A Life Spent On Self-Sabotage

I always assumed that the older I got, the closer I’d be to the peace I desperately yearned for as a child. The truth is, peace was never something I could reliably expect. Conflict felt more certain than winning the lottery. If you asked me to name a moment from my childhood when I genuinely felt safe or at ease, I’m not sure I could. Each time I dared to catch my breath, another storm was already brewing on the horizon.

At some point, I stopped believing I deserve a simple, peaceful life. My childhood memories became filled with endless loops of tension and turmoil. There was always a feeling of judgment day looming, a heavy, unsettling sensation that prevented me from ever truly feeling like I don’t constantly have weights on my shoulders.

These experiences, imprinted so early, eventually turned peace itself into something frightening, even dangerous. When calm arrived, I’d instinctively brace myself for disaster. Silence didn’t soothe me; it triggered anxiety. Instead of savoring these tranquil moments, I spent them anticipating their inevitable demise. This anxiety was so profound that I couldn’t allow myself to trust in moments of genuine calm. How could I if all I’ve ever known was chaos?

And so began my habit of self-sabotage—a quiet war against my own happiness. I subconsciously learned to disrupt the peace by myself before something else could destroy it. Over time, my body and mind developed an involuntary reflex to push away tranquility. Happiness felt too vulnerable, too uncertain, and too good to be real. Sabotaging myself became my way of maintaining control; if the chaos was self-inflicted, at least it was predictable.

These acts of self-sabotage have inflicted tremendous pains on my healing. It doesn’t help being so aware of myself yet having no way to prevent these habits from reoccurring. But I want it to stop. I need it to stop.

Looking back clearly at the patterns I’ve carried with me, I’ve begun to wonder if perhaps the bravest thing I could do is to stop fighting against myself. Maybe the real challenge isn’t surviving chaos, but allowing myself the bravery of embracing calm without conditions or skepticism. Perhaps the most powerful rebellion against a painful past isn’t more struggle, but learning how to rest in moments of genuine ease without fearing their end.

I’m slowly realizing that peace doesn’t have to be a fragile, nor a temporary gift; it’s not something reserved for those who’ve earned it through endless suffering. Peace is steady, patient, and always available beneath life’s turbulence, just like a river gently flowing, ready for me to finally trust it enough to let myself drift along its current, without constantly looking ahead for rapids. If I learn to simply embrace the imperfections of life by just being at peace, there wouldn’t be a need for self-sabotage.