CHAPTER 2
We walked down the slope of the bluff onto a path that wound its way to the sandy shore below.
“So, David, tell me more about your thoughts on victimhood,” Ted suggested.
“Well,” I said, “it seems like victimhood is all-pervasive. I’ve been thinking about it since I learned about the Drama Triangle. Ever heard of it?”
“Tell me more.”
“It comes from the work of Stephen Karpman, a psychotherapist who described the Triangle in the late 1960s. It involves three roles, all of which I play pretty well.”
“Yes,” said Ted, “it’s been around a while, all right. That model has helped countless people make sense of their situations. What strikes you about it?”
I told Ted what I had learned about the Drama Triangle. “The central role is Victim, when I feel as if other people or situations are acting upon me, and I can’t do anything about it. Sometimes it feels like being attacked, and sometimes it’s just a hardship. I might feel mistreated or discounted, and maybe out of control.
“The second role is Persecutor or perpetrator in situations of abuse. The Persecutor is the perceived cause of the Victim’s woes.
“The third role is Rescuer, the one who intervenes on behalf of the victim, to deliver the victim from harm by the Persecutor.”
Just then, Ted and I rounded a bend into a jagged maze of sandstone blocking the path to the beach. As I stepped out of the rocks and onto the sandy path, my foot gave way. Whomp! I landed squarely on my rear. We laughed (nothing was hurt but my pride), and Ted offered his hand. “Here let me help,” he said, pulling me upright. I spanked the sand off the seat of my pants, and we continued gingerly down the path.
“That was an interesting example of what you just described.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
Did you feel like a Victim when you fell back there?” Ted asked.
“I guess so, in a way.”
“So, if you were the Victim, who was the Persecutor?”
“You were in front of me, so I know you didn’t push me,” I chuckled. “So I’m not sure there was a Persecutor.”
“Every Victim requires a Persecutor,” Ted explained. “But the Persecutor isn’t always necessarily a person. The Persecutor could also be a condition or a circumstance. A persecuting condition might be a disease, such as cancer or a heart attack or an injury. A persecuting circumstance could be a natural disaster, like a hurricane or an earthquake or a house burning down. So, what was the Persecutor in your situation just now?”
I thought for a moment. “The loose sand, maybe, or my shoes,” I observed.
“Right,” said Ted. “Either of those could be identified as Persecutor. And I was the Rescuer when I reached down to help you up. It’s a simple example and there was no real harm done in this situation, but you just saw all three parts of the Drama Triangle in action.
“Other people encounter much more intense versions of the Drama Triangle every day,” he continued. “Whether it is subtle or intense, the effort to observe and understand this pattern is the first step in breaking the cycle of Victimhood.”
We paused to survey the length of the shore. Seagulls called out as they glided along the surf line. The waves roared, as a fine mist swept over us. I breathed deeply.
“Let’s walk a little closer to the water. I want to show you something.” Ted moved with ease. His gait was relaxed as he matched his pace to mine. As we walked, he glanced down at the shells and bits of driftwood marking the sand. Ted bent down, picked up a seashell, and began tracing a large triangle in the moist, hard-packed sand.
Victimhood, the Death of a Dream
“Here’s the Drama Triangle you were talking about,” said Ted. “It’s great that you know about these three roles. Let’s look at the dynamics that take place between them.”
“Here’s the Victim.” He scratched the letter V in the sand.
“Victims may be defensive, submissive, over-accommodating to others, passive-aggressive in conflict, dependent on others for self-worth, overly sensitive, even manipulative. They’re often angry, resentful, and envious, feeling unworthy or ashamed about their circumstances. Have you ever felt or acted this way?”
I remembered the months before my wife and I had separated, how I had alternated between walking on eggshells and blaming her—often loudly—for the distance growing between us. I loathed my fearful pattern in romantic relationships: an unspoken agreement to be whoever my partner wanted, resentfully avoiding her abandonment.
“These roles describe attitudes I usually associate with other people,” I said, “but I see how I’ve acted in some of the same ways myself.”
