Have I ever said, “Oh me” and felt sorry for myself? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. We have all leveraged our sense of self-esteem against how much suffering we can endure. We have all misinterpreted our hurts as purely inflicted by others and seen ourselves as blameless. At some point though, most of us snap out of it, take responsibility for our part and make better decisions next time.
To have the pathology of a martyr though is to live, every day, in the morass of denial that precludes you from being able to see the part you play in the hurts or difficulties that manifest in your life. To live the life of a martyr is to live in perpetual consternation at the state of your life. To live the life of a martyr is to get up every morning and strap on your blinders so that you cannot see the overwhelming amount of choices that surround you. To live the life of a martyr is to deny that alternatives exist and be convinced that you are helpless in the hands of fate.
In a relationship when someone is the martyr it is interpreted by both sides as an expression of love:
“You must really love him to put up with so much.”
“I know she loves me because she keeps coming back.”
“He really cares about me because he never complains.”
It’s not love. It’s sickness.
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