The Power of Ted

by David Emerald

  “So, what brings you here to this bench and this magnificent moment?” he asked.

  A fair question, I thought. But who was this guy? Why should I tell a stranger what was going on with me? There was a quiet expectancy in his presence, as if he knew I had something to share. Yet there was a spaciousness that put no pressure on me to speak right away. I sensed that I could wait five seconds, five minutes, or five hours. Time was not of the essence—what was on my mind and heart was. There was a comfort I felt. He seemed so friendly and his question was certainly an open invitation.

  I ventured forth, “Oh, I’ve come here to think. You know, just to sit and reflect.”

  “That’s good to do from time to time. It’s all too easy to run through life without reflecting. Life’s lessons can be lost if you never pause.

  What a beautiful place to come and take stock.”

  “Yes, it is,” I replied, “though I have to admit I sometimes lose sight of all this beauty when I get caught up in my own drama.”

  “Oh yes, drama,” Ted remarked. “That seems to be such a big part of the human experience. Look at all these people walking on the beach. Every one of them probably has some sort of drama going on in their lives. They all have their stories. What, if I may ask, is yours? I don’t mean to intrude. I’m just curious.”

  Then it all spilled out. I told him about everything: my recent divorce, the death of my dad. I even told him about my infertility. He nodded, encouraging me. I didn’t detect even an ounce of judgment coming from Ted—or pity, for that matter. He looked out over the ocean, turning my way occasionally and nodding in acknowledgment. Emboldened by his calm acceptance, I shared the full depth of my inner struggle, how I had felt like a victim. The whole mess just flowed out, as Ted listened. For some reason, though, I wasn’t quite ready yet to divulge the revelation that Creator was my new alternative, the stance I must take to replace the old sense of being a victim of my own life. Instead I said, “I’ve come to see how much of my life I have lived from the perspective of being a victim. I’m ready for something else.”

  Ready for BFOs

  “You’re not alone, you know,” said Ted. “Victimhood is the malaise of humanity. It is everywhere, in every language. Most news reports are stories of Victims and Persecutors and, sometimes, Rescuers. People look for someone to blame. Sometimes they demand compensation for their victimization; sometimes they strike back. Terrorists attack and leave victims in their wake, all the while describing themselves as victims of oppression. On the roadways, some drivers feel so victimized by the chaos of traffic that they’re filled with rage and lash out. People talk about being victims of abuse and neglect, victims of alcoholic or drug-addicted parents, even victims of birth order among siblings. At work, people talk about their victimization at the hands of an insensitive boss, a backstabbing coworker, or the company they work for. Some people feel constantly victimized by that elusive goblin they call ‘the system.’”

  I let his words sink in. As I thought about how often I gave voice to my own sense of victimhood, I offered, “It’s amazing, isn’t it, how often we use the blaming words of victimization: The traffic made me late. I got up on the wrong side of the bed. I ended up in the wrong lane at the grocery store. The examples are endless. There must be a better way.”

  Ted turned and put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s true, there is.”

  I asked him, “But who are you, anyway? What brings you to this spot overlooking the beach?”

  Ted wrapped his hands around his staff and looked out at the scene before us. “I come here a lot, to take in the ocean and to do the kind of contemplation that just naturally arises in this beautiful place. Today I saw you here, so I came over to sit and share a few thoughts.”

  “Thoughts about what?”

  “About the very subject you’ve introduced—about being a Victim and the desire for a different way of being in the world. I’ve learned a few things that I think you may find useful, things that may surprise you.”

  “Well, if you know something that I don’t, I mean about not being a Victim, well, then I’m all ears,” I said.

  “Good,” said Ted. “You need to know, however, that what I have to say could make you a little uncomfortable. That’s because what I say will probably challenge the ways you engage with just about every area of your life. Your relationships. Your work. The way you deal with disappointments. Everything. Are you up for that?”

  I looked out at the waves rising and rolling into the shore. Why had this spirited stranger suddenly shown up by my side? The encounter had a dreamlike quality. I wasn’t sure what to say. I could have got up and walked away, but I didn’t want to. Somehow I felt entirely at ease with Ted. And I was intrigued.

  Ted continued, “If this sounds interesting to you and you want to hear more, then it’s only fair to warn you: Be prepared to be visited by BFOs.”

  I chuckled and turned to him. “I’m going to be visited by UFOs?”

  “No . . . BFOs. A BFO is a Blinding Flash of the Obvious. It’s something you already know but which lies just beyond the edge of your conscious awareness. When they come, welcome them. A BFO is a very positive sign. It means that you’re awakening to new ways of thinking and being.”

  “Oh, good. For a minute there I thought you were about to tell me that you were from outer space,” I laughed.

  “If anything, I’m from inner space!”

  “Who are you, then?” I said.

  “Just a friend, bringing you a lighthearted approach to a most serious subject: how you relate to your life experiences. You could say I’m a countercultural type. I live in the world in my own way. So many people meet their life experience from the Victim Orientation—just as you’ve begun to notice for yourself. I have a different orientation. It’s a simple way of being, though it’s not always easy.

  “I guess I’m also a revolutionary—or, rather, an evolutionary! As an evolutionary facilitator, I’d like to offer you another way to live—if you choose it. At the end of the day, what you do will always be your choice. No one can ever take that away from you. In fact, it’s why you’re here: to make the choices that create your life.”

  It was a lot to take in. I searched his face. He didn’t look like a fanatic. In fact, the gentleness in his eyes made me feel relaxed in spite of all my recent turmoil. He added, “I won’t mind if you’d rather not do this right now, you know. It’s entirely up to you. In the end, it’s all about choice.”

  My choice. I sat another moment in silence as Ted waited patiently. Should I leave, or stay and see where this weird conversation might go? I decided I had nothing to lose. And anyway, listening to Ted was already a lot more interesting than wallowing in the worries that had brought me up here in the first place.

  “Would you like to walk with me for awhile, down on the beach?” asked Ted.

  “Okay, sure.”

  Ted and I got up together and started down the meandering path to the shore. Little did I know that I was setting out on the path to a whole new way of seeing.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Dreaded Drama Triangle

  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 d
o 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 li
fe.

  “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!”