We talk about self-sabotage like it’s some dramatic act. Blowing things up, quitting before it gets good, and making a mess on purpose.

But the kind I see most often, Reader (in myself and in the women I work with), is quieter than that. It looks like avoidance.

Not because you’re "lazy" (though I know you will tell yourself that). But because your nervous system is learning something new.

Case in point: last week, instead of getting ready for my TEDx talk… I painted my pantry. Literally. Rollers, drop cloth, the whole thing. 😂

The flip side to that though is... I’ve prepared. I’ve done a lot of work. The outline is solid, the message is clear.

I care deeply about what I’m saying.

And still, some days the anxiety is just… loud. So my body did what bodies do when something feels big and activating: it looked for relief. Something productive.... familiar.

Cue: the pantry makeover.

When you start doing the work of feeling safer in your body, creating more capacity, and letting yourself imagine a different way of living, your system can panic. Even when the change is good (ESPECIALLY when it’s good). Newness asks your body to leave what’s familiar. And familiar, even when it’s painful, is predictable. Predictable feels safe to a nervous system that learned early on to stay alert, stay braced, stay ready.

So instead of moving forward, you stall. You procrastinate. You suddenly feel “too tired” or “not in the right headspace.” You scroll. You clean.

You paint your f*cking pantry.

And then the shame creeps in.

“What’s wrong with me?”
“Why can’t I just do the thing?”
“I must not want this badly enough.”

But what if nothing is wrong? What if avoidance is your body saying: this is unfamiliar and I need a moment to orient.

Self-sabotage, in this lens, isn’t self-destruction. It’s self-protection that hasn’t been updated yet. Your system is still learning that rest doesn’t equal danger. That expansion doesn’t require collapse later. That good things don’t always come with a cost.

So if you notice yourself pulling back right as things start to shift, pause before turning on yourself. Get curious instead.

Ask:​
1. What feels new here?
2. What part of me is unsure it’s safe yet?
3. What would help me move slower, not harder?

Regulation doesn’t always look like pushing through. Sometimes it looks like building tolerance for ease. For visibility. For momentum that doesn’t require suffering.

Avoidance isn’t a failure. It’s information. And learning to listen to it without letting it run the show is part of creating a nervous system that can actually hold the life you’re calling in.

Some days you write the talk.
Some days you paint the pantry.

Both can be part of the process.

💛
​Jess​