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Let me illustrate a rescue. A friend of mine was married to an alcoholic. Whenever he got drunk, she would drive all over
town, enlist the aid of friends, and relentlessly pursue her husband until she found him. She usually felt benevolent,
concerned, and sorry for hima warning that a rescue was about to take placeuntil she got him home and tucked into
bedtaking responsibility for him and his sobriety. When his head hit the pillow, things changed. She charged into the
persecutor position. She didn't want this man in her home. She expected him to whine for days about how sick he was.
He was unable to assume his responsibilities in the family, and he generally acted pitiful. He had done this so many
times! So, she would start in on him, beginning with little snipes and working up to a full-blown blast. He would briefly
tolerate her persecution before switching from a helpless victim to vengeful persecutor. She then took a downward dip
into the victim role. Self-pity, feelings of helplessness, shame, and despair set in. This was the story of her life, she would
moan. After all she had done for him, how could he treat her this way? Why did this always happen to her? She felt like
a victim of circumstance, a victim of her husband's outrageous behavior, a victim of life. It never occurred to her that she
was also a victim of herself and her own behavior.

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Here's another illustration of a rescue. One summer, a friend wanted me to take her to an apple farm. Originally, I
wanted to go, and we set a date. By the time that date came, however, I was extremely busy. I called her, and instead of
telling her I didn't want to go, I asked to postpone it. I felt guilty and responsible for her feelingsanother rescue on the
way. I couldn't disappoint her because I thought she couldn't handle or be responsible for her feelings. I couldn't tell the
truth, because I thought she might be angry with memore emotional responsibilityas if someone else's anger is my
business. The next weekend rolled around, and I squeezed the trip into my even busier schedule. But I did not want to
go. I didn't even need any apples; I had two drawers in my refrigerator crammed with apples. Before I stopped my car in
front of her house, I had already switched into the persecuting role. I seethed with resentful, tense thoughts as we drove
to the apple orchard. When we arrived at the orchard and began tasting and looking at apples, it became apparent neither
of us was enjoying herself. After a few minutes, my friend turned to me. "I really don't want any apples," she said. "I
bought some last week. I only came because I thought you wanted to, and I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

This example is only one of the thousands of rescues I have devoted my life to performing. When I began to understand
this process, I realized that I spent most of my waking moments flipping around the jagged edges of this triangle taking
responsibility for anybody and everybody besides myself. Sometimes I managed big rescues; sometimes I managed little
rescues. My friendships were initiated, maintained, and ultimately discontinued according to the rescue progression.
Rescuing infiltrated my relationships with family members and clients. It kept me in a tizzy most of the time.

Two codependents in a relationship can really play havoc with each other. Consider two people-pleasers in a relationship
with each other. Now consider two people-pleasers in a relationship with each other when they both want out of the
relationship. They will, as Earnie Larsen says, do horrible things. They'll nearly destroy each other and themselves before
one will stop rescuing and say, "I want out."

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As codependents, we spend much of our time rescuing. We try to be living proof that people can outgive God. I can
usually spot a codependent within the first five minutes of meeting and talking. He or she will either offer me
unrequested help, or the person will keep talking to me although he or she is obviously uncomfortable and wants to
discontinue the conversation. The person begins the relationship by taking responsibility for me and not taking
responsibility for him- or herself.

Some of us become so tired from the enormous burdentotal responsibility for all human beingsthat we may skip the
feelings of pity and concern that accompany the rescue act and move ahead to anger. We're angry all the time; we feel
anger and resentment toward potential victims. A person with a need or problem provokes us to feel we have to do
something or feel guilty. After a rescue, we make no bones about our hostility toward this uncomfortable predicament. I
have frequently seen this happen to people in helping professions. After so many years of rescuinggiving so much and
receiving far less in returnmany professional helpers adopt a hostile attitude toward their clients. They may continue to
hang in there and keep "helping" them, anyway, but they will usually leave their profession feeling terribly victimized,
according to some counselors.