I’m a psychologist – how to spot a martyr in your life

Yes, I can do a lecture for your module! More marking? I can take that on. Your student needs someone after you leave? That’s fine, I’ll have them. You need a speaker at the open day on Saturday – I’m local, it’s easier for me. Struggling student? Give them to me to supervise. Much of university life runs on goodwill, and for over 30 years as an academic I had it in abundance. I was conscientious, hard-working, and a “good egg”. I loved my job and was keen to be valued by staff and students alike. I also had a sense of duty and wanted to pull my weight. I hated the idea of ever dumping work on anyone else. I was even awarded the Missy Mop award by a colleague for mopping up the waifs and strays of the department. But I also moaned along with everyone else. Common room chats were often about being “so busy”, “having no time to think”, and how academics were always picking up the work of those who left as university finances tightened. Yet offer me fewer lectures or students, I would have refused, as something about being overloaded suited me. We were all in it together, and I wanted to be part of the gang. I was a martyr to my job. Doing it, moaning about it, but not changing it. Then slowly, over time, I saw the light. Shorts I was part-time for a good few years whilst bringing up my children and told myself I’d rather be seen as a hard-working part-timer than a skiving full-timer. Then one day, when I popped into work on my day off, I realised that no one else was in (this was before 2020, in the days when people didn’t work from home). Where were they all? And why was I the only one on a part-time salary? I was stupid not taking the money! Next, we had a rare moment of transparency when we published the dreaded workload model showing how many hours we all spent doing what. It was shocking! People moaning (along with me) did just five lectures a year. In fact, some did none! I did about 28. Some supervised only three students. I had about 14. And some were in meltdown over marking 15 essays, when I had about 300. Needless to say, it wasn’t published again. I was hard-working and conscientious. Or was I? It dawned on me that sadly, by being a martyr to my job, I was in fact just a mug. And I suspect I have been a martyr in my personal life, too. We had children’s parties at home with games and chaos and party bags when we could have had soft play. I home-cooked most nights when sometimes a freezer dinner would have been fine. And we often had lodgers with us as if looking after my extended family wasn’t enough. And again, I did all this, moaned, and carried on. I have also watched so many other modern martyrs moan and carry on without changing their lives. Colleagues moaning about work way past retirement age, but carrying on even though they didn’t have to. Mums moaning about their adult children treating the house like a hotel and yet not nudging them to move out. And wives moaning about their husbands, yet staying even though the ties of house, money and children are no longer as insurmountable as they once were. So what’s in it for the modern martyr? Where does this behaviour come from and why is it a hard habit to break? Some research focuses on the “Drama Triangle” – a psychological theory that says the martyr complex means rotating between the victim (moaning) and the rescuer (over-sacrificing for others without being asked). Then, when people don’t praise them enough for their sacrifice, they switch to the persecutor, using guilt trips to punish those around them. Other research describes martyrdom as “virtuous victim signalling” as part of the dark triad associated with narcissism and Machiavellianism, which allows people to avoid responsibility and manipulate others into doing things for them. There is even a scale to measure it called the “Tendency for Interpersonal Victimhood”. But for me, as a psychologist, I suspect it’s simpler than that. I suspect we are martyrs due to the basic laws of reward. We overwork because we need validation and really want to be liked. We then moan because it feels nice – it’s cathartic, and a good vent can help us let off steam. We then get stuck in the cycle of overworking and moaning because neither quite fills us up enough with rewards we crave or the catharsis we need. Plus, feeling like a martyr is itself rewarding. It feels good at the time. I loved getting my Missy Mop award. And, of course, overworking and moaning helps us connect with others. We work with others and then moan with others, and all this social activity helps us to feel part of something. (I remember my NCT class, which often verged on an anti-men class, and whilst we laid into our husbands it was very bonding.) It all feeds into our sense of self and identity. There’s a pride attached to being a martyr, so when someone offers a solution, we reject it, as although it may stop us from overworking or moaning, it also stops the glory. If this all sounds familiar, and you hear yourself endlessly moaning but not changing your own actions, ask yourself: “How is this actually benefiting me?” You’ll quickly see how it’s not. I don’t really regret being a martyr back then. I don’t think I could have been anything else. It was who I was and how I wanted to be. In some ways, I think my work and personal worlds both needed a mug. But not anymore.