Chapter 9. The Relationship Model “Cinderella”

The Shadow of Guilt: The Trap of Servitude.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The model takes its name from the fairy-tale heroine Cinderella (French: Cendrillon), a girl raised in harsh conditions, forced to serve her stepmother and stepsisters in order to earn the right to happiness. Yet in the context of our method, “Cinderella” is not a victim of circumstances but a carrier of a deep guilt complex.

If we follow the logic of psychoanalysis, this is an introjection of parental expectations. A person becomes convinced that love must be earned through suffering and service. This is a psychological model in which altruism becomes the currency used to buy safety and acceptance. In the terminology of the method, “Cinderella” is a model in which a person fears being rejected the moment they stop being useful.

The roots of this image reach back into family dynamics. In Greek mythology, echoes of it can be seen in the figure of Hephaestus, the blacksmith god who, despite his lameness, served others in order to be accepted on Olympus. Across all cultures we find the same stereotype: a person who takes responsibility for other people’s emotions, believing those emotions are their own fault.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Cinderella” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that become their life’s credo. Here are the three core beliefs typical of this model:

“If I don’t help, who will?” (A belief in one’s own indispensability through suffering.)

“Without me, they’ll be lost.” (A fear that those around her won’t survive without her sacrifices.)

“I have to earn the right to be loved.” (A belief that love is a reward for service, not a gift.)

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

“Their pain is my fault.” At the heart of the “Cinderella” model lies a guilt complex whose roots often reach back into childhood. It is a psychological debt to one’s parents, formed at an early age. It is as if a person spends a lifetime trying to atone for a crime they never committed, punishing themselves through service. “As if life were one long penance,” she thinks. To win the title of “obedient child” or “good person,” she takes responsibility for the feelings of others and considers herself guilty of any problem her loved ones face.

In cognitive therapy terms, this is personalization. “I should have prevented it,” “I should have known,” “I felt it would happen”—even for decisions made by other people. This complex takes shape when parents frequently complain to a child about their fate, their lot in life. For example, if a parent criticizes a child without grounds, the child develops insecurity and an inferiority complex. But if a parent constantly broadcasts their own suffering, the child, not knowing how to solve the parent’s problem, responds with empathy and lives through the mother’s emotions alongside her.

If such parental behavior becomes chronic, the child develops a lasting habit: feeling helpless and guilty for being unable to ease the parent’s suffering. To avoid facing the same scenes later on, the child tries to prevent them in advance. So whenever something happens, the child, without waiting for the parent’s emotional reaction, immediately takes responsibility on themselves, as if to lessen the parent’s “suffering.” This is how the guilt complex forms in childhood, and in adulthood the person constantly feels responsible for everything happening around them.

The mechanism of guilt and conflict. Another motive underlying the guilt complex is frequently witnessing scenes of conflict between parents. During the period when values are forming, a child feels small and helpless in the face of threat. Gripped by fear, they try, in their own world, to prevent the conflict in all sorts of ways. Crying, screaming, withdrawing into themselves—none of these behaviors works, and thoughts take root in the child: “There’s nothing I can do,” “I can’t protect Mom.”

To avoid becoming the cause of their parents’ quarrels, they try not to make mistakes. What’s more, if a parent plants in the child’s mind thoughts like “I’m staying together for your sake,” “I’m exhausted, I’ll leave and take you with me,” this deepens the feeling of guilt even further. In the child’s logic: “They fight because of me, so I have to do something to make it stop.” And every time, their attempts to reconcile them end in disappointment. With their many attempts, they seem to be trying to bring them together and keep them that way.

In many societies, then, the self-sacrificing parent, seen as a positive figure, giving up many of life’s opportunities under the banner of “I am sacrificing myself,” cultivates in children feelings of guilt, submission, and rescuing. This is precisely why the guilt complex is one of the most widespread psychological complexes in the world. The number of people falling into depression as a result of conflicts over this issue exceeds 300 million worldwide and grows with every passing day. Every year more than 700 thousand people die by suicide, and depression is one of the main causes, yet during the periods when they consider themselves healthy, these people display the Cinderella model in their relationships.

