The Road to Hell and the Folly of the Rescuer

I’ve got a wicked rescuer shadow. Especially with women. And I know exactly when it began. From before my birth through my fifth year, my father brutally beat my mother, sometimes seriously enough to put her in the hospital. And I was helpless to stop it.

Throughout my teens and most of my adult life, I was attracted to damsels in distress. Let’s set aside for the moment that there was a part of me that wanted to be seen as a hero. While certainly true, that is not what I am writing about today.  I believed in my core that I genuinely cared for these women. In fact, their suffering was intolerable to me. It took more than a few years before the light bulb finally went on above my head that what I was really attempting to do was rescue my mother from the abusive onslaughts of my father. if I could have succeeded at that, I would have certainly earned her love and be forever happy.

And, in my mind at least, these women genuinely needed rescuing, from their abusive relationships, from their abandonment, from the oppressive messages they had taken on as a result of these traumas and the media, and any one of a number of different issues. The only “problem” was that they never asked me to rescue them, nor, for the most part, appreciated my efforts. A vicious cycle of unrequited love and resentments then began. While my desire to see these women loved, happy, and appreciated remains to this day, they instead remained victims. And so did I.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions” I would often hear my mother say. Never in this context of course, but it is a mantra that banged around inside my head for most of my life. There are numerous other maxims that expressed the same idea, but it took an extensive deep dive into my subconscious, and a great deal of personal work to uncover this shadow behavior and see how it impacted the many areas of my life. And if I am not careful, it can still manifest.

Most of the women I was attracted to are givers. They attempted to please everyone in their life, were kind and nurturing, soft and feminine, loving and giving. Irresistible to me, in other words. But due to their own shadows, many had chosen “takers” as significant others. Unless and until they arrive at the point where they are no longer willing to accept that for themselves, they will likely remain as victims.

My own mother was quite extraordinary. She was no shrinking violet, nor a victim. In 1961, she gathered up all three of her children and fled Florida for New York City, our ancestral home. This this was virtually unheard of at the time and took an incredible amount of courage and fortitude. The act stoked my birth father’s rage even further and both she and my new stepfather paid dearly for that. Enduring all this made my mother exceedingly tough. Soft, loving and nurturing was not really in her make up, at least not for me, the third of three children by two different men. And as an empath, I carried her burden for over fifty years.

Interesting thing about empaths; we tend to attract narcissists who can then feed on our generosity, people-pleasing, and nurturing nature. Most of the women attracted to me seemed to be in the mold of my mother, tough, independent, and more than a little Type-A. Even in marriage, it was my wife who proposed to me. Flattered, and believing that this would be a worthy person with whom to embark on a life partnership;E she, having lost her heroic father at the tender age of twelve, only to be abandoned by her first husband, then raising five kids on her own, as well as having been dealt more than her fair share of trauma, seemed a perfect candidate for rescuing!

And as well-meaning and noble as our intentions were, what we each wanted from marriage was quite different. I deeply craved emotional intimacy. She desired independence. Although we shared a natural affection for one another as well as the same values, true chemistry really wasn’t there. And indeed, when we focused our attention on service to our community and friends, we accomplished wonderful things together. But the moment we turned our attentions to our own individual wants and needs, we found ourselves unable to sustain our relationship.

I still believe that women, deserve love, respect, and protection. They willingly sacrifice their bodies, comfort, beauty and youth to deliver children into an uncertain world. They nearly single-handedly raise the children into adults, then suffer mightily when they leave the nest.   Throughout the entirety of their youth through middle age, they endure monthly cycles which can be not only painful but thoroughly inconvenient. They then suffer the emotional pain and physical discomfort of the hormonal shifts that accompany menopause.  During all of this, they endeavor to make a house a home while providing emotional and physical satisfaction to their partner. Protecting, loving and providing for them is the least we men can do!

I am keenly aware that I am speaking in broad generalities, and much of the foregoing does not apply to the millions of women who have chosen other lifestyles. In the end, regardless of how we define ourselves, it is our own conscious awareness that determines the success or failure of our relationships. In a perfect world both partners will work with each other to help heal each other’s wounds, knowing full well that they may in fact be the perfect mirrors for one or another to bring those shadow issues into the light. Triggering each other is an inevitable part of any relationship. But when we do the work to uncover and fully own our shadows with our partner, we have an extraordinary opportunity to forge a deep, lasting, loving and satisfying relationship.

Author Note: With all due respect to our non-binary brothers and sisters, I was raised in a traditional, binary, white-privileged household and this essay reflects that perspective.

—

This Post is republished on Medium.

—

Photo credit: iStock