Chapter 7. The Relationship Model “Teresa”

The Illusion of Holiness: The Trap of Self-Sacrifice.

1. NAME AND MEANING

Transcription and Etymology: The model takes its name from a historical figure: Mother Teresa, the Catholic nun who devoted her life to serving the poor and the sick. In the context of our method, The Phoenix Era, however, this is not necessarily a religious ascetic or a canonized saint. It is a psychological model of relationships between people, a deep archetype hidden beneath the mask of charity.

Through the lens of Adler’s individual psychology, this is classic hypercompensation of an inferiority complex. Unlike the “Phoenix,” who helps sincerely, out of an abundance of love, “Teresa” helps in order to appear good, to fill an inner emptiness with external proof of being needed. It is a way of buying love at the price of one’s own personality, turning self-sacrifice into a currency of communication.

The roots of this image lie in the concept of altruism, but an altruism distorted by guilt or a hidden resentment against fate. In Greek mythology, echoes of it can be seen in the figure of Hestia, goddess of the hearth, who sacrifices herself for others yet remains in the shadows, stripped of her own passions. The same single stereotype runs through every culture: a person who considers themselves unworthy of love simply for who they are, and who therefore desperately earns it with good deeds, as if they were indulgences.

2. SLOGAN AND BELIEFS

People in the “Teresa” state of mind often broadcast thoughts that become both their moral shield and their cage. Here are the three core beliefs typical of this model, the ones you can hear in their inner monologues:

“A person should be known only by their good deeds.” (The belief that the personality is secondary; only actions matter; looks or talents mean nothing without service to others.)

“What matters is not beauty but kindness.” (Devaluing appearance, sexuality, and personal desires in favor of moral superiority.)

“If I don’t help, who will?” (A belief in one’s own indispensability through service; the fear that without them the world will collapse.)

3. INFORMATION BLOCK: HISTORY, LITERATURE, AND PSYCHOLOGY

“Since I’m not beautiful, then I must be useful.” This quiet, almost inaudible whisper echoes in the minds of thousands of people. Appearance here often has no objective connection to the essence of the problem. A woman or a man with a genuinely beautiful body, given by nature, can hold extremely negative, distorted ideas about themselves. And conversely, a person whom those around them don’t consider attractive at all may sincerely believe they are a world-class beauty. A person’s ideas about themselves find their direct, and often tragic, reflection in their relationship model.

Here we encounter the phenomenon of body dysmorphic disorder (formerly called dysmorphophobia), a painful preoccupation with an imagined or trivial defect in one’s appearance. A person who has carried this problem inside for years, like a heavy stone hidden against the chest, will inevitably try to find a way out through compensation. The psyche cannot tolerate a vacuum of self-esteem. Over time, such people seem to come to terms with the body parts or features they once saw as a flaw, and they begin to build a new defensive philosophy.

For example, a thought arises that becomes the foundation of an entire life: “So what if I’m not beautiful? At least I have a wonderful character.” In everything they do, they try to rise in other people’s eyes, and their achievements in life are gained precisely for this purpose: not for the sake of the deed itself, but for confirmation of their value. It has been noted more than once that every philanthropist, every person inclined to charity, possesses a self-sacrificing spirit. But in the “Teresa” model this spirit has a hidden motive. In such people, in keeping with the image of “Mother Teresa,” a desire arises to help the destitute and the needy, without pursuing any obvious selfish goal. And yet in this unconscious game, our hero may devote years to charity in order to compensate for their value in precisely this form.

The inner dialogue sounds like this: “Let me be a dull person, let me lack the gift to shine, but my deeds are always useful and necessary to society.” This applies not only to large, global charitable projects. In people with this kind of thinking, every interaction with every person in their circle is remembered for their compulsive, well-meaning gestures. Behavior flowing from this inner complex leads to development in only one direction: toward service, often at their own expense.

Similar needs can be observed in behavior that flows from a sense of guilt. But in the relationship model we are examining, we are dealing with a character inclined toward social work precisely as a means of self-affirmation. For that reason we can call this approach the “Teresa” relationship model.

“Teresa,” regardless of profession, strives to be recognized as a good person thanks to her charity and selflessness in every action and every choice. The desire to please relatives, friends, acquaintances, colleagues, or partners in a relationship is a kind of conquest of public authority in the professional sphere, which earns her a good name. Everyone who keeps walking this path is working on their life mission, saying in their inner monologue: “I managed to do it, I am needed.” Let us remind you once more: people who build relationships on this life principle may in fact have no serious problems with their appearance at all. It is precisely their ideas, flowing from a deep inferiority complex, that distort the mirror of perception.