Ted nodded. “There’s another characteristic at the very heart of Victimhood. At the core of any Victim, you’ll find the psychic death of a dream. All Victims have experienced a loss—a thwarted desire or aspiration— even if they’re not aware of it. It might be a loss of freedom or health or a sense of safety. The loss might even be one of identity or of a ‘reality,’ such as when a belief (my spouse is faithful) is shattered (my spouse has had an affair).”
That was certainly true for me. My dream of a family had died when I learned of my infertility. My belief in a wife staying by my side no matter what wilted with my divorce. And my identity as a son seemed to have died right along with Dad.
Ted continued, “The Victim feels out of control, believing life can’t change for the better. Taking that position, one feels powerless, helpless, hopeless, and at the mercy of unseen forces. The Victim reacts with depression or shame. You feel sorry for yourself.”
"I can’t tell you how many times I’ve privately thought, ‘Poor Me!’”
Ted smiled calmly and gazed out at the surf. “‘Poor Me’ is the Victim’s identity. That way of seeing yourself and your life experience determines how you relate to the world around you. Your orientation defines your reality. There’s actually a lot of ego involved in maintaining Victimhood.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, “are you saying being a victim is just a matter of seeing myself that way? What about a battered child or someone enslaved against their will? Are you implying they created their own victimization?”
“Not at all,” Ted responded. “The experience of being the victim of violence is very real. There’s no denying that people treat each other badly all over the world, every day. I’m saying one has a choice—however difficult or painful—about how to relate to those experiences. If you identify yourself as a Victim, your choices are limited. There’s another way to see things which allows you to meet even the most difficult circumstances. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before you see things another way, you must understand how Victimhood works.
“A while ago I met a young woman who told me her story.
“Her name was Sophia, and her marriage was a mess. Her husband, Dan, had confessed to having an affair. Sophia had tried everything to avoid this downward spiral, even canceling her dance class, thinking Dan might be happier if she spent more time at home. Things improved for a while, but soon Dan began working late several times a week. “One night Sophia exploded. ‘I gave up my class to be with you, and you’re hardly ever home!’
“Dan argued, ‘Even when I am home, you’re doing work you bring home, or your nose is buried
in a book! I can’t get your attention!’
“The two decided to set aside Thursday as dinner-out-together night. After several months of special evenings, Dan and Sophia found less and less to talk about. Then one night, right there
in the restaurant, Dan admitted his infidelity.
“Caught in public, Sophia felt she couldn’t react. When I met her, she was trying to figure out how to win back Dan’s heart from a faceless foe. She feared losing him and facing life alone.”
Ted continued, “The feelings that Victims have, just as Sophia did, are all fear-based and produce various anxieties. These feelings, which often seesaw between passivity and aggression, drive behaviors. When human beings are afraid, they’re programmed to react. This program—to fight, flee, or freeze—isn’t all bad. It helps the species survive.”
“I can remember times when I have reacted in all three of those ways,” I offered. “Toward the end of my marriage I got defensive. I felt so guilty and ashamed about my infertility, and fought off those feelings by lashing out with biting comments. Or I just withdrew— a way of fleeing, I guess. Not sure what you mean about freezing, though.”
“Imagine you’re trying to start a car that’s buried under a snowdrift,” Ted explained. “It doesn’t budge. You freeze if you stop and take no action, either toward or away from the source of your fear. It’s giving up and giving in to hopelessness. Frozen in fear, you avoid responsibility because you think your experience is beyond your control. This stance keeps you from making decisions, solving problems, or going after what you want in life.
“In the position of Victim you become hyper-vigilant, always anticipating the next bout of suffering. All you see in life are problems. And these problems, whether they are people or circumstances, become your Persecutors, the perpetrators of your misery. The Victim role isn’t maintained in a vacuum. Some person or thing must wear the Persecutor label.”
Ted walked around the triangle in the sand. I stood with my hands in my pockets and looked out to sea. It seemed there were as many faces of the Victim in this world as there were waves in the ocean. Ted knelt down and scrawled P for Persecutor by the next corner of the triangle.
The Persecutor
Ted continued, “As you said, the Persecutor is the perceived cause of the Victim’s woes. Persecutors and Victims are symbiotic; one can’t exist without the other. According to the dictionary, persecute means ‘to harass in a manner designed to injure, grieve, or afflict; or to annoy with persistent or urgent approaches (as attacks, pleas, or importunities).’
