002: unlearning the savior complex
great phoebe bridgers song, awful habit.
I only got into Phoebe Bridgers’ music last year when Punisher was released. It was the third month of quarantine, and some friends of mine recommended listening to her. Gave her a chance and haven’t looked back since. Now a staple to my sad girl music1, I can say that Punisher stands on the same level as Marina’s The Family Jewels and Electra Heart, albums that defined my teenage angst. This little shift in my music taste is very telling of how my emotional state has changed over the years: I’ve just gone from angry to sad.
Moon Song was not the first track I fell in love with. It was actually Savior Complex, its title self-explanatory, and now that I think about it, these two tracks go together. Even Phoebe’s said it herself when you look this up on Genius.
Thematically, it’s like a sequel to “Moon Song.” It’s like when you get what you asked for and then you’re dating someone who hates themselves.
Having a savior complex is not a kind of mental illness (although I argue that it should be, [I am kidding]). It’s a tendency that people have; it doesn’t interfere with daily functioning and it is not seen as abnormal for the most part, but it can be harmful for the person engaging in said behavior. The blog People Skills Decoded has a good definition of this phenomenon:
The savior complex is a psychological construct which makes a person feel the need to save other people. This person has a strong tendency to seek people who desperately need help and to assist them, often sacrificing their own needs for these people.
There are many sides to a savior complex and it has many roots. One of its fundamental roots, in my experience, consists in a limiting belief the savior person has that goes something like this:
“If I always help people in need, I will get their love and approval, and have a happy life.”
the attachment theory
One of the many things I can talk about for an hour with little to no preparation is John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth’s attachment theory2. It’s one of my favorite ways of explaining how dysfunctional a lot of us are, because it gives us reason to blame our parents. Kidding aside, this theory suggests that the way we navigate our relationships as we grow up is greatly influenced by our relationship with our primary caregiver from infancy to childhood.
There are 4 types of attachment styles, and only one is secure. Secure attachment is achieved when the caregiver is attuned to the child’s needs, both physiological and emotional, and a good percentage of adults actually have this type of attachment style so the dating pool is not as doomed as we think. The other 3 are forms of insecure attachment: anxious (anxious-preoccupied), avoidant (dismissive-avoidant), and disorganized (fearful-avoidant). It is argued that those with an insecure attachment have had caregivers who were inconsistent in meeting their needs (anxious), incapable of providing emotional support (avoidant), or were both a source of fear and safety for the child (disorganized).
The anxiously attached person comes off as clingy in their personal relationships, needing constant assurance that people do not hate them. Apparently, an anxious attachment stems from having a caregiver who was also anxious (surprise!), inconsistent in meeting the child’s needs, and overbearing. Having a strong fear of abandonment because of the inconsistency growing up, people with an anxious attachment style have trouble communicating their needs and concerns, afraid that this might cause conflict that would lead to being left behind. As a result, these kinds of people strive to gain the approval of others, sometimes losing themselves in the process of pleasing others.
For the avoidant, there is a strong sense of independence as they believe that they cannot rely on anyone but themselves. This is why they are referred to as avoidant: they actively distance themselves from any kind of opportunity that can lead to attachment to another. In childhood, the avoidant has most of their needs met—food, shelter, hygiene—except emotional support. Because of this, the child interprets emotional intimacy as something that can be discarded or ignored as their own feelings were not given importance. People with an avoidant attachment style may desire intimacy, but would rather not take the risk as it requires the kind of vulnerability that they were not taught growing up.
Disorganized attachment can be interpreted as a combination of the first two insecure attachment styles: anxious and avoidant. It is said that people who have this attachment style had caregivers who were both a source of safety and fear for the child because of how unpredictable they were. The child distrusts the caregiver, but also desires closeness to them in order to get their needs met. These kinds of people grow up wanting to develop meaningful relationships with others, but are held back by this fear of getting hurt and let down the way their caregivers treated them.
my villain origin story
Since having discovered this theory, I’ve learned that I have an anxious attachment style. This became very evident the first time I dated somebody a few years back; I was always so afraid of how he would react to my emotions that I did not give myself a chance to be honest about what I wanted from my relationship with him. This resulted in poor communication, and looking back, things could have been better if I knew how to handle this part of myself.
Now that I’m in therapy, trying to decipher to blueprint recklessly created in childhood, I am realizing that this is because I had an overbearing mother growing up. She loved me, she was warm, and she was there for me at times, but she had little to no regard for my own privacy and autonomy. I think she saw me as an extension of herself, having this need to know all of me all of the time, and any kind of hesitation would be greeted with guilt. This has resulted in a codependent relationship with her where I am met with indecision when I do not tell her what I am up to.
I had always wondered why my mother wanted to be as hands-on as possible in handling me and my sister. She often argued that it was just her maternal instinct kicking in, and for much of my life I didn’t question that. It was only recently that I learned about what she was like when she was my age—selfish, inconsiderate, and even a bit doña—and I think that was the missing piece that helped me understand her better. She was not actively involved in my life because she believed that that was what motherhood was about, no. She did all these things to compensate for how she behaved in the past, and to recreate an experience that could take away some of the pain she had carried despite not being able to call this her own. At least that’s what I choose to believe as it is the only way that all of these clashing truths make sense.