Behavior in relationships. In many cases, the children of cold and insufficiently loving parents experience these same feelings. It seems to the child that they aren’t good enough to deserve love. As if, to attract attention and receive care, they must do everything they possibly can. They must perform some good deed worthy of their parents’ praise, so that it is for this very work that they win their parents’ love.

People suffering from this complex need, in adult relationships, proof that they are worthy of love. They cannot believe a declaration like: “I love you simply for who you are.” If they are told: “I love you for your character, for your beauty,” it will seem strange to them. Winning this love, satisfying their partner, doing things for them becomes duty number one.

If we recall the fairy-tale Cinderella, we will see that in the story she pays no attention to her appearance. In reality, she can be well-groomed and attractive at the same time. But if she believes this is not enough to be loved, she will not take compliments on her looks seriously, and at the same time she will keep thinking that what she has done for this person is not enough. As a result, Cinderella truly does not feel loved, constantly complaining about loneliness and being unloved.

The transaction of care. If, in a relationship, what matters is satisfying the partner in every possible way and winning love, then in this relationship model the main indicator is precisely guilt. Even when she meets a very good and kind person, Cinderella will try to take on more of the burden than necessary. At work, to satisfy management, she will stay after hours and selflessly agree to take on extra duties.

Of course, for those around her, Cinderella is very convenient. Many people can take advantage of her. For example, even in schools and workplaces, if you watch parents who put themselves forward for organizational work and take on a great deal of hard work with no material gain whatsoever, it becomes clear that emotional interests lie at the heart of this relationship model. Sometimes the promotion of such activity in any sphere, even in the workplace, may be mistaken for a material interest. But in reality, very often such people do everything they can for one reason only: to win the goodwill of others and their love.

For example, when preparing for a trip, an organizer with this approach makes lists, contacts every single person, collects money penny by penny, does the calculations, and then often stresses: “Do you think I need this? I do this fussy, thankless work for you.” If the question follows: “Why for us, exactly?” they will not be able to find an answer, because they themselves do not know. Behind this inner emotional struggle lie the basic motives, of which they themselves have no concept. If everyone unequivocally expresses gratitude and appreciation, this will satisfy the Cinderella completely.

Suppose that on the eve of the New Year, an idea comes up at school to put on a celebration for the children. And not a single parent wants to take on the organizing work. Cinderella begins to complain, not hiding her astonishment: “How can you behave like this, really? You want to leave the children without Father Frost, without a celebration?” If in this case no one steps forward, she will still try to do something. Because even if the children end up without a celebration here, she will feel guilty at the thought that “I could at least have organized it, and the children would have had fun.” Such thoughts will give her no peace.

Another example: at work, one of the colleagues cooks food not only for herself but for the whole team at lunchtime, and perhaps spends her entire salary on just such things. In return, she sees an attitude of: “We can’t do without you,” “What would we do without you, really?” This turns into a constant need, like genuine spiritual nourishment. Later, once this behavior has become a habit, those around her will take it as a matter of course. In this situation, not receiving the emotional response she hopes for, Cinderella will feel guilty out of a sense of responsibility. As if the food she cooked was not to anyone’s taste and the people were left hungry. The next time, she will try all sorts of ways to do even more. So she falls into the trap of her own thinking, and the only way out of this “no-way-out” situation is to work together with a professional specialist. Otherwise, ignoring the root of what she has lived through, after a certain age these people complain about their fate and lot, about the injustice of people toward them. Such people, endlessly repeating these complaints, are like a person drowning in a swamp, trapped in the Cinderella relationship model, forever praying for help.

