You worship me, you suffocate me, yet I can't let go
The theater of the deceiving hero and the rabbit savior.
This is part two of a series on extreme relationship dynamics (link to part one). I think many of us are capable of behaving in ways that resemble either predator or prey, whether we're conscious of it or not, whether we want to accept it or not. My only hope is to alert people to behaviors that might signal someone unsafe. Relationships are infinitely complex. Everyone is the hero of their own story, but let’s try to protect ourselves with as much consideration for each other as possible.
Once upon a time, there was a predator. They wanted people to think they’re a hero and wore a cape of intimidation and superiority. They prided themselves on being self-sufficient, high-achievers, and high-performers. They were talented, in control, and a tower of strength—qualities that attracted preys who wanted their protection. But this predator was deeply wounded once, they were once a prey themselves. So they decided to protect themselves by putting on an armor, and in their hurt, vowed to live a life of deceiving heroism. They may not even be aware of it.
They don’t offer their protection to any prey. They sniff for the sensitive ones: rabbits who are masters at empathy and caregiving, maybe a little lost and insecure. When the wounded hero first meets that rabbit prey, they can’t help but be drawn in. The rabbit prey is one who’s tuned in to people’s suffering and needs, and is prone to save others. They felt seen and instantly safe. This is someone who will understand me. Someone who will submit to me, their subconscious tells them. I will be the hero they never had.
The wounded hero knows to play nice to begin with. They’ve learned the art of artificial closeness and emotional manipulation. They flip their charm on like a switch while listening and soothing the rabbit’s insecurities. They know how to make their prey feel wanted, then invite them to chase. They’ll test them like a scientist: How much are they willing to give? How much are they willing to wait? They know the prey wants to see what’s behind their cape. So they show a glimpse of the armor they wear underneath, but then immediately pull back and disappear. A seemingly tender moment followed by days of silence. And the rabbit is left feeling uncertain, wondering what happened. Then, they resurface with a “sorry, I’ve been busy” text.
They don’t trust me yet. They don’t feel safe, the rabbit thinks to themselves. The glimpses made them want to see more of the armor. What are they hiding? What are they so scared of? In their attempt to fulfill their need for closeness, the rabbit savior opens up and reveals all their wounds, surrenders themselves fully. This is what the deceiving hero wants. This is what makes them feel safer. They want to see the rabbit be vulnerable first. It makes them feel like they have the upper hand, though of course, they won’t ever say.
The rabbit waits and shows up and waits. They try to understand the hero and respond to their silent expectations. The wounded hero enjoys the attention and the performance. In their delight, they open the cape and invite the rabbit closer as a treat, and then—pull the cape shut again. Every time the rabbit savior gets too close, the deceiving hero pulls back and leaves a trace of emotional coldness just because they can. They’re in charge of the show and it opens and finishes according to their mood and their whims.
As soon as the rabbit is about to give up, the deceiving hero returns and throws off their cape. They show up with the sweet words, the care, and gifts they’ve been withholding—tricks that have always worked. Act one is done: they’ve gained the rabbit’s trust by making them believe they’ve earned theirs.
Now, the show darkens.
The rabbit savior has gained the hero’s trust, they’ve gotten the cape off, but they still don’t feel connected. They want to know what’s underneath the armor. They ask for a glimpse, but the wounded hero protects it fiercely. They push the rabbit away when they poke at it but not just in any way. They turn their vulnerabilities against them. “You’re being needy again. Focus on yourself,” they say coldly. They compare them to others, knowing that they’re insecure. The rabbit’s self-confidence gets eaten away with every dismissal, while the hero gets the boosts for their ego.
In their hurt, the rabbit starts wanting to prove themselves and gain the hero’s favor and approval. They anticipate their moods, support their endeavours, and plan their time around their schedule. But the hero pushes them away even more. The more they push, the more the rabbit is pulled to chase: What are you protecting so much? Why won’t you let me in? I’m safe!