“Often the Persecutor is a person, but not always. As I said when you slipped on the path, persecution can be a condition, like a health challenge, or a circumstance, such as losing your home in a fire. But whether person, condition, or circumstance, the Persecutor gets the blame for causing the Victim’s feelings of grief, despair, and hopelessness.”
“Hmm, I can see all three kinds of Persecutors in my life. My wife seemed like my Persecutor when she became distant. My infertility was a persecuting condition, and Dad’s death was a persecuting circumstance. No wonder I feel like a Victim.”
Ted responded, “The Poor Me identity is reinforced by the Persecutor, who looks down on the Victim with an attitude of ‘You poor so-and-so!’
“When the Persecutor is a condition or a circumstance, of course, there’s no personalization. That
doesn’t mean you don’t take it personally—you do. But conditions and circumstances don’t have personalities, even if hurricanes do have names!”
Ted chuckled at himself, then cleared his throat and continued. “When the Persecutor is an actual person, the one who adopts that role tries to dominate others through blame, criticism, and/or oppression. These people are often authoritarian and rigid in their views, exerting power over others in an effort to keep others from having power over them. Persecutors may act grandiose and self-righteous to mask their own insecurity. They can be manipulative and defensive, often launching preemptive attacks. For Persecutors, all situations are win/lose. Their motto is ‘Win at any cost!’”
“Persecutors sound really heavy-duty. They’re fearless characters, aren’t they?” I said.
“They may be heavy-handed in persecuting, but they’re also subtle sometimes. I don’t want to offend you, David, but if you think you’ve never been a Persecutor, think again. Remember what you said about vacillating between being passive and angry, blaming your former wife?”
“Sure, I remember.” I felt uncomfortable as I sensed where Ted might be going.
“How do you think she saw you when you lashed out at her?” he asked.
“Well, probably like, um, a Persecutor?”
“Exactly. Victims often react to situations in ways that make them Persecutors in the eyes of others. That’s important in the Drama Triangle. Persecutors, like Victims, act out of fear. They may seem fearless, but actually Persecutors are almost always former Victims. They’re mobilized by the fear of becoming a Victim, nursing angry resentments about times when they felt victimized. Persecutors inwardly declare, ‘I’ll never be a Victim again!’ Ultimately, what they fear most is loss of control.”
I laughed. “Reminds me of Scarlett O’Hara in the movie Gone with the Wind. She proclaims, ‘I will never go hungry again!’ after she’s lost her social position and all her possessions. She feels like a Victim, but she ends up being Rhett Butler’s Persecutor.”
Ted smiled. “It sounds like a good example, although I must admit that movies aside, there’s enough drama for me in the everyday lives of the people I meet. A couple of weeks after I first met Sophia, she brought her partner, Dan, to meet me.”
Dan felt bad that his affair had caused Sophia such pain. But, he added, it wasn’t as if he had been planning it. He felt that in many ways Sophia was responsible. Dan wanted to be with someone who wanted to talk and laugh with him at the end of a hard day. He was pleasantly surprised when Sophia quit her dance class to spend time with him—until she began bringing work home with her and reading novels. After several months Dan decided he was not going to allow Sophia’s aloofness to keep him from having a good time. At first he stayed longer at work, but that hardly felt like fun. He began going out with his single work friends who liked to play pool and darts at the local pub. At least now Dan was getting to laugh a little. How could he know that Jessica, the sister of a friend, would take such a liking to him? He found their long talks—which had evolved into long, intimate walks—exciting and engaging. Dan decided he needed to tell Sophia what was happening, even if it meant an uncertain future. But Dan knew he couldn’t settle for a marriage without intimacy and fun. Dan said, “If Sophia had been more attentive, we probably wouldn’t have ended up in this mess.”
“So,” observed Ted, “both Dan and Sophia felt like Victims, while at the same time each looked like a Persecutor to the other. The dance of Victim and Persecutor might seem to describe the whole drama dynamic, but it’s never a duo. It’s a trio, a triangle of disempowerment.”