Self-Sabotage 101

I was sitting in a corner table in the high school library where I worked, out of view of anyone who peered in the glass panel of the door.  My makeshift "At Lunch" sign was taped to the door. The lights were off.  My eyes were welling up with tears and it was difficult to swallow.  I was feeling panicky and overwhelmed.  The article I was reading on the student laptop said that abused people begin to believe that the abuse is "their fault," and they punish themselves through self-sabotaging behavior. I had a history of making unsatisfying choices and then feeling resentful or feeling that I really had no choice at all.

As a high school junior in the late 70s, I made the decision that I wanted to go to college.  I was excitedly looking into the journalism programs at Boston University, Hofstra and several other schools. My mother said in no uncertain terms could I go  away.  I had to go to a local school.  We were so poor, but having stellar grades and being Hispanic, I could have gotten tons of financial aid and scholarships to any school I wanted. There was no point in trying to reason with her.  I gave up my dream of going away. 

In my early twenties I got a job as a newspaper reporter after lots of painstaking work to land it.  I felt out of sorts there.  As with any job, there were situations where I needed to speak up and assert myself. But I never did. As a copy "girl" on the news desk it was my responsibility to check the newswires and route the stories to the appropriate editor.  Sometimes things were hectic and the man in the wire room would bring out batches of copy for myself and another copy clerk to distribute.  The other clerk would spend hours yammering on the phone and avoiding work.  I would put some of the copy in his basket and he would take it and put it back in mine.  I was too terrified to speak up about this. I walked around in a black cloud of depression.

Later in my thirties I short circuited my goal of getting my teaching certification to teach high school English by forgoing that goal and taking a job teaching primary grades.  Again, not what I wanted to do, but I felt I needed to let go of my goal to meet an immediate financial need which looking back now, was not so pressing.

I sat in the darkened library with tears streaming down my face as memories of these and other disappointing decisions swirled around my head.  I noticed I had ten more minutes before the end of period bell rang and the senior high school girls would come pouring in.   I needed to compose myself and fast. I would go from being an information specialist to being the food, beverage and noise police officer.  I made a decision to use my information gathering skills to find a good therapist.