Martyrdom as selfishness

It's weird to admit I am prone to martyr-like tendencies. No pride. No shame. Just a sudden realization and lots of thought to follow it so that I can't sleep until I get it down in words.

My mother sacrificed herself to the point of completely withdrawing from everyone she intended to love. In so doing, my brother, father and I were often starved for the wonderful woman I know lurked somewhere in her center. Fortunately, there were enough occasions through which she bestowed some of her wisdom on the young, impressionable Chance. They stuck and are precious to me. I fill up with gratitude when I think of those moments. For her, I can only imagine her martyrdom likely started with her learning from her mother before her, my grandmother. I am not surprised. These things usually run in cycles.

Giving to those you love most is probably the most beautiful act I can imagine, feels like a good reason to live this life. It's when the giving and sacrifices warp into some kind of trap around yourself and the ones with whom you intended to share the bounty. In that case, it actually fuels a form of selfishness in that the most sacred gifts inside of you can petrify and go unfulfilled because there is nothing left to enrich yourself. This is a double-edged sword that also stunts the growth of the others around you who are malnourished because of overprotectiveness (poor word choice but right now I can't think of another). Thus, the ultimate act of love becomes selfish.

I think about my life and how I have allowed the tendency to stunt myself and those I love most. I have clung to fears which only fueled my compulsion to keep giving as an excuse to avoid failure. Or perhaps success and the fear that once successful, more would be expected of me and I would have nothing left to give. Perhaps I fear(ed) that the conditions I have become so accustomed to would change drastically and I would be too lost to deal with it. Something new. Something different. Paradox for the fucking win.

It's starting, even amid confusion. In a way, I think I love HER more than I did when I was with her. So odd.

I may be ready to end this particular warping of the cycle and transform it with as much grace as I can muster into the beautiful act I know it can truly be.