Whisper into the void with me: https://rainbowafterdark.micro.blog

Podcast is on an indefinite hiatus

In this episode of Rainbow After Dark, we explore the paradox of being both cherished and cast aside, inspired by the myth of Chrysomallos—the golden ram from Greek mythology. As someone who has lived the experience of being both the “golden child” and the “black sheep”, I found deep resonance in this story and how it reflects the roles we inherit in dysfunctional family systems.

How do these roles shape our sense of worth? What happens when we realize that our value isn’t in what we sacrifice, but in who we truly are? Through mythology, personal reflection, and a deep dive into family dynamics, I invite you to question the roles you’ve been assigned—and imagine what it might feel like to step beyond them.

You are more than what you give. You always have been. Thank you for being here.

Thanks for listening to Rainbow After Dark! If you enjoyed this episode, be sure to subscribe so you don’t miss future ones. If something resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts—feel free to leave a comment here, or on YouTube (I don’t use it much, but I exist!).

This podcast is a space for reflection and exploration—it is not a substitute for professional advice. Please take care of yourself and seek support as needed.

———

Transcript for Episode 5 — “Golden Sheep Have Gilded Fleece”:

Today, we’re going to talk a bit about how family dynamics influence our personal identity.

There’s something powerful about finding the right information or the right story at the right time.

What struck me in particular was that Chrysomallos, this golden ram, is not only the origin of the Aries constellation, but is also a being that was both valued and discarded. When I learned this it really hit me, and it led me to further reflect on my own life and how, like Chrysomallos, I have also been revered and cast aside, seen as precious and also disposable.

This myth felt like it was about me, like, personally; specifically about my complicated relationship with identity and the roles I’ve been assigned in my family and in relationships.

Before I talk more about how the myth connects to my story, here’s a quick summary in case you’re not familiar with the myth: Chrysomallos was sent by the nymph Nephele to save her children Phrixus and Helle, but only Phrixus survived. After being sacrificed to Zeus, his golden fleece became a symbol of incredible value—this is the golden fleece that is also from the myth of Jason and the Argonauts—but Chrysomallos was discarded once his task was completed. This paradox felt like it mirrored my own life.

I understand that the ancient Greeks saw sacrifice a bit differently than we might see this now—it was considered an honor and Chrysomallos was exalted through this sacrifice—but he didn’t really seem to have a choice in the matter and I cried when I was reflecting on this.

Just like Chrysomallos—both a hero and a sacrifice—many of us find ourselves cast into specific roles within our families. These roles often feel both precious and burdensome. Just like Chrysomallos’ worth was undeniable even though he was ultimately discarded, I’ve experienced the same paradox in my own life, so let’s talk about roles in dysfunctional family systems.

In dysfunctional family systems, we might hear about roles such as the “golden child” or the “hero”, the “black sheep” or the “scapegoat”, the “lost child”, or the “mascot”. These roles are typically assigned to family members based on the family’s needs and dysfunctions. This isn’t something done consciously or intentionally, it isn’t like we get name tags or anything like that, but these roles occur frequently enough that they’ve been observed repeatedly and given names like these. They are ways for the family to cope with chaos and instability by casting members of the family into certain positions depending on the circumstances. You might usually be one of the roles, or exclusively one of these roles, but you can also be more than one or even all of them.

When I was a kid, I often found that I moved between these roles. I could be any of them but there were two that I took on most often: I was the golden child—aka the ”good” one, the one who did everything right, who took on responsibility and carried the emotional load for others. Conversely, I was also a black sheep—I was often cast aside or neglected when things got difficult. My parents didn’t really see me and often dismissed my needs, and my siblings ridiculed and ostracized me.

This fluctuation between being valued and discarded created internal chaos. One moment, I felt like I was special, the one who could do no wrong, someone whose presence mattered. And the next, I felt like I was an outcast, I was overlooked or I was even sometimes blamed for things that I had no control over.

This paradox—the tension between being adored and cast aside—is exactly what I felt growing up. I found myself both celebrated for what I could offer and, at times, discarded when I was no longer useful. This created a sense of confusion and instability in my own identity.

The contradiction of being both cherished and discarded has a profound impact on how we understand ourselves. It creates a sense of internal instability, a deep confusion about where we truly belong. Am I the golden child or the am I the black sheep? Am I the hero or the scapegoat? Am I someone who is worthy of love and acceptance, or am I someone to be used when necessary and then cast aside?

This internal conflict felt extremely complicated because I never fully embodied just one role. I wasn’t just the good child or the problem child; I was both, switching back and forth depending on the family dynamic. This duality made it difficult for me to know who I truly was outside of these roles. I got so caught up in navigating the space between being seen and unseen, valued and discarded—I lost touch with who I was—with my own authentic self. I felt like I needed to be perfect to be loved and accepted; if I could just be perfect, maybe everyone would just stop fighting. But I also rebelled against the dynamic and I didn’t recognize these behaviors were also a result of my conditioning until more recently.

