The Relationship Crucible: The Glut, the Martyr, and their Junkie Brains

Why do we seek relationships?

We are paradoxical creatures. We exit our adolescence eager to escape our parents, only to turn around and seek their replacements.

Many of us feel incomplete. One reason for this is that we are social beings. We judge ourselves through the mirror of those around us. Each of us confronts an existential crisis one day. We are alone in our own head, living in a world determined to eat us eventually. What are we worth really? On dark, tired nights, we can’t help but wonder and be depressed.

We are lonely, and horny, and existentially adrift. Mirror, mirror on the wall… The search for recognition is a specific one. The recognition we desire elevates us. We seek a partner with enough value to impress us, who will choose us from the crowd and yet be excited by us. We want a partner who will be confident to demand that their needs be met, and be ecstatic to meet our needs right back. We want someone who will prove their value by making us give and recognize our value by giving back.

So, courtship involves barter. We play games. We give a little and wait for the other to give back. It is a dance, and an exchange. We want them to value us, to stay, to keep on giving. Both parties need to get what they want, to respect and value the other.

Then magic happens. The deal is struck, agreement is had, the sex is glorious, and the relationship statuses change. Honeymoon.

Imagine the two partners, if you will, facing each other. Between them, flows a loop of energy. Stu gives to Jill, and Jill returns in kind. Both take time out of their day to tell the other that they matter, that someone cares, that someone is excited they exist. They work at it but neither are ever drained because both are getting at the same rate as they give. Ying and yang.

Then life takes its toll. We get used to feeling complete. Other duties call. Tragedy strikes. The inevitable occurs. One or the other begins to give less.

Let’s say Stu is the one who draws back. What happens to Jill? For months, the voices in her head have been silenced by the adoration of her partner. She felt complete. She soared upon an existential high that is suddenly gone. Her oxycontin levels drop. So does her dopamine. Like any junkie suddenly cut off from her fix, she wants it back.

Something that is gone is all the more precious for its absence. She appreciates Stu more now rather than less. All the things he used to bring into her life become blindingly highlighted.

She wonders if she did something wrong. She tries harder.

The more she tries, the more exhausted she feels. She talks to Stu, but nothing changes. She gives more and gets less. It drains her.

The more she gives, the more she needs to get back, the more she needs and wants him. She becomes emotionally attached in ways she knows better than to permit herself. At times, she feels bitter at what he puts her through. She rants and raves against him in her head. Then the junkie’s instinct overrides her rational mind. She wants the high. She wants the self esteem. She wants to feel complete again. Stu symbolizes all. She dreams of moving in, of marriage, of a magical scenario where he remembers how much she means to him and shows her how much he cares.

I have been in Jill’s position. Many of us have. It is tempting to perceive it in black and white. We want Jill to be damsel and Stu the prick.

It’s true. Abusers prey upon this instinctive flaw. They give back only enough to keep us hooked and exploit our junkie minds for years.

But my memory is not vindictive. I have played the role of Stu, also.

Stu, like Jill, thinks with his junkie brain. However it happens that he stops giving back, he finds himself blessed with a rush of power. Power comes unnaturally to us in life. We arrive in this world helpless. Our formative years are spent dependent upon others.

Even in adulthood, many of us are at the mercy of circumstances for the basics of our survival. Even the most mundane things, like food and shelter, are never guaranteed. We struggle for them from day to day, week to week, and so forth. Power lies in creating circumstances where we feel secure in our ability to cater to our needs at any given time. It is something that is deeply prized by all.

When Stu stops giving, he finds himself in power. When the relationship started, Jill made demands. If he did not give, neither did she. Now, she gives regardless. To his junkie brain, that has grown used to the uncertainties of life, this presents a potent drug. Stu feels the rush of Jill’s growing affection. Her validation seems guaranteed. Used as he is to living in a desert of such things, he wallows in the experience of being in control of a vital part of his life. He does not want to change things.

Does he value Jill less than he used to? Perhaps. We do not value the air we breath, clean water, or many of the miracles of life. We do not value them because they were given to us. They were free. We rarely think of them. We value our cars, our restaurants, and our jobs. We value that which we had to pay and labor for, the things whose preservation forces us labor on. Our perception of their scarcity creates their value. Supply and demand.

Jill’s labor on behalf of Stu continues on in vast supply, so his perceived demand — his value of her labor — shrinks. It’s not his rational brain working. It’s his junkie brain. His instincts hijack his common sense. For all Jill’s effort, Stu begins to take her for granted, both stuck playing out this ancient human pattern.

So, the relationship continues its toxic run until Jill has nothing more to give. She collapses, drained to the core. Stu collapses too, suddenly cut off from his drug. He goes into existential withdrawal, perhaps confused, feeling betrayed.

Each loved the other once. Their feelings turned to bitterness. Their breakup violent.

It is the age old story of the martyr and the glut.

Many of us have lived it. Most of us, maybe. We have been Stus and Jills, and maybe both. We’ve crashed and burned, skewered on the swords of our junkie brains.

And we have learned.

We take the air for granted until we learn about pollution. It becomes valuable then.

We give freely until we learn the horror of starvation. Then we prize ourselves, our labor, and our time as we deserve and must.

We crash and burn on the alters of bad relationships to hopefully learn the lessons they give.

Our junkie brains control us only when we are naive to their effects. Our instincts serve to fill the void of our experience. As we grow wiser, we learn that good relationships depend on giving. If we stop, we must start again, surrender the power we feel, and create balance. We learn too that good relationships depend on taking. If we do not get, we cannot give. We learn to resists the trap of leaning in too much when our partner leans out. We hold our emotions in check until it’s safe to let them off their leash.

Our heartbreaks teach us patience. They teach us that some relationships stop working and cannot work. Accepting this saves both our own and our partners’ health.

By going through crucible of bad relationships we learn what it takes to make them good. We learn how to make joy not a drug, but a condition of our lives. In doing so, we overcome our junkie brains.