There is a quiet kind of sabotage that most of us never catch in real time. It’s dressed up as kindness, wrapped in logic, and tied with a bow labelled “I meant well.” I’ve lived through enough seasons of heartbreak, betrayal, and personal reinvention to recognize the pattern. Good intentions can be the most polished form of self-protection and the most efficient way to stay stuck.
I’ve spent years trying to be the person who kept the peace. I said yes when I meant no. I exhausted myself trying to “understand” behaviour that was hurting me. After my divorce and betrayal, I kept telling myself I was doing the right thing. After losing both of my parents, I believed staying quiet and being gracious was best. In reality, I was robbing myself of the clarity I desperately needed.
This all came to a head recently. My therapist hit me with a question that didn’t come with a safety net. Do you want to die or do you want to thrive? There was no polite exit route. No room to hide behind excuses. That question forced me to examine how my own good intentions had become a shield. They had prevented me from stepping into a life that actually serves me.
Good intentions can keep you in places long after they’ve stopped being healthy. They can make self-betrayal look noble. They can make settling look responsible. They can make your pain feel like a burden you’re supposed to carry quietly so no one else feels uncomfortable.
I’ve seen these patterns show up everywhere. The parent trying to protect their child but accidentally limiting their independence. The friend offering advice instead of listening. The partner who solves everything but never actually hears what you’re saying. And yes, the version of me who thought being accommodating was the same thing as being strong.
It wasn’t strength. It was fear.
And when I finally admitted my gambling addiction earlier this year, I realized just how far good intentions can spiral. I told myself it was coping. I told myself it was temporary. I told myself I deserved a little relief. But the truth is, the intention didn’t matter. The impact did.
Even recording from my trailer on Lake Huron, my voice shook in a way I didn’t expect. It was the first time I allowed myself to speak openly. I realized I had been negotiating with myself for far too long. That moment stripped away the performance. The disguise. The version of me that wanted to be fine for everyone else.
It reminded me of Bruce Springsteen’s “Brilliant Disguise.” The line that has followed me for years suddenly landed differently. “I want to know if it’s you I don’t trust, because I damn sure don’t trust myself.” That’s not a song about suspicion. It’s about self-accountability. It’s about the masks we wear to stay comfortable. A reckoning occurs when those masks start to fall apart.
Most of us don’t sabotage our growth with big dramatic mistakes. We sabotage it with small, well-intentioned decisions that keep us right where we are. Waiting for the right time. Avoiding the hard conversation. Staying busy so we don’t have to sit with the truth. Telling ourselves we’ll start tomorrow.
Good intentions are not enough. Alignment is. Integrity is. Action is.
You have to be willing to make some people unhappy if you want to change your life’s path. This includes past versions of yourself. You have to stop protecting others at the expense of your own well-being. You have to ask hard questions. What was my real intention. What was the actual outcome. And why do those two things not match.
It’s not comfortable. But comfort has never been the pathway to growth for me. Every major turning point in my life came from discomfort, clarity, and finally being honest with myself.
So here is the truth I’m holding onto today. You can’t grow and stay the same. You can’t heal while pretending. You can’t thrive while negotiating with your own pain.
Good intentions are only powerful when they are paired with courageous action.
And this year, I’m not living in disguise anymore.