They may scale great heights in their careers, they may be famous for their deeds in society, but in personal relationships things unfold somewhat differently, often tragically. If some problem arises in a love relationship or with people close to her (and it will arise in her thinking precisely because of this complex), “Teresa” may suffer a serious shock. Because it is as if she receives a worthy answer from life itself, one that confirms her worst fears. That guilt acquires an inner meaning: “I deserve such unlove, because I am not good enough in myself.” This can happen even at the very summit of success, when the world gives her a standing ovation and a cold pillow waits at home.

Crisis of the model: The Scene of Recognition. Picture this: let us say that Mother Teresa, as a historical figure, enjoys great love and respect. (Even though historical research may contain various opinions about her, in reality we are relying on her public image as presented, an image of selflessness.) Now let us imagine a scenario that reveals the essence of the crisis. Mother Teresa takes a vow to remain unmarried and devotes her life to the sick and the destitute. Periodically traveling to the Vatican and receiving support from the Pope, she continues her work.

And then one fine day a man confesses his love to her. A woman who has never known such love is touched by this confession, sinks into dreams of love, and decides that her loneliness has gone on long enough! “She is a woman too, she has the right to be loved too.” Having acknowledged this desire to experience such feelings, she decides to respond in kind, but is met with a sudden and unexpected reaction from the man. She realizes that he loves her only as “Mother Teresa,” as a symbol, but that he is not interested in her as a woman. A vast abyss opens in her heart.

Those very flaws she had once considered her own come back to life, and the nightmares she had tried to forget begin tormenting her again. Having reached the apex of her career, she realizes that she earned society’s love not because she was attractive as a woman on the emotional level, but because she was a moral person with high spiritual values. Without realizing it, she had spent her whole life trying, through this kind of compensation, to escape her traumatic thoughts, the ones flowing from her inferiority complex. And now, confronted with the nightmare she had been fleeing all her life, she experiences the greatest shock of her life.

Having become the victim of such cognitive distortions, she sees in the beliefs rooted in her mind the only path, the one that leads to self-sacrifice. This once again confirms that emotions arise not from female sexuality, but from a desire born of deep spirituality, which, in this case, serves as armor. When she understands that sexuality, emotions, and spirituality are entirely different levels of perceiving a personality, she experiences enormous stress. Because all these years she had been trying to compensate for her woman’s happiness by winning people’s love and favor precisely through spirituality and service.

And here lies the true culmination: while going through a deep depression, “Teresa” realizes that she created this relationship model by her own decision, backing herself into the corner of holiness.

The way out of the crisis: Rebellion or Acceptance. Facing the bitter result of years of denying her own sexuality and personal desires may later lead to a change in this relationship model and, at the same time, to the emergence of a rebellious pattern of behavior.

In the “Teresa” relationship model, such self-sacrifice, such charity, must be answered with a reward. It seems to her that a certain “prince on a white horse” should come in exchange, one who will rate her highly. She believes that if she is loved for this quality of hers, that will be true, pure love. At the same time, a person with this kind of thinking has her own hidden criteria of choice. The one who falls in love with her must conquer her heart with his attractiveness as well, not merely appraise her deeds. In many cases, “Teresa” may sooner or later mistakenly take pleasant relationships, kind words, thoughts, a declaration of love for something greater than they really are. In that case, we may encounter signs of rebellion in her behavior.

A person may mistakenly interpret what is said in the way she was hoping for. She may take polite, kind words, thoughts, a declaration of love for something more. And then, learning that she is not loved as a woman, thoughts like “Why am I not loved?!” and “Am I not worthy of this love?” lead to an inner explosion, to rebellion.

How does this rebellion manifest itself? A person who constantly monitors her behavior and tries to earn love through good deeds and care may, upon learning that this approach utterly fails to justify itself, experience a serious feeling of anger. Rejection of the current relationship model usually happens when a person runs up against failures in her own life. If the bearer of the “Teresa” model one day rises up in anger, this may mark a transition to the “Puttana” model.

A concrete example from life: Let’s consider a situation described in the method to understand the mechanics of the transition. Suppose there is a woman with some flaw in her appearance (real or imagined) who, relying more on her spiritual qualities, has always preferred to be polite with people. If she accepts this flaw, which has turned into a serious psychological complex, for what it is, then in her dealings with people she will rely only on the richness of her inner world.

If one fine day a colleague says a kind word to this woman, she will take it for a declaration of love. This woman may even read an invitation to her birthday as an introduction to the family, as a step toward closeness. Meanwhile, the host invited many members of the team to the event; it was simple politeness. If “Teresa” attends the event hoping for a closer relationship, she may be highly sensitive about herself in any conversation that takes place there. She will scan every word for hidden meaning.

And if, on top of that, the host introduces his fiancée to the guests at this event, a great storm may break out in “Teresa’s” heart. What happens if, beyond the disappointment, she reads this other person’s attitude toward her as an insulting move? At that moment, a powerful aggression may awaken in her heart, along with a feeling of distrust toward people.