The deceiving hero enjoys the begging. This is someone who’s willing to relentlessly chase and accept crumbs yet still be grateful. Someone made them chase and live on crumbs once, now they’re getting their revenge. They dismiss the rabbit’s needs and feelings, accusing them of being too emotional and invasive. The rabbit apologizes again and again, and their world shrinks to revolve around the hero’s. Nothing seems enough to get them the affection they want. They just don’t understand: what’s so wrong with wanting more affection? Maybe they are too demanding.
The rabbit finds themselves lying to protect their relationship. “Everything is great,” they say, “I’m happy,” they whisper. They watch the deceiving hero give them love and attention in front of everyone, then swirl around to enjoy the love and admiration of others. If only they knew how cruel and empty that love actually feels, the rabbit thinks to themselves. But their thoughts never reach people. The words never leave their tongue. They’ve been conditioned to feel like saying anything would mean disrespecting the wounded hero and betraying their love. So they stay quiet, starved of affection, and constantly questioning themselves.
Of course, no rabbit starves forever. At some point, they start thinking of ways to get more attention. They shower the hero with love, then withhold their affection—they learned this from the best. They stop revolving around them and seek connection elsewhere. This catches the wounded hero off-guard. Losing control triggers their need to please. They care about what others think of them; they can’t be known as the bad person. In their desperate attempt to reel the rabbit back in, they start reaching inside the armor and pulling pieces out to give them. They control the amount though and decide to take on the role of the director to keep their upper hand.
The hero enjoys being in control, but directing is exhausting. So, they complain. They paint their rabbit as overly dependent, needy, smothering, and controlling. The more the rabbit asks for closeness, the more the hero withdraws. And the more they withdraw, the more they awaken the hungry hunter in the rabbit.
“Stop pushing me away.
Stop making me feel insane.
Why don’t you want to care?”
“Stop being so sensitive.
Stop making me responsible for your feelings.
It’s not my job to always care.”
The wounded hero grows tired of the emotional turmoil eventually. Their nervous system registers needs as demands, asks as commands, heightened feelings as attacks. To maintain control and the air of generosity, they give the rabbit bigger pieces—but only what they want to give, never what was actually asked for. All while making the rabbit savior appreciate every piece and feel like they forced them to give.
The rabbit learns that drama gets them pieces. They become needier and clingier, making drama out of everything. So the hero brings back the cape—they stop showing up, avoid conversations, and start being secretive. When asked to be accountable, they defend with sacrifices from the past: “I did this for you that time”, “I went to dinner with your friends”, and “remember 3 years ago, when I showed up for you for that thing”. “You don’t appreciate my efforts. You’re never satisfied.”
During this push-pull dance of drama, avoidance, chasing, stonewalling, and lack of accountability, the rabbit’s voice starts to change: “You don’t care about me! You don’t love me! Why can’t you just give me what I want? Why can’t you just change?”
What do they really want? Do they even know? All they know is that they’re not getting it, whatever it is. They’ve forgotten what they asked for in the beginning. The hunger is so intense that they can’t make sense of it. They just want more of anything, like a starved beggar asking for any food. They end up feeling weak, controlling, needy, and guilty—like everything is their fault.
If I’m always too much. If they think me weak, needy, controlling, then why won’t they just let me go? asks the rabbit savior quietly to themselves.
They’re dramatic. They suffocate me. They have so many expectations, but I don’t want to let them go. I’ve invested in them. They do so much for me, thinks the deceiving hero in response.
This is how the deceiving hero feeds. They feed off heightened emotions, drama, clinging, and servitude. They mistake chasing for devotion and emotional intensity for love. They see emotional spectrum and want to bathe in it because it’s alien to them. They dismiss the rabbit’s feelings because they can’t hold space for their own. They internalized that emotions are weak and problems to fix when someone important dismissed theirs. So they depend on the rabbit savior to do the emotional labour for them both. The rabbit gives and chases and gives, but it seems they can never gain the wounded hero’s approval and devotion—and they can’t. You can’t gain approval from an empty shell. You can’t open an armor that’s been welded shut.