This experience is not unique to me; it’s a reflection of the collective trauma many of us carry, especially those who grew up in dysfunctional family systems. The pressure to fit into one of these roles can make it incredibly difficult to form a stable sense of identity. When we are constantly switching between roles, it becomes hard to trust ourselves or know who we truly are underneath those labels that other people gave us.

What really stuck with me about the story of Chrysomallos was that he was revered for his mission, but his worth ultimately reduced him to the golden fleece—coveted but disposable. They may have felt like they were honoring him, I suppose… but did anybody ask Chrysomallos what he wanted?

This felt familiar based on my own experiences in my own relationships. I’ve often felt like I was praised and valuable for what I could offer, and then I was abandoned once I was no longer needed. And this has led me to really question my worth.

Reflecting on these contradictions—being both revered and discarded—I’ve wondered if a lot of us experience this same paradox. Maybe we’ve been given roles that don’t truly define us, like, as we really are—or we’ve internalized what others have told us we should be.

The golden fleece of Chrysomallos symbolizes immense worth, and it also speaks to the weight of expectation. Being seen as “special” or “chosen” often comes with the burden of meeting others’ needs, being everything for everyone, losing sight of your own needs in all of it.

The golden fleece wasn’t just a gift—it was a burden. Chrysomallos’ value was not about who he truly was, it was about what he could offer others. I have often felt the same—like I was honored for my gifts, appreciated for my talents, but I was trapped by the expectations that other people had of me.

The perception of worth, especially when tied to external validation, can easily become a tool of control. When others place us on a pedestal, it’s easy to feel like we’re being both honored and restricted. Which I suppose makes sense if you think about literally if someone were to put you on a pedestal—like, you’d, you know, you’d be elevated above other things that aren’t on the pedestal, but you also just have the little platform on the pedestal to move around on, right? And you’ll do everything you can to stay on the pedestal because you know what it feels like when you fall off of it. You don’t even realize nobody is seeing you clearly because you feel the need to cling to their positive perceptions. I’m talking about myself, of course.

This idea runs really deep, not just in families, but throughout our entire culture. We’re often taught that love is proven through sacrifice. Worth is tied to what we can give up. To be truly “good”, truly valuable, we have to diminish ourselves for the sake of others. To shrink ourselves so others can grow.

The sacrificial lamb. The golden child. The black sheep. The scapegoat. These are all different manifestations of the same wound: The belief that someone must be sacrificed for the survival of the system.

I’ve believed that for most of my life—even if this was almost entirely subconscious. I believed that my value was in what I could do, what I could give, how much of myself I was willing to lose for others.

But what if that was never true?

I’ve been rethinking what worth really means for a while now.

Just as Chrysomallos’ golden fleece became a symbol of incredible worth and also a tool for control, I’ve found my own worth often defined by what I could provide for others, rather than who I truly am. And now, I’m learning to redefine that.

Chrysomallos’ story reminds us that even the most revered can be discarded when they no longer serve others’ needs. I’m learning that my worth is not based on what I sacrifice for others. I get to choose my worth from within—not being defined by roles, but by who I am at my core.

What if we were meant to live beyond what others wanted from us?

I feel like we’re not really taught that service is not the same as sacrifice.

What happens when we realize we were never meant to sacrifice ourselves?

Most of my life I didn’t know who I was outside of these roles. I thought I did—but I didn’t know how to exist without either proving my worth through achievement or feeling the shame of being cast out. And now, I’m learning. I’m learning that I don’t have to be golden to be worthy. I don’t have to be an offering to be loved.

I think about Chrysomallos. What would his story have been like if he had lived, not as a sacrifice, but as a legend in his own right?

And I wonder… what if we could do that, too?

How can we honor ourselves without being consumed by expectation? What if we could step outside the roles we were given and choose something different?

If you’ve ever felt like the golden sheep—favored and then forgotten, lifted up only to be offered up—then I hope you know that you were never meant to be sacrificed.

You were meant to live.

You are more than what you give. You are worthy, not because of what you sacrifice, but because of who you are.

I’ll leave you with this question:

I encourage you to consider some small action you could take towards this—towards stepping outside those roles—or even just sitting with the idea and seeing how it feels.

I know that stepping out of these roles we’ve been assigned isn’t always easy. Sometimes it’s one of the hardest things we will ever do.

Instead of sacrificing ourselves for others, let’s grow into our fullness. We can be legends in our own right, not because of what we give up, but because of who we truly are.

I’d love to hear how you connect with this message.

Until next time, take care of yourself.