If “Teresa” used to devote herself to good deeds and caring feelings in order to win people’s love, the changes that have now taken place in her thinking may lead to rebellious behavior. The more strength she once spent on self-sacrifice, the more her behavior now moves toward its complete opposite. She begins to declare that love does not exist, and begins to prefer sexual pleasure as proof of her vitality. She begins to meet people who agree to intimate relations at the earliest opportunity, without commitments.

Now relationships built with a member of the opposite sex, without any emotional bonds, will lead directly to intimacy. Even at this traumatic stage of the transition, she presents herself to people as someone open to crude jokes and intimate relations. That is why a crowd of people with unethical behavior now gathers around her. It is precisely the message she sends out to the world along this path that can lead to the “Puttana” relationship model we mentioned earlier.

On the other hand, if no serious trauma occurs within the “Teresa” relationship model, the need of people living in psychological complexes to constantly help others and assert themselves in this way will not lose its relevance. A love affair between a man and a woman can happen within the “Teresa” relationship model: if someone appears before “Teresa” who adores who she is, this can lead to building a shared life with him. In relationships built this way, the bearer of the “Teresa” mindset, whether man or woman, will need confirmation of her self-sacrifice.

The development of a mindset in this direction makes it possible to see how people who are not especially beautiful outwardly love and are loved. At this point, bearers of the “Teresa” relationship model accept the possibility of preserving moral norms without giving up love relationships, and of asserting themselves in society as worthy individuals. Any “Teresa” experiencing frustration must choose one of two paths. Either she withdraws into deep depression, or, as her horizons widen, she comes to know and accept herself and her desires. Those who remain in the depressive cycle, of course, can be helped to move in the right direction with psychotherapy.

4. 5 FAMOUS FIGURES (ARCHETYPES OF THE MODEL)

Historical and cultural figures whose behavior matched the “Teresa” model: service to society, the search for recognition through good deeds, compensation for personal complexes.

Mother Teresa (Albania/India, 20th century).

Founder of a missionary movement, she devoted her life to serving the poor in Calcutta.

How the model showed itself: Her life became the gold standard of self-sacrifice in the public mind. Yet in the context of the model, her need to serve was so absolute that it entirely replaced personal life. She sought recognition through suffering and service, which matches the archetype of compensation through good deeds. Her image shows how a lofty mission can become a way of hiding an inner need to be loved simply for who you are.

Florence Nightingale (Great Britain, 19th century).

Founder of modern nursing, nicknamed “The Lady with the Lamp.”

How the model showed itself: She gave up a traditional family life to serve the wounded. Her work became a way of fulfilling the need to be needed and significant, compensating for personal limitations through public good and moral authority. Her self-sacrifice became legend, but the price of that legend was personal happiness.

Princess Diana (Great Britain, 20th century).

Member of the royal family, actively involved in charity (the fight against AIDS and against landmines).

How the model showed itself: Her charity is often seen as a search for love and understanding, of which her marriage had left her starved. She used helping those in need as a way of communicating with the world and receiving an emotional response, typical of the neurotic “Teresa” seeking confirmation of her worth through service.

Jane Addams (USA, 19th–20th centuries).

Social reformer, founder of the settlement movement (Hull House).

How the model showed itself: She devoted her life to helping immigrants and the poor. Her work was a way of fulfilling a sense of social responsibility, but also a way of finding her place in the world through service to others, compensating for her personal limitations and finding her footing in public good.

Sonya Marmeladova (literary archetype, F. Dostoevsky).

The heroine of Crime and Punishment, sacrificing herself for her family.

How the model showed itself: A perfect literary example. She sells herself (at first) to feed her family, and later becomes Raskolnikov’s spiritual guide. Her personality is entirely dissolved in service to others, which strips her of any right to her own happiness in the conventional sense, but gives her moral superiority and a sense of being needed, both characteristic of the “Teresa.”

5. EXITING THE MODEL (DEPRESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE)

Depending on the context, a person may run into ingratitude or rebellion.

When self-sacrifice stops bringing the expected love, a crisis sets in.

The depressive exit: The person realizes: “I gave everything, and still they don’t love me.” The “Teresa” withdraws into herself and starts complaining about how ungrateful the world is. She keeps on helping, but now with a sense of resentment that poisons every relationship. This is the road to burnout and psychosomatic illness. She stays trapped in the victim cycle, waiting for a savior who never comes.

The aggressive exit: The person grows angry at her own “saintliness.” “Being good doesn’t pay!” The “Teresa” starts displaying the opposite behavior: she may allow herself luxury, selfishness, or sexual liberation. This is a move toward the Puttana model (rebellion against morality). And if she can come to see the true value of helping without expecting a reward, a transition to the Phoenix becomes possible.

