In literature and film, we can often recognize protagonists and antagonists. The protagonist is the main character of the story, while the antagonist is the opponent, rival, or challenger. As the protagonist moves through the story, the antagonist opposes them or places obstacles in their path.
Life is quite similar. We are the protagonists of our own lives, and along the way, we encounter various antagonists. Unlike in books and films, where the antagonist’s motives are often clear, real life is rarely so simple. An antagonist may present themselves as a helper, a friend, or a lover, while something quite different lies beneath the surface.
In close relationships, some people are so driven by the impulse to compete or dominate that it overshadows their capacity for love and belonging. Intimacy frightens them, and withdrawing into conflict keeps them feeling emotionally safe—on a level where closeness is always under their control.
Generally speaking, human beings are empowered by closeness, but we can also be empowered by distance. When closeness is safe and supportive, it strengthens us. When closeness is unsettling, stepping away is what strengthens us. In one case, we are empowered by saying “yes.” In the other, by setting boundaries—saying “no.”
It is natural to be drawn to intimacy, and also to be afraid of it. When someone comes close—and keeps wanting to get closer—it means they also have greater potential to hurt us deeply. Trusting that they won’t is an act of courage. But for people who struggle with impulses of conflict in intimacy, that trust was extinguished early on by fear.
That loss of trust happened for a reason. In early childhood, their caregivers were—on some level, in some way—frightening or unsafe. For those who carry such deep fear of closeness, empowerment through “yes,” through trust-based love, is simply not an option. The only way they know how to feel strong is through “no.” But in order for that “no” to have real strength, there must first be a level of intimacy.
This dynamic—pursuing, building intimacy, or the idea of it, and then pulling away or rejecting it—means that for these individuals, intimacy is also a battlefield. And when there is a battle, the goal isn’t love—it’s victory.
People who fear intimacy and have lost their ability to trust often present themselves as “teachers.” They know they cannot offer steady closeness without slipping into chaotic, emotionally combative dynamics, so what they give instead is a “life lesson.” They’ll stretch your boundaries until you realize where they actually are. They’ll betray your trust until you understand that your love and loyalty cannot change them.
People who cannot change are the antagonists of your life story—and it’s not wise to let them lead. In a way, they are also antagonists of their own lives, constantly working against themselves without knowing how to stop. The protagonist within them has been defeated—overpowered by all the damaging forces that shaped them.
To be and remain the protagonist of your own story, it helps to recognize that antagonists do exist and that their role is to change you. They are catalysts—they initiate change, but they themselves do not change. That does make them “teachers,” but not because they are noble or wise—rather, because they are incapable of anything else.
They’re not the kind of teacher you look back on with affection. They’re the kind you eventually say “no” to, and that’s what brings you back to yourself. You may even look back on your relationship with them as a “life lesson,” because that’s often how it goes—we humans sometimes need to be hurt in order to learn.
We are often drawn to antagonists by a craving for excitement. If you’ve spent years in an emotionally dull relationship lacking in passion, the excitement that conflict brings into closeness may attract you. The adrenaline, the strong opponent, the questions—who’s right, who’s stronger, will love win?—all of this can create a heady cocktail of projection and illusion.
And this is what antagonists can offer. They cannot change. They cannot become more emotionally stable. They cannot give or receive trust. But they can offer excitement—or something else that you’ve been missing.
Antagonists can be highly skilled at reading your needs. They can be creative, charming, eloquent, educated. The one thing they cannot do is take responsibility for the harm they cause in close relationships. Because to do so would mean confronting how deeply flawed they are. And much of what they do is aimed at hiding those flaws, trying hard to appear good—in their own eyes and in the eyes of others.
In the end, what matters most is this: learn, and move on. Antagonists are obstacles, traps on the path to genuine intimacy. In real closeness, there is no constant testing, no ongoing undermining of the relationship. Real closeness isn’t about winning or defeating the other person—it’s about love and mutual support. Real closeness doesn’t come from battle—it comes from a gradual process of discovery.
And as the protagonist of your own life story, you might one day even feel gratitude for the antagonists of your past. You don’t have to, of course. Gratitude isn’t an obligation or a formula for happiness. But it is possible—even that. To feel gratitude for the antagonists who chose you, or whom you chose. They gave what they could, limited as they were. And by recognizing those limits, maybe you’ve become stronger and wiser.
Tomica Šćavina ©
