martyr (from dictionary.com) — a person who seeks sympathy or attention by feigning or exaggerating pain, deprivation, etc.

Why are moms such experts in the art of playing the martyr?

I ask this because I’m just as guilty as the next woman!

Take a recent example: I spent the bulk of one day doing My Favorite Domer’s laundry — washing clothes, drying them, ironing them. It was a weekend, so he was around to “watch the show,” but did he even once ask to help out?

Not on your life. It was more important for him to chillax with video games, etc. He’d worked all week, you know!

And I’m sure I told him once or twice that later on, I needed to rearrange the furniture in my bedroom. Did he volunteer to help with that?

Again, no.

So once the laundry was done, there I was, sweating like a pig, grunting and shoving furniture from one wall to another, while he managed to make himself scarce.

It was only when my mom insisted he come help me that he finally did. And what did I do? Snarled and hissed at him, swearing his services weren’t needed, and I’d rather do it myself than inconvenience him!

He insisted. I resisted. At last, I let him win and grudgingly accepted his help. And it’s true what they say, Many hands make light work.

So why didn’t I just ask for help in the first place?

I suppose I’m like most women. We learn martyrdom from our moms, who learned it from their moms, and so on. It’s served us well, allowing us to pout, hold grudges, cry, complain, and exact revenge when the others in our family least expect it.

But it’s no way to achieve a peaceful family life.

And really, isn’t that everyone‘s goal?

Father God, Forgive me for stubbornly clinging to my martyrdom, for being too proud to ask for help when I need it. Never let me be that way with You!