Crisis and Transitions. What has to happen for the bearers of the Cinderella relationship model not to fall into such a trap? If someone with the “Beggar” mindset meets such a person, it is precisely for this reason that a long-lasting toxic relationship cannot be brought to an end. As a result of mutual frustration (that is, when in each of these neurotic relationships both sides satisfy their unhealthy needs in just this form), the painful relationship seems to become a “spiritual need” for both of them.

What has to happen for Cinderella not to fall into such a snare? If the “Beggar” keeps exploiting Cinderella, sooner or later, when he can no longer live up to her expectations of love, the charge between them will build, and Cinderella’s cup of patience will overflow. Cinderella’s nightmare will reach its peak the day the “Beggar” says: “And what have you ever done for me, really?” At that moment, the realization that her efforts were futile and the search for the cause within herself can plunge the bearer of the Cinderella model into a depressive state.

Depressive phase. Cinderella in depression. If this state becomes a permanent chronic condition, it will of course be difficult to detect the cognitive distortion in her thinking. Because she has grown used to this state and cannot imagine that things could ever be any different. But one day the feeling of being unneeded may make Cinderella stop and think, giving rise to certain fears about leaving this role. It is precisely this nightmare that can push her out of her comfort zone and become the source of a new way of thinking.

Having never received a worthy appraisal from people, Cinderella, at the next stage, may think like Lilith: “Everything can be bought with money,” and after that she may begin building relationships in the Lilith style. In this case she does not develop as a person; on the contrary, she regresses spiritually. Before, she always sacrificed herself to be useful to others and could not spare any time for herself. She could neither grow as a person nor build up her professional skills. Because the perpetual excuse “I have too much work, no time for that” kept pulling her away. Once she switches to the Lilith model, she starts trading those same skills for money. She acquires neither new skills nor high spiritual values. As a result, what she used to do for gratitude and love, she now does for money. As if she were taking revenge on people for seeing nothing in return.

Aggressive phase. It is very rare for Cinderella to fall into the aggressive phase. This is because people prone to such a relationship model are more inclined to blame themselves. Guilt is a direct road to depression. Unable to demand anything for herself, even though she always puts her own wishes last, she can make fierce demands when it comes to getting help for others. Someone may violate her rights, manage to subdue her, and accuse her for a long stretch of time, but if anyone allows themselves even the slightest remark toward her loved ones, the ones under her care, that person may be met with Cinderella’s great wrath.

Cinderella, who always considers herself indebted to others, cannot express the aggression inside her, because she is afraid of harming the other side. But when she sees injustice toward the people under her care, since it is now the other person who is at fault, she can direct all the aggression she has been suppressing for years, with full force, at that person.

But if, in the course of her habit of blaming herself, she experiences a new trauma (for example, because of her helplessness her loved ones put pressure on her), Cinderella may rebel. In this case, finding herself “cornered,” she may try to behave aggressively and make her charity, or the injustice she has faced, public. At this point her thinking changes: “You didn’t know my worth; I’ll go where they do.” Now Cinderella no longer wants to help anyone, and so her cognitive level will enter a new stage. At this time she will be ready to sign on to bigger undertakings in order to do something greater. Now the inner “screaming individual” will want to prove to everyone that she is a person society needs. And here a new competence takes shape for the Teresa relationship model.

There is, however, another path of the aggressive phase, one that leads to the Beggar model. When the cup of patience overflows, Cinderella may decide: “I have given so much; now let them serve me.” She begins to feel that the world owes her. This feeling, as a right to receive benefits, becomes the bridge to the next model.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Cinderella” model: service out of guilt, the inability to say “no,” the search for love through sacrifice.

Penelope (Mythological archetype, Homer).

The wife of Odysseus, who waited twenty years for his return, refusing all her suitors.

Manifestation of the model: A symbol of fidelity and duty. She sacrificed her youth and the chance to build her own happiness to wait for her husband, feeling responsibility for his home and his son. Her service was dictated by a sense of obligation and guilt toward her family, should she break her vow.

Katerina Ivanovna (Literary archetype, F. Dostoevsky).

The heroine of the novel Crime and Punishment, a widow suffering for her family.

