Are CAREGIVERS the new martyrs? Bodhisattvas? Or will burn out win out? What decides it?
Finding a nurturing Path to Wholeness through Service
Martyr: n. One who witnesses, is mindful, remembers and cares; one who suffers or dies for their beliefs; one who assumes an attitude of self sacrifice to arouse pity, guilt in others; v. to cause another great pain, to persecute — Webster’s New World Dictionary, 3rd College Edition
I’ve carried along with me throughout my adult life, a fascination with saintliness. Mother Teresa, St. Francis of Assisi, Teresa of the Little Ways, and contemporary spiritual mentors such as the Dalai Lama who offer up their lives to the service of others in need have inspired or humbled me, pricked me to “do better,” be less “selfish,” and more courageous in my outreach.
The saintly ones who walk the earth epitomize the honor and radiance potential in the Martyr archetype, also known as the Bodhisattva — the compassionate, selfless servant. Today, as the boomer generation is sandwiched between caring for elderly parents and its own children, and as tens of thousands of hired hands step in, too, to meet the needs of aging, ill, handicapped or traumatized populations, the Caregiver proves to be a modern version of the Martyr.
On the other hand, today’s caregiver is the potential inheritor of a “martyr complex” as well — a rigid, self-sacrificial stance apt to result in psychological, emotional or physical harm and dis-ease to her or himself, and potentially to others.
At first glance, it can be hard to tell the hero from the misguided sacrificial lamb. My mother’s father, my Grandpa Leo was dubbed “a saint” for his longstanding caretaking of Grandma Bella though her severe asthmatic bouts. He never seemed to complain, indeed seemed playful and resilient. I also recall my father near the end of his own life, refer to my mother, who was also near the end of hers, as a saint-like “angel,” perhaps in part as a testament to her devoted care of him through his physical decline. So why, I wondered, in recalling these events, was there a woozy feeling in my gut?
Over time, sinking inward for answers, I discovered a potential for dire loss of self in those roles, loss of choice for self care, and of the power of true presence. I began to suspect that suffering follows most unsuspecting, unprepared caregivers who unconsciously adopt martyr stances out of concern or sympathy, guilt, sense of duty, misguided “selflessness” and other cherished or unexamined beliefs.
The unhealthy shadowy side of being a human saint, angel or martyr suggests runaway indulgence of one’s sense of responsibility for others without conscious regard for one’s own needs, and skills to include them. I’ve had many a wrestling match with learning how to take care of myself in the mix. With a highly sensitive nervous system registering subtle information 24/7, I’m naturally a psychic sponge to the world of hurt and need around me. I either bear witness to others’ needs and distinguish these from my own, and successfully negotiate the spending of my resources, or face potentially overwhelming over -stimulation, exhaustion, declining health. My sensitivity to others’ pain is a two edged faculty: either my gift, or my cross to bear. Can I attune to finding balance?
Since we live in a “dual universe,” over-indulgence in caring for others implies an opposite, a flip side, energetically. Under-indulgence suggests a dis-identification with caretaking roles, even a penchant for avoiding responsibility altogether. Practically speaking, this means that along with any strong inclination to tend to others — be they human, furry or planted in the earth, comes a potential to rebel. In persons who identify with being kind and conscientious, this desire to rebel is usually a disowned or unconscious tendency. And if that inner desire to run away from responsibility is repressed more than less, then we often attract into our caregiving drama somebody else to play out the slacker role: a sibling, a co-worker, a parent. Opposite sides of imbalance, trying to make a whole, a healing, a new, healthy way to relate to the task of providing care.
The road to balanced well being requires discernment. For most of us who care, who feel deeply and want to be of service, finding balance takes perseverance and ongoing attention. And the willingness to stumble and recover again and again, while learning, to practice
In my late forties, memories of early sexual invasions arose, along with birth trauma and other dark fare from my psyche’s hidden places. Stumbling through grief, rage and unworthy feelings, I also banged headfirst into my issues about giving and being given to. I associated giving with saintly perfection, validation and safety, perhaps even absolution for feeling ugly and tainted. Conversely, the receiving end dangled before me with unwanted strings attached, the threat of potential entrapment. Over a 30 year span, I developed an eating disorder and dissociative-borderline personality tendencies that spoiled intimacy, and trust. I had addictions to work, sweets, exercise and mental stimulation. I schemed and maneuvered to ever appear beyond reproach, while anticipating criticism at any turn, from anyone. Several suicidal contemplations accompanied serial romantic breakups, guilt and resentments, as I felt my dreams for Hollywoodish happy endings slip away. Thankfully, on the other hand, simultaneously, I was also studying metaphysics, exploring spirituality and discovering a full time career helping others heal from their own childhood sexual and abusive issues. My unconscious desire for selfless sainthood, to emerge whole — wholy — and my penchant for an imbalanced martyr complex were constant companions.
Healers who attended me were struck both by my great talent, and by my ‘high achieving’ proclivity, perfectionism, and self-conscious, critical self talk: I seldom felt good enough. The sheer stress of trying to be the best in everything, displeasing no one, and caretaking any being that mirrored my own need and hurt took a big toll on me. Reaching midlife, my fifties, my body began to rebel. A deep fatigue, depression and sense of exile came to visit. I call this passage my “menopausal initiation cauldron.” It would last ten years.
I became obsessed with understanding what was wrong with me, with my life. And hopeful that love — and vitality — would prevail.
