The Edge of Enough

On Self-Sabotage, Survival Instincts, and the Quiet Courage of Healing

I handed Tracy, the house manager at Stepping Stones of Hope, a cup full of pee as if I were confident I was clean, even though I had finished the remainder of a fifth of vodka that morning. A negative test result was my ticket into the halfway house; it was the only one that would accept me without any upfront payment.

It was nicer than I had expected—two stories on a spacious corner lot, with a massive tree shading the front lawn. The interior looked homey and comfortable. Not that it mattered; even if it had been a dump, I had nowhere else to go. If I didn’t pass the test, I would be homeless.

Tracy placed the cup on the bathroom counter and opened a test strip. I watched her, a middle-aged brunette in glasses and shorts. She seemed about my age, though I didn’t feel like an adult at thirty-seven. I wondered how I had ended up back in Phoenix, praying for shelter. With all my potential, this hardly seemed possible.

“As a tenant,” Tracy dipped the stick in my urine, “you’ll be subject to random drug and alcohol testing. Zero tolerance. If you test positive, you’re out.”

We stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the test react. I held my breath, my heart racing, and silently prayed. Everything depended on the outcome.

When she raised the stick to eye level, I studied her face. She tilted her head, raised an eyebrow, and peered down her nose through her glasses at the results. The pause was unbearable. In that silence, shame poured in—memories of failed tests, lost jobs, being escorted out of buildings, and nights spent without a place to sleep.

My heart skipped a beat when Tracy tossed the stick into the trash.

“You’re good,” she said.

I wanted to throw my head back and laugh with relief. Instead, I smiled, wishing this had been the outcome in San Jose two weeks earlier. Then, I would still have Mom and Dieter. But I always complicated things. Self-sabotage wasn’t a choice but a reflex, a pattern rooted in fear I couldn’t see.

Back then, I didn’t know I was terrified. Alcohol gave me confidence. It kept the fear hidden, even from me. Beneath my bottled optimism, fear shaped my reality, constantly recreating this scene. That’s the power of thought—it doesn’t distinguish between desire and dread. The universe responds to what we dwell on.

Even after twenty years sober, the fear of having nowhere to go lingers—not loud or likely, just a familiar creak in the floorboards of my mind, like a ghost reminding me of where I’ve been. Maybe that’s what it means to be human—to carry old fears like echoes, not to be ruled by them, but to remember what it took to silence them.

Whether I stayed at Stepping Stones or not didn’t matter in the long run. Life was already unfolding precisely as it needed to—ready or not. It always does. Things work out for our highest good, even when we can’t see it. It’s all just experience. None of it is good or bad until we label it. The meaning we give it determines its effects on us. Our perspective shapes us more than the events themselves ever could.

Self-sabotage is fear in disguise, driven by beliefs we may not even realize we hold, like the idea that remaining small, stuck, or in pain is safer than risking the unknown of healing, thriving, and being seen. Change threatens the false safety we’ve constructed around our wounds; however, that armor also blocks us from love. Curiosity is our way out. What are we trying to protect? We can’t outthink self-sabotage; it isn’t a logical choice, but we can confront the underlying fear with compassion. That’s where the shift begins.

Fear is a natural part of being alive, but survival instincts don’t have to dictate our choices. Fear can be a doorway to faith and the willingness to extend beyond the known, even when outcomes aren’t guaranteed. Faith holds the process has a purpose, even when the path is unclear. It doesn’t replace fear; it walks alongside it, whispering, “I’m worth the risk.” And that belief, whether fragile or fierce, is the catalyst for transformation. We build emotional resilience by facing life honestly and staying present, even when it hurts. Safety doesn’t come from the mind but from connection and presence. All is well in the moment.

Soon, we begin to trust that life is not happening to us but unfolding for us, that all of it is a gift, and that everything is working out for our good no matter what occurs. We know we can walk through whatever arises. We don’t shut down our hearts to avoid pain; we feel it and carry on.

Peace begins when we stop resisting change and start embracing the rhythm of impermanence, accepting what we encounter with the understanding that it has something to teach us.

We don’t need to be fearless to be free; just unarmed and open.

Surrender your defenses and let love prevail.

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