This deserves some anger from my end, but I think I’ve spent enough of my youth getting angry at my mom for all the wrong reasons. When you hold on to grudges that you have against others long enough, it turns into pity (for both yourself and the person), and when you develop a better awareness of how people are, it becomes space for healing. I like to believe my mother tried her best with what she had to raise me in ways better than her mother did.
In some ways, being my mother’s daughter is her self-inflicted penance. She would do anything and everything for me to the point where I’d have nothing left to give, always telling me that for as long as she’s capable, she would do everything for me and all I have to do is be good. At the same time, this self-sacrifice has made her resent me somehow, often lamenting that she has the whole world on her shoulders to protect me and my sister and all she gets in return is disrespect. It doesn’t help how passive-aggressive my mother’s language is, and while the more self-aware person is burdened with the responsibility of understanding and adjusting, this does not stop me from calling her out on her inability to communicate, firmly asking her to tell me what she needs instead of trying to give me the world without a word.
This is why Lady Bird (2017) holds a special place in my heart. Not only does this give me Catholic school war flashbacks, this movie also explores Lady Bird’s relationship with her mother that eerily mirrors my own mother-daughter experience. I watch this movie whenever I want to remember what my relationship with my mom means to me, because as I try to unlearn the toxic traits that I have, it feels like letting go of her. I do not want to let go, cut ties, or forget her entirely. I just want to know how I can develop a better relationship with the person who has loved me since time immemorial. I know that the length of a relationship is a poor indicator of how good a relationship is, but for reasons I’d rather not disclose for here, I’ve decided to make this an exception.
i’m a bad liar
I’ve inherited so much of my mother’s anxiety that the way she smothers people with her love is something I understand and have even done myself. For the longest time, my anxious attachment has led me to overwhelming people with the amount of love I could possibly give, believing that the grand gesture could win them over and help them realize that I am deserving of their time and attention, as if building my self-worth was ever their responsibility. In the recent years I have discovered in cruel ways that that’s not how relationships work. The reason I attract broken people is not just because my brokenness reinforces theirs, but because I am able to recreate the patterns I’ve had since I was young and take on the role of the savior.
Truly I am my mother’s child.
Because denial is a strong suit of mine, it’s taken years for me to admit that I have this fix-it Felix attitude. I had always thought that this was what love was, offering so much of yourself to another in the hope that what you give is enough to piece them back together; that they see enough beauty in your sacrifice to take action, maybe do the same, and offer you just as much magic.
When I am called out on this and someone sees right through my bullshit, which has only ever happened a few times, I’ve been quick to participate in the mental gymnastics of defending my savior complex just like how Lady Bird stood up for her mother’s ways of nurturing that have also hurt her. This is just a sign of having a big heart, a warm one. There’s just a lot of love that both my mother and I have to give.
What could possibly go wrong?
A lot of things, you’ll soon realize. All this love you have to offer, a good chunk of it must be utilized for self-preservation. There needs to be a mastery of one’s own boundaries, a practice of caring for oneself before we turn to others. When these self-care rituals are skipped, selflessly giving all that you have to another only leads to resentment and codependence, especially when what you do is not acknowledged in a manner that is as grand as your gestures.
I used to hate my mother because of the way that she loved me, but I’ve learned that we only ever hate what we do not understand. I did not understand how she loved others or why she did until it was my turn, and I can only imagine how painful it must have been for her to hear me say that her love sometimes hurts. She’s always had good intentions, but these don’t translate well most of the time. As I untangle the mess in our relationship at an attempt to foster a healthier connection, the hatred still exists because she has always been dear to me. The ambivalence drives me mad, but I guess it is necessary? The answer to why it is, I’ll figure out next.
There is no hopeful conclusion to this I’m afraid, just a realization that relationships are difficult and take years of hard work to get things right. There’s so much to learn and unlearn, and this requires a good amount of participation of those around you for this to work, but it gets easier when the ones you love most accept the fact that they need not give you the moon.
I hope my mother knows that I forgive her.
*NEW!* journal prompts (๑˘︶˘๑)
By now you probably have an idea of how much I love writing, so thanks to a friend3 I’ve decided to include this new section in my newsletter where I share questions related to this post that can help you think about your own experiences and hopefully practice introspection better:
What attachment style do you have? How does your attachment style affect your relationships? (If you’ve read everything and are still unsure of your attachment style, you can take a quick test here).
In your relationships, platonic or not, what do you usually seek? What do you usually offer? Try to see how these two things are related to each other.
What does being treated right look like for you? What about being treated poorly? Which kind of treatment do you experience more often, and why is that?
My updated sad girl music collection also includes Mitski’s Be the Cowboy and Bury Me at Makeout Creek, Taylor Swift’s folklore, Lana del Rey’s Norman fucking Rockwell!, Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, and Carpenters’ singles from ‘69 (nice) to ‘73. Also got tracks from Turnover, The 1975 (LOL), Joy Division, sometimes Frank Ocean and SZA. And for some reason, I think that Pink Floyd is just sad stoner girl music.
Some readings/videos on the attachment theory:
The Origins of Attachment Theory by Inge Bretherton
Attached by Amir Levine, MD and Rachel Heller, MA
What is Your Attachment Style? by The School of Life