At this juncture, both my parents became terminally ill: Mom with ALS, dementia, Alzheimer’s, Dad with cancer, eventually bed-ridden. My sense of duty and obligation to family loomed large, right alongside a history of emotional estrangement from my family. I had struggled in silent pain with my own overwhelming life issues for years, playing the pleasing, obedient daughter. My survival seemed torn between being available, even on call for my parents (which would mean a move out of state,) or focused on my own path of recovery. Both positions overshadowed my instinct to be just a loving daughter, and sister to Beth, my only sibling. When Bethie determined to assume responsibility for the medical and legal matters, I felt both relieved, and guilty. Throughout my parents’ final year, and for two or more years afterward, I watched my sister pendulum between martyr-caregiver and saint roles, and learning how to take care of herself in the process. I ruminated endlessly over what role was left to me, and how to best play it.
“Control issues” loomed big for me. Coming from a family with a long history of martyrdom on both sides, I dug into analysis: was it true that my mom “had no self,” no “ego,” and my dad had too much — a “narcissist?” Were both stances anxious, unconscious and also complimentary attempts to control a world threatening at any moment to go awry? Mom answered the phone throughout dad’s cancer bouts with an immediate, “Everything’s fine.” Dad and I intellectualized, avoiding showing emotion. It hurt and frustrated me to sense they were scared, too, beneath the protective stance, but the family taboo on admitting feelings of vulnerability or asking for help prevented that help from being available for us. We were such troopers: I even got a rare gum condition called “trench mouth!”
Change was beckoning. Vows of silence about revealing fear, or admitting that self support is needed in order to support others — remains a major issue for not only me, but most caregivers, most bodhisattvas in training. Perhaps on the path to sainthood we’ll learn that caring for self and other is a continuum: one nourishes the other.
In Doug Gillette and Dennis Moore’s book, King, Magician, Warrior and Lover, they develop the idea that each human archetype — such as Martyr, may be experienced ideally in its centered wholeness and “fullness,” or in its two polar “shadow” aspects. Their model is similar in ways to the Aware Ego Process! Shadowy martyrs, less mature, over or under identify with their role, while the mature role model stands center stage, completely present for serving others in need, with Self awareness and sacred sensibility intact. Fullness implies wholeness, caregiving choices made with conscious discernment. This is our Ideal. In contrast, on opposite sides of the caregiving stage, the shadowy players act out struggles for control of the situation, to achieve relief. On the ‘too much’ side of the spectrum, the martyr-caregivers have lost themselves in identifying with the role of helper, to the detriment of their own health and well being, On the ‘too little’ hand are those who shun or eschew helping, rebelling against the role, to the detriment of their relationships. Both are common, if unconscious ways of coping with anxiety and fear, of being abandoned or engulfed. One attacks the role, one flees. Both suffer.
There is a third reaction to fear: freezing. Here we are caught in the martyr-caregiver’s learning nets, temporarily unable to choose at all. If you have felt guilty, resentful, exhausted and depleted, have gotten digestive disorders, overweight, underweight or picked up addictions of any kind to ameliorate your pain — anguishing over a choice, you are not alone.
I don’t know that I will ever achieve sainthood, become a pure, selfless bodhisattva, or a perfectly balanced caregiver in this life. I still experience wariness about helping out or not, and difficulty asking for support. Trying to be superhuman is a life long pattern not easily surrendered. Yet I revel in what daily opens my heart and mind in the process of reconciliation. Having endured pain, cracked through to the heart of loving connections many times, I keep becoming a more compassionate, able, trustworthy, joyful human being. Beauty and peace are at home with me.
I’m learning to nourish myself on a daily basis, rather than feed my insecurities. Giving care to others by simply being present for them is an important skill I’m growing. The art of being a healing presence nourishes my own soul in ways too glorious, merciful and relieving to tell, and allows me to receive love, too, to feel more appreciation and trust. And though I do sift the wheat in their offerings from chaff, I can feel gratitude for the teachings they both offer. I choose what to say yes or no to taking on, finding a new sense of adventure in what will unfold, rather than the terror of feeling out of control. My Martyr-Caregiver role playing has fewer sticky strings attached to interfere with my Song. I can aspire to the Ideal without self condemnation, strive to emulate those who inspire and teach me, feel glad for their mentoring, glad to just be singing.
What a grace to discover that in the process of healing, our wounds offer teachings to share. Each path of service, on our ways towards discovering wholeness through it, is a potential gift to Life. Over time, our intention to serve well being brings not only knowledge in our fields, but integrity and wisdom — great balm for an ailing humanity. My journalist/author sister Beth Witrogen moved through bouts of anguish as a family caregiver, and trials of self-sacrifice to make a difference. Finding an unprepared, less than supportive health care system, she chose to use her pain, passion, will and journalistic skills to garner national attention to caregiver needs, and for providing direction for the resources — inner as well as outer — we need. From humble beginnings on her helper’s path, Beth’s pioneering has made her a leader in the caregiver’s “spiritual journey of love, loss and renewal,” helping define a standard for the industry.
Certainly achieving public acclaim for our work is not meant for everyone; but recognizing that every act of loving-kindness counts is important to us all. Each of us reaching out to soothe, uplift or tend another in need is contributing to a groundswell of greater well being for all living things. And so must we tend ourselves, too.
If Moore and Gillette’s “full” archetype could advise those of us grappling with the role of whole-hearted service to a world in need, we might hear these words from The Caregiver-Martyr: “ Be. Then whatever you bring will be a blessing. And you’ll know yourself as blessed, beauty-full, and joyous. Be here now, be present with a full heart, with gratitude for your life. This is sufficient. The rest will come.
