The Root of Self-Sabotage: Healing the Part of You That’s Afraid to Succeed

Integrating Insights from Carl Jung’s Shadow Work and Shirzad Chamine’s Positive Intelligence

The Betrayal You Never See Coming

It doesn’t kick the door in. It doesn’t storm the room with a gun. It slips in softly, like someone who’s always had a key.

You’re on the edge of something good—an email drafted, a conversation scheduled, a door ready to open. Your chest feels warm. Your pulse dances in your neck. You can almost taste the relief of finally doing it.

Then it arrives. The first voice is smooth, reasonable: “You’re not ready. It’s too soon.” Another voice follows, sharper: “Don’t embarrass yourself. Stay small. Stay safe.”

It’s not a stranger’s voice. It’s your own. The sound of it makes your stomach turn. And just like that, you’re standing still again, holding your breath, watching the moment slip away.

The Enemy in the Mirror

Carl Jung called it the shadow—the hidden self that carries the fears, shame, and memories we’d rather not see. Shirzad Chamine gave it other names: the saboteurs—the Judge, the Avoider, the Controller, the Pleaser. They are the enemies who live under your skin. They’ve shared your pillow. They know every tender scar. Once, they were guardians. They stopped you from taking risks that might have destroyed you. But now, they’ve turned into jailers, keeping you locked inside the same safe cell while the world waits outside.

First Blood

Karate Chop Point:

• “Even though it feels like I’ve been betrayed by the part of me I trusted, I deeply and completely accept myself.”
• “Even though I’m disgusted that I keep drinking the same poison, I honor the truth that I’m still here, still trying.”

Sequence:

• Top of Head: “This voice knows exactly where to hurt me.”
• Eyebrow: “It says it’s protecting me.”
• Side of Eye: “But it feels like a prison guard.”
• Under Eye: “I’m sick of staying small.”
• Under Nose: “I’m tired of betraying myself.”
• Chin: “I want to trust my own voice again.”
• Collarbone: “I can name this fear without letting it own me.”
• Under Arm: “I am ready to take my courage back.”

Breathe. The grip loosens. You still hear the voices, but now they sound farther away—less like commands, more like old warnings drifting through an open door.

When Success Smells Like Danger

You say you want success. Everyone does. But deep inside, another truth coils in the dark: success means change, and change means danger. If you succeed, you will be seen. If you are seen, you will be judged. If you are judged, you might be found wanting. If you are found wanting… well, you already know how that story ends.

So the shadow moves in again, wrapping its arms around you, murmuring in your ear: “Stay here. Stay with me. It’s safe here.” The arms feel warm, but the warmth hides the slow tightening of a chokehold.

The Ache of the Small Cage

It’s not the pain of failing that eats you. It’s the pain of not even trying. The taste of opportunity passing you by is worse than bitterness—it’s rot. It clings to you. You tell yourself it’s fine. That it wasn’t the right time. But every time you turn away from an open door, a piece of you stays standing there, staring after it, hollow-eyed. This isn’t protection. This is abandonment. Self-abandonment.

The Taste of Regret

Karate Chop Point:

• “Even though it hurts to keep myself small, I deeply and completely accept my feelings.”
• “Even though I’m angry I’ve let this happen again, I honor the part of me that still hopes for more.”

Sequence:

• Top of Head: “I hate the taste of regret.”
• Eyebrow: “Like something spoiling inside me.”
• Side of Eye: “I’m disgusted at how easily I give in.”
• Under Eye: “But maybe this is just an old pattern.”
• Under Nose: “One I can notice without drowning in it.”
• Chin: “I’m willing to see it with compassion.”
• Collarbone: “I can forgive myself for every time I stayed small.”
• Under Arm: “And I can choose differently, even now.”

The air feels cleaner. The poison fades from your tongue. You remember—you can walk back to the open door.

Sitting with the Villain

The last thing you want to do is listen to the voice that has cut you down. But this is shadow work. Jung knew you can’t exile what you refuse to face. So you sit with it. You let it speak. “You’re not ready,” it says. And if you listen closely, you hear the second sentence hiding underneath: “…because I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.”

This is the twisted loyalty of the saboteur. It wounds you in the name of saving you. And in that moment, you realize—it’s not your executioner. It’s your frightened guard.

The Conversation

Karate Chop Point:

• “Even though I don’t want to hear this voice, I accept myself and how I feel.”
• “Even though I’m frustrated with its constant interruptions, I’m willing to understand what it’s trying to do for me.”

Sequence:

• Top of Head: “I just want it to shut up.”
• Eyebrow: “But maybe it’s holding old fear.”
• Side of Eye: “It’s been with me for years.”
• Under Eye: “It still thinks I’m the same person I was then.”
• Under Nose: “It doesn’t know I can handle more now.”
• Chin: “I can listen without obeying.”
• Collarbone: “I can thank it and still move forward.”
• Under Arm: “This fear is part of my story, not my fate.”

Relief slides in like warm water. The guard lowers its weapon. It hasn’t left—but it’s no longer blocking the door.

Turning the Blade into a Tool

Shirzad Chamine calls this shifting into Sage powers—empathy, creativity, clear-eyed action. You stop seeing the saboteur as a tyrant and start seeing it as a weary soldier who’s been standing watch too long. You take the blade from its hand—not to throw it away, but to use it to cut yourself free. “I get it,” you tell it. “You were trying to keep me from pain. But I’m strong enough to carry more now.” The shadow doesn’t vanish. But it steps back.

Walking Beside the Shadow

You don’t kill the shadow. You don’t exile the saboteur. You walk with them. At first, they grip your sleeve, slowing you down. Later, they learn to ride quietly in the backseat, staring out the window while you drive. They don’t disappear. But they no longer steer.

The Closing Image

Jung said: “One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”

You began with betrayal—your own hand holding you back. You end with a new alliance. The shadow walks with you now, not ahead of you. Your hand hovers over the “Send” button again. The old voice starts: “You’re not—” You smile. “I hear you,” you say. “And we’re doing it anyway.”