Chapter 3: Self-Sabotage and Other Dirty Words

There’s something about talking to a camera in your car, hoodie strings dangling, light too bright on one side of your face, that feels… safe. It’s a small space where the outside world doesn’t demand answers. And in that moment, I needed that safety — because it was time to admit the truth out loud.

I had stopped making videos.

That doesn’t sound like a life-altering confession, does it? But here's what followed: I stopped doing a lot of things. One by one, the dominoes tipped. Routines fell apart. Momentum vanished. And before I even realized it — I was in a full-blown spiral of self-sabotage.

I didn’t mean to stop.

But once I did, it became easier to keep avoiding the work. Avoiding myself. Avoiding the fact that I was slipping back into habits I thought I had left behind. That’s the trick with self-sabotage: it doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it just looks like "resting." Like “taking a break.” Like watching hours of YouTube and telling yourself it’s inspiration when really — it's escapism in high definition.

But then, this little whisper starts up. Not loud. Not demanding. Just... a suggestion:

“You know what you need to do.”

And I did.

A beautiful Sunday drive for reflection

I know all the motivational quotes. I’ve been neck-deep in self-help books, mindset workshops, spiritual downloads, and sticky notes that say “You got this!” But even with all the positivity in the world, at the end of the day, you still have to do the things.

No fairy dust is coming to clean the kitchen or weed the chaos garden.

No magical playlist will fix your schedule.

The only thing I had was the choice:

Do it anyway.

That’s what this chapter is about — doing it anyway. With the tangled hair. With the undone list. With the fear of being seen and the dread of being invisible all at once.

It’s about pushing past the internal narrative that tells you you’re failing… even when you’re still trying.

And if you’ve felt this too — that quiet panic of slipping away from the version of yourself you were working so hard to become — then welcome. Pull on your muckboots.

The story is still being written, and you’re not alone in it.

We're finding our way back — one honest, messy, real moment at a time.