Manifestation of the model: She feels guilty for the calamity that befell her children, sacrifices her health for them, and constantly reproaches herself and her husband (posthumously) for their fate. Her service is steeped in pain and the sense that she must atone for the sins of her loved ones with her own suffering.

Dorothea Brooke (Literary archetype, G. Eliot).

The heroine of the novel Middlemarch, who married an elderly scholar.

Manifestation of the model: She suppressed her personal desires and aspirations in order to serve her husband’s work, considering it her highest duty. Her life became an example of how a sense of obligation and the desire to be useful can eclipse one’s own personality and happiness.

The Wives of the Decembrists (Historical archetype, Russia, 19th century).

Women who followed their husbands into Siberian exile, giving up their privileges.

Manifestation of the model: Although this is an act of love, in the context of the model it is an example of extreme service and self-sacrifice for the sake of duty and husband. They took upon themselves responsibility for the fate of their spouses, considering it their moral obligation, despite the personal losses and suffering it cost them.

Empress Alexandra Feodorovna (Russia, 19th–20th centuries).

The wife of Nicholas II, who served as a nurse during the war.

Manifestation of the model: Despite her exalted position, she personally cared for the wounded, taking on a heavy physical and emotional burden. This service was dictated by a sense of duty and responsibility toward her country and its soldiers, which fits the archetype of self-sacrifice for others.

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

Depending on the context, a person may be met with ingratitude or rebellion.

When sacrifice fails to bring the expected love or gratitude, a crisis sets in.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “I gave everything, and no one values me.” Cinderella withdraws into herself, feels useless. She may begin to believe that love can be bought (a shift toward the Lilith model), selling her services instead of giving them freely. She regresses, ceasing to grow as a person, because “there’s no time for herself.”

The aggressive exit: The person rages against those who hurt her charges. Cinderella rarely gets angry on her own behalf, but she fiercely defends her “children” and loved ones. If the pressure becomes unbearable, she may revolt, making her sacrifice public (a shift toward the Teresa model on a societal scale). Yet if she comes to feel that the world owes her for her suffering, she begins demanding care from others. That sense of the world being in her debt becomes a bridge to the Beggar model.

6. MARIA’S STORY. THE PATH OF “CINDERELLA”

Three months had passed since Maria moved in above the bakery. The key with the cardboard tag no longer felt like someone else’s. She got up at five, sold bread until two, paid for her room herself, and at first was proud of every receipt. And then the evenings would come. In the silence of the room she heard only her own voice, and it asked: “So who needs you here? What use are you?”

Simply being, of no use to anyone, was something she had not known how to do since childhood, since that kitchen where tea for her father and a report card for her mother had been her way to stop the shouting.

A notice taped to the bakery door brought her to the homeless outreach center. She told herself this was nothing like the foundation: there she had been after sainthood, and here she only wanted to help out after work. When a man with frostbitten fingers nodded to her and said, “Thank you, sister,” she felt warm and calm inside, and the voice in her room fell silent for a while.

Half a year later everyone needed her. At the center they knew: if there was nobody to take the night shift, Maria would. Her neighbor left her child with her when she went out on dates. The bakery owner asked her to cover for a sick coworker, and she did, for the third time that month. Nina, with whom she had made up, was getting divorced that winter, and Maria sat up four nights in her kitchen and at five went off to sell bread. The phone rang at night too. She had not once said “no,” and half seriously believed the word did not exist in her language.

“I can’t refuse,” she sometimes thought, dozing off upright on the bus. “They’ll be hurt, they’ll decide I’m a bad person, they’ll stop calling. And if they stop calling, then who am I?”

Anton turned up at the center in the spring. Tall, stooped, with intelligent, tired eyes, in a good coat long overdue for cleaning, he was unlike the others and knew it. By his account he had taught, had been writing a book, and had been thrown out by his wife with nothing but a briefcase. He spoke beautifully, and looked at her so helplessly that Maria’s heart tightened.