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

Six months after Timur left, Maria returned to the city she had once left on the first train that came, and got in line with the volunteers at a charitable foundation: in a gray sweater, without makeup, under her own name. The money she had earned at the agency she transferred to the foundation in her first week, anonymously, yet so that accounting would still guess who it was from. For herself she kept enough for a cot in a room off the warehouse that smelled of cardboard and laundry detergent.

For the first three months she was almost happy. She served meals, mopped floors in the shelter, sorted bags of clothing, and listened to other people’s stories, each harder than the last, and after each her own guilt grew a little lighter. Even the dirt under her nails seemed a sign that she was on the right path. She came first and left last, and thought with relief that she no longer had to be liked by anyone: being useful was enough. For weeks at a time she forgot she had a face: all that was asked of her now was a pair of hands, and that suited her.

Those who went home at six she regarded with gentle regret. When an old woman in the foundation’s care knitted her a pair of socks, Maria thanked her and gave them back: “Oh no, I don’t need anything. Give them to someone who needs them more.” The old woman was offended, and Maria didn’t understand why. She took nothing from anyone, in fact, neither an apple nor a day off, and there was a quiet pleasure in this that she didn’t admit to herself.

The volunteers were managed by Edgar, a thin, stooped man her own age, always with a phone at his ear and a folder under his arm. Once, counting boxes with her, he said without looking up:

“I don’t know what we’d do without you. I really don’t.”

A warmth spread through her chest, so strong that it frightened her.

“I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do,” she answered.

Edgar looked up and held her gaze a little longer than politeness required, or else she imagined it. That look lasted her a month.

A year went by. She knew everyone in their care by name, knew who took which pills and whose son was in prison, and the foundation had forgotten how to manage without her. Edgar often stayed late, and they drank tea in the kitchen, where the smell of cheap tea mixed with the smell of bleach. He told her how hard it was to beg money for the simplest things, for linens and bandages, and she listened and warmed herself at his voice as at a stove. In the mornings she now took a little longer than necessary choosing a sweater, and was annoyed with herself for it.

“Kindness matters more than beauty,” she kept telling herself. “He isn’t the kind who looks at a face. He’ll see how much I do, and one day he’ll understand.”

What exactly he would understand she didn’t spell out even to herself.

That evening rain was drumming on the roof. They had finished late, she was washing the last of the cups, and Edgar suddenly came over, took her by the shoulders, and turned her toward him. Her breath stopped.

“Maria,” he said tenderly, “you’re like a mother to all of us.”

It took her a moment to grasp that this was all, that nothing more would follow. He had said the best thing he had for her.

“A mother. I’m thirty-five; he and I are the same age. I’ve been mopping floors here for more than a year so he would say that. I wanted to buy love with kindness, and they handed me respect. Respect won’t keep you warm at night.”

This is the crisis of the Teresa model discussed in this chapter: she is loved as a symbol of kindness, the woman in her goes unseen, and she drove herself into this corner of saintliness.

Maria looked at her hands in the soapy water, red, the skin cracked around the nails. At the agency she had spent an hour a week on them.

“Do you have anybody?” Edgar asked from the door, zipping up his jacket. “Besides us, I mean. You’re here all the time.”

“I have all of you,” she answered evenly. “I have my work.”

He nodded, wished her good night, and went out into the rain. The tea had gone cold. Reflected in the dark window was a woman in a gray sweater with tired eyes, whom everyone around her called a saint.

That night, on her cot behind the shelving, she went through them all: Rafael, Omar, Timur. “I used to pay with my body, now I pay with good deeds, and I keep buying the same thing.” The thought flickered and was gone; she had no strength left to think it through. That night she was simply very hurt.

In the morning, in the dining hall, the old man from the third floor pushed his plate away as always and began to complain: the soup was thin, the bread was yesterday’s, nobody cared about him. She heard this every day and every day answered gently. This time she put down the ladle and said, loud enough for the whole hall:

“And why should I care about you? Has anyone ever felt sorry for me? Even once?”

It went quiet. The old man stared at her with his mouth half open, and his lower lip trembled. He was pitiful and unkempt and had done her no wrong. Maria took off her apron and walked out into the hallway, feeling on her back the eyes of the very people who had called her a saint for a year.

A mirror hung in the hallway. She went right up to it and spent a long time examining her dry lips, the crease between her brows, a gray hair at her temple. She wanted to put on lipstick, bright, out of spite, and for somebody to see it.

She took out her phone and found the number of the salon she had walked past on her way to the market for a whole year.

“I’d like to make an appointment. For tomorrow. Yes, the full treatment. And makeup.”

The girl on the line asked her to repeat something, but Maria had already hung up. She left the warehouse keys on the kitchen table, next to Edgar’s cup, and wrote no note. A wind was blowing off the sea, and the air was salty and cold. She walked fast, telling herself that enough was enough, that being good didn’t pay, and that now she would live for herself.

How that was done, she had no idea.