Yet, the rabbit continues pouring into the bottomless container. They hold onto the hope that one day they will give enough, and the hero will accept their love, and they will in turn feel loved and valued. They, too, are an empty shell. They, too, are wearing an armor. If only they could see that in the end, they both end up with more burden and less of what they want: the rabbit organizing lives without genuine connection, and the hero carrying emotions without real intimacy.
But why can’t the rabbit leave if they continue being mistreated, you might ask?
They’ve certainly tried, but the hero lures them back with guilt and crumbs from the armor. They’ve merged the savior into their life and made themselves indispensable out of fear of losing them. The rabbit has become dependent and comfortable. They fear loss and the risk of facing the unknown again. Escape turns into a painful image, then into an unachievable goal, then into a meaningless fantasy.
The rabbit is terrified to let go of their attachment to the hero. Worshipping them has been sustaining the rabbit just as much. They’re used to giving and being needed. Revolving around others helps them avoid being the hero themselves. This dynamic feels familiar and safe. They know the role they need to play; they know how to bend themselves and appease. It’s confinement but with comfort and just enough freedom to live as themselves a bit. They return, though, not just for familiarity. They return for the certainty that they won’t be abandoned. The deceiving hero and rabbit savior both carry the fear of abandonment—they’re bound together by this core wound. The same wound can create a hero or a savior, sometimes even both.
In this story, the hero is the tower made of bricks and the savior the shapeshifting rabbit attached to them through invisible chains. Struggling with just enough freedom to turn into a bird and flap their wings but not enough to fly freely and hunt elsewhere. Yet, they’re made to feel like they’ve chained themselves. The hero never asked them to do anything, it’s all the rabbit’s own doing:
They’re the one who chased,
they chose to wait and stay.
I am me, and they are them.
I never asked them to stay.
Don’t be surprised to hear this chant,
when you tell them you’re done staying one day.
It’s your cue to take their advice,
and completely get out of their way.
Don’t be surprised by how easily they’ll let you go, don’t be surprised to become the villain of their story either. That’s because they’ve been preparing for this day, they’ve been prepared since day one. I know you feel the pain twofold, but take off your rose-colored glasses. The charm, the gifts, and love bombing were all just for show to please you, to win your loyalty. The crumbs and pieces were merely tools for reciprocity. Once upon a time, they were armorless and almost lost that precious thing they’re protecting. But they were never going to open that armor to you because they don’t even let themselves access it. They don’t even know what they’re protecting anymore.
Closeness equates to the loss of self to them, so they must maintain control. They deny accountability and get defensive because they were made to feel inadequate and guilty too often. They can’t deal with being a failure, can’t deal with the feeling of shame. Their ego won’t let them be wrong. They’re not just deceiving you, they’re doing it to themselves too. They’re programmed to protect their heroism because no one was their hero when they needed one. This is the pain you sensed, this is what ignited the savior in you, and this is the reason neither of you can let go.
But your attempts to save them only feed the cycle. Somehow, you always end up being apologetic in service of connection but the more you apologize, the more they’ll lose respect for you. With every apology you feed their mental image that they are always right and you are always wrong. That you are weak and they are strong. You’re not being taken care of, you’re being taken for granted. You’re not in a relationship, you are in debt. And this cycle is designed to keep you both forever locked in debt.
In this theater of the hero and the savior, the finale is that you never save each other and never save yourselves either. You can’t save a predator who’s afraid of the prey within. You can’t heal what doesn’t want to be healed. The only one who needs healing is you, and the only thing you’ll lose by staying is you.
It’s not their fault, so try not to blame them. It’s not your fault, so don’t blame yourself either. This is how you both learned love. But don’t expect them to change. No one changes unless they want to—the same goes for you. Cut those chains yourself and leave. You can do it, I know you can.
And when you’ve left and gained some perspective, please remember to not become like them. Don’t continue the pattern. Don’t dismiss and starve another rabbit into becoming a predator.