When my children were small, a favourite, and excellent, English language textbook was one called Fundamental English. It consisted of a series of everyday stories, on which various exercises would be based. The short anecdotes, with which each chapter started, revolved around the Bargery family, of which, if memory serves me right, the central figure was the mother, Mrs Bargery.

By the standards of those days, she was an estimable wife, mother and housewife. Her outstanding quality that she always put her family first, smilingly doing without in order to ensure that the family had whatever they needed or wanted. In retrospect, I see her as a tedious do-gooder, one of those holier-than-thou persons who must have bored her family to death. However, I do have cause to be grateful to her.

Whenever, like her, I would, for instance, pretend that I disliked chocolate cake, so that one of the children could have another helping, my young son, seeing through the ruse, would bring me up short by telling me not to be a Mrs Bargery! The consequence was that Mrs Bargery, with a little assistance from my son, cured me once and for all of the dangers of becoming a martyr.

There is nothing wrong in putting your husband and children first. Loving is, after all, taking care of others. It is the foundation on which successful and happy relationships are built. Equally, as we have been told since we were tiny, taking care of yourself at the cost of others is selfish, and to be selfish is bad. But there is a thin line between not being selfish and being a martyr.

The martyr always gives in to the wishes and needs of others. She will never express what she herself wants, assuming that only she has the prerogative of doing things for others. She will send everyone else to see a film while she stays at home to cook, never mind that it is a movie that she longs to see. An old friend is in town, and there is a get-together. But she refuses to go, saying that her children need her to supervise their homework. The family plans a holiday on the beach. She hates the sea, and is bored by just soaking up the sun but rather than suggest an alternative, she goes along.

None of this would matter if she did not feel short-changed. She is so good, so giving, yet no one seems to appreciate the sacrifices she makes. She is always thinking of others, but no one thinks of her and what she would like. She is easily recognised: she looks miserable and put upon, exhausted by the heavy burden she carries of constantly giving of herself for the good of someone else.

And what about those who live with her? They are no happier. Since it goes against the grain for her to tell them what she would like, they are unable to do anything for her. The truth is that martyrdom is as destructive for relationships as is selfishness.