknowingly make this mindset our home.

Does this sound familiar? You serve from a place of depletion. Depletion means you’re doing it right. The more pain, the better. The harder, the purer. The more it costs you, the more you must be contributing to the greater good. And the greater return you’re likely to make on your investment into your self-worth. You are willing to live in utter demolition in order to create the beautiful, thriving, whole world you long to see. It’s worth it. 

It sounds noble, doesn’t it? But something about that math doesn’t add up. As Billy Preston wisely once sang, “Nothing from nothing leaves nothing.” Something about that way of thinking doesn’t produce real joy. Deep down, we feel it. And unfortunately, not so deep down, it usually shows.

It begs the question - can we build a world full of joy, peace, safety and connection if we have made our home in strife, stress, risk and isolation? Are we showing our clients a new, more healthy way to live when we are also caught in a cycle of an abusive belief system? A system that says our only worth stems from what we can do for it and that our suffering is of no consequence as long as it’s for the “greater good”?

 Can us living in perpetual angst truly be for the greater good? Are we contributing to the betterment of the world when our own worlds are sour and gray? 

I would argue no, we aren’t. We are desperately attempting to contribute to our self-worth and our acceptance. At least, I was. Think this might be you, too? Begin to ask yourself: what would happen if you stopped trying so hard? What would happen if you didn’t step in and save the day? If you were happy, full, rested and doing something you loved just for the sake of it, what would that mean about your value? What do you believe it would say about who you are?

At my lowest, I began to ask myself these questions. And it turned my world upside down.

What if I believed that I was loved and accepted without being the superhero who can take a hit and save the world? What if my life was good and it felt good? What if I felt free to be happy, creative and surrounded by love? What could I bring to the world then?

To begin to imagine this, take a big left turn with me. Let’s look at how professional athletes operate. When are they their most valuable? When do they contribute the most to their team and fans? When they are resourced, rested, supported and trained. They have dietitians, trainers and coaches, ice baths and special equipment. They eat, sleep, train and recover to perform at their best. They prove nothing by refusing the offered massage after practice. They aren’t contributing to the team by working instead of sleeping or by running laps without also taking time to recover. They make no apology for their needs because, in their system, their needs don’t make them weak. Instead, not having their needs met will leave them weak and at risk of not offering the value of which they are capable. Athletes perform unique, challenging and incredible feats not attainable for many. They leave it all out there on the field. What they do is hard, so they are diligent about doing all they can to ensure they are up to the task.

Like athletes, social service providers engage in incredibly challenging, specialized and important work. Yet unlike the sports legends, we don’t care for ourselves or resource our teams as though they are doing anything especially difficult. We expect wholehearted, all-out effort, at all times. We expect our cups to always be outpouring, but don’t have any established refill stations in our work places and routines. Instead, we try to prove that we can do the impossible. We can keep going when others give up. We can keep giving even when we’re dry. 

What is the difference between these two approaches to challenging jobs? The first is informed by a fundamental belief that suffering as a state of being is required to produce results. The latter endures short-term suffering only as an unavoidable gateway to greatness on the other side. The martyr complex apologizes for joy or fullness of life, minimizing needs and aggrandizing hardship. The athlete mindset centers around the moment when they can be their fullest, brightest, most powerful self. All those hard moments of discipline and discomfort are worth it when who they are in all their power is unleashed. 

Shifting to the professional athlete mentality takes effort and practice. We have to start by facing our fears. What are we afraid will happen when we let go of suffering as an identity? What will we have to face when we step down from our altar to truly engage with the people and situations in our lives? Will we be accepted for who we are, no noble acts of stoic struggle and angelic endurance necessary?

If we are willing to face our fears and take the leap into joy, what might then be available to us? What might life look like if we embraced our weakness and owned our needs? Would we maybe find support? Could we breathe? Really, freely breathe. Could we have capacity for love and presence? Would we actually believe that it’s ok to not be ok? 

If we explore this and do the messy, risky internal work of dismantling these damaging beliefs, the results might not produce drastic changes in our day-to-day activities. We may choose to stay in our job, show up for our families and be there for that friend. On the outside, it might look as if not much has changed. But internally, it’s a whole new world. With your worth and belonging no longer on the line, you are free to show up wholeheartedly, with passion, consistency and excellence. And you are also free to say no, to take time away, to rest, or to make a change. 

I know I was afraid that if I left the martyr complex behind that I would become selfish, that I would never do anything for anyone else again. I had that fear because, until that point, my motivation for service had been rooted in my need to be good to earn my place. If I didn’t need that, who would I be? There was only one way for me to find out. I took the leap.

I made time to consider what I was saying yes to. I noticed how I felt about things and gave myself permission to pursue peace, joy and connection. As I examined my motivations, I began to notice how often my thoughts turned to what someone would think of me. If my motivation for doing something was to be good, make other people happy with me or to be a hero, I would say no. And friends, I said no to a lot. I said your life might not change. But mine sure did. And it was scary. My identity was wrapped up in all that I had said and done while I was striving to prove myself. When I stopped trying to prove myself, I stopped doing all of those things. And for the first time since I was a little girl, I felt like I could breathe. I began to find that, when I did say yes, I really meant it. I was doing less, but was able to be more available, committed and present in the moments I chose to engage. I was able to care for people and show up for them without worrying what that says about me. I found that I didn’t care less. Quite the opposite. I am now free to truly care for the first time.

Perhaps you relate to this. Maybe you don’t and that’s ok. Either way, I hope that the social service profession can take a page out of the athlete’s playbook. We are at our most valuable when we are at our best, not when we are our most depleted. We will endure hard things. This work is hard because injustice is hard. That won’t change. But when we are fully alive, free from the pressure to belong or be enough, embracing all life has to offer and giving all we have to give to this beautiful world, our own cups will finally be full with all of the love, joy, peace and hope we’ve been faithfully pouring because Billy Preston was right, “you gotta have something…”

Ready to shift away from the martyr mindset and  resource yourself or your team like a professional athlete? Visit goodsustained.com/services to find support!