Written by Brogan Rossi
There’s this tiny, very dramatic part of me that shows up just as things start going well and announces, with zero tact: “Plot twist.”
She’s the same part that once kept me safe in a chaotic home, and now? She’s great at cancelling plans, over-planning, and spectacularly misplacing common sense. Spoiler: you probably have one too.
Here’s the inconvenient truth, self-sabotage is not some exotic personality flaw reserved for villains in prestige TV. It’s a built-in alarm system that didn’t get the memo when adulthood arrived. It was useful once. Now it’s just… SO DAMN LOUD.
Why it happens (short version)
When life settles into something that looks like success (or calm, or stability), old parts of us panic. Why? Because those parts were built for survival during unpredictable times. For me specifically, these parts learned that chaos = safety (weird, I know). So when the chaos disappears, those parts feel ignored, unemployed, and unimportant. To prove they still matter, they start throwing things at you like procrastination, perfectionism, social withdrawal, or the classic: “I’ll just do one more thing” until your whole schedule resembles a Jenga tower.
Real examples (from my very messy life)
- I will declutter my calendar until I accidentally cancel the thing that would have actually moved my business forward. Because if nothing changes, nothing can be taken away, right?
- I’ve booked spontaneous renovations the week before a big work deadline because apparently chaos = adrenaline = predictable.
- Or my favorite: Every time I have a baby (there have been 3 times), I decide it’s the perfect timing to fully renovate a house.
Parenting three little humans and running a business made this interesting. Toddlers demand urgency, clients demand reliability, and the little part of me that loves drama demands theatrics. So between snack time and invoices, I’ve learned to notice the sabotage before it becomes a full show.
What those parts actually want
They’re not evil. They’re scared. The voices that whisper “this won’t last” or “you don’t deserve this” have a job: avoid pain. If the best way to avoid pain is to stop hope early, they’ll do it. They crave importance, attention, and a predictable role, even if that role is “I wreck things so I don’t feel abandoned.”
How I started to stop (and how you can, too)
Spoiler: it wasn’t a single revelation.
It was small, annoying, necessary work.
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Name the part. Call it “Alarm,” “Drama,” “Karen”... whatever. Naming helps you see it’s a part, not the whole you.
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Thank it. Sounds ridiculous, but that voice did protect you. “Thanks, Alarm. I see you. I don’t need you to protect me like that now.”
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Ask it what it needs. Often it wants reassurance. Give it a tiny ritual: a five-minute check-in, a grounding breath, or a note to the part saying, “I’ve got this.” The voice quiets because it feels seen.
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Small, boring wins. When you’re used to chaos, calm feels suspicious. Schedule tiny predictable wins (pay a bill on time, finish one task before bed). Those wins tell your nervous parts, “See? Stability isn’t a trap.”
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Replace the old tool with a new tool. That chaotic coping skill, numbing with scrolling, numbing with food, numbing with activity, served you once. Replace it with a new habit: a short walk, a 3-minute journal, a grounding exercise you can actually do with a toddler hanging from your ankle.
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Boundaries = love. Say no to the extra thing that’s not actually yours. Your time is finite. Protect it like a toddler protects snacks.
Tiny practical tools I use (good for parents, business owners, humans)
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The 2-Minute Ritual: Before making a big decision (or doing something impulsive), do two minutes of breathing and one clear question: “Is this helping or protecting me?” Often the answer is obvious.
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Micro-celebrations: Finished a meeting? Two deep breaths and a “nice job” in the mirror. Kids clapped? You did the work, let it land.
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The List of Evidence: When Alarm yells “It won’t last,” pull up a short list of what is working, recent wins, paid invoices, kind texts from clients, kids who ate vegetables. Proof is a quiet saboteur killer.
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Make calm non-threatening: Schedule stillness. If stillness is an unknown species to your nervous system, introduce it slowly… 3 minutes with a tea, 5 minutes of quiet before bed. Don’t expect enlightenment; expect practice.
The parenting lens (because yes, it matters)
Being a mom made my “parts” louder. Little kids are living chaos generators, and paradoxically that’s how I kept the pattern alive: more babies, more projects, more moving parts. As a parent, learning to sit in quiet without filling it with activities isn’t just self-work, it teaches my kids: stability isn’t scary. Emotions are okay. You don’t constantly have to fix the feeling by doing something.
Also, parenting is humbling. You will ruin certain plans. You will learn to pivot. That flexibility, when paired with intention, prevents dramatic self-sabotage from becoming habit.
Final thought (and a tiny bit of mercy)
You will self-sabotage sometimes. I do. The trick isn’t never doing it again (lol). It’s noticing faster, being kinder to the part that tries to protect you, and building small habits that whisper, “You’re safe enough.” Progress looks like fewer dramatic house projects the week before closing, fewer impulse cancellations, and more tiny celebrations that actually stick.