“I have nowhere to stay,” he told her one day by the serving line, in a low voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “Just one night. I can’t stay here, with them.”

She felt for the tagged key in her pocket.

“I have a couch. For one night only.”

The night stretched into a week, the week into a month, the month into the whole summer. Anton didn’t look for work. He said he was looking for himself, that he needed time and quiet, and Maria tiptoed around the room when he was thinking. Some evenings he read aloud to her, well, the way teachers read, and she fell asleep to his voice thinking that at last there was someone at home. For those evenings she worked for two and took extra shifts. Heading out at five, she left his breakfast under a dish towel, and coming home she found a dirty plate on the table and Anton on the couch, with the same book open to the same page. She washed the plate in silence: to reproach him would have meant becoming a bad person.

Gradually she took on the rest as well. She collected job listings for him and laid them out on the table in order of suitability. She ironed shirts he hadn’t asked her to iron. Once, while he was in the shower, she answered a call on his phone, arranged an interview in his name, and then reminded him about it for two days. He didn’t go to the interview, and she was as upset as if she had been the one turned down.

At night she asked herself, “Why am I doing all this?” And answered at once, without thinking: “He’ll go under without me. He’s talented, just weak. I’ll pull him out, and then he’ll see who was there beside him.”

Do you recognize this logic? It is the very guilt complex discussed in this chapter: Cinderella is convinced that love has to be earned through service and that she personally answers for another person’s life.

She was fired from the bakery in November. In one week she had left mid-shift three times: Anton had a fever, or had lost his key, or was “in a really dark place.” The owner said he understood completely and handed her her final pay in an envelope. She told Anton nothing, so as not to upset him.

That same evening he came home drunk and flung his keys on the table so hard that they slid to the edge and fell.

“You’re smothering me, Maria. Smothering me with your caring.” He was slurring, and that made the words come out even nastier. “These shirts… Talking on the phone for me… What am I to you, a job?”

She stood in the middle of the kitchen with a basin of wet laundry. The basin slipped, and the water, gray and soapy, spread across the linoleum all the way to the door.

“I do it for you,” she whispered. “All of it is for you.”

“You do it for yourself,” he said, and walked out, leaving the door open.

She sank to the floor, right into the water. Her tights soaked through at once, and the cold crept up her legs. What stung most was that this man, drunk, good for nothing, who had lived off her for eight months, had told the truth. She remembered answering his phone. She remembered being glad when he got sick, because sick he belonged to her entirely.

Until morning she sat in the cooling puddle, watching the light of the streetlamp rock in it. Then she got up, wiped the floor, washed his shirts, ironed them, folded them into a bag, and set the bag out on the landing with his keys on top. In case he came back. And if he didn’t… She left the thought unfinished.

Then she dialed the center.

“I’m not coming in today. Or tomorrow. And probably not ever again.”

“Maria, wait,” the man on duty said, flustered. “But who’ll take the night shift, when we’ve got nobody…”

She listened to that flustered voice, and something new rose in her. Guilt she had long been used to; this was anger. For a year and a half she had been taking the night shift, and not one of them had ever asked how she got home afterward.

She hung up without hearing him out and without apologizing, for the first time in her life.

The Cinderella in her died that morning, and yet what was born in her place was not the Phoenix.

She went outside without a hat. The air was frosty and clean, and she felt no lighter. Instead of freedom, a heavy, stubborn feeling sat in her chest that she was owed: by Anton, eight months of her life; by the center, a year and a half of nights; by Nina, four nights in the kitchen; by her parents, her whole childhood. “I’ve given so much,” she thought, and the thought straightened her back. “Now let them give to me.”

She took out her phone and called Nina. How Nina was doing, she didn’t ask.

“I’m in a bad way. Come over. Bring food. And money, if you have any. I got fired.”

It didn’t sound much like a request. Nina was silent for a moment and said she would be there in an hour.

Maria put the phone away and felt something like satisfaction. So it could be done this way too.