Self-sabotage doesn’t always look like failure. More often, it shows up quietly in hesitation, in overthinking, in the moments we choose to stay silent when we know we have something to say.
For a long time, I didn’t recognise it in myself. Growing up within a South Asian community, I was surrounded by strong values, around success, hard work and making your family proud. These values shaped me in positive ways, but they also came with an unspoken pressure. There was always a sense of needing to measure up, of being compared, of wondering whether I was doing “enough.” Over time, that pressure didn’t just sit externally, it turned inward.
I began to question myself more than I trusted myself. Am I good enough? Am I where I should be by now? Am I making the right choices? These weren’t just passing thoughts. They became part of how I saw myself. As I progressed in my career within the criminal justice system, often as the only South Asian woman in the room, that internal narrative became even more pronounced. The external environment reinforced what I was already feeling internally that I was different, that I had more to prove, that I needed to get everything right. Looking back, I can see the patterns clearly.
I held back in rooms I had earned the right to be in.
I over-analysed decisions to the point of hesitation.
I compared my journey to others instead of valuing my own.
And I allowed imposter syndrome to speak louder than my experience and capability. The triggers were subtle but powerful moments of high visibility, stepping into more senior spaces, and the constant awareness of being the “only one.” Alongside that was a deeper, more personal pressure: the fear of not making my parents proud or not being seen as successful in the way I believed I should be. For a long time, I thought confidence was something that would eventually arrive — that one day I would feel ready, certain and self-assured.
That moment never came. Instead, what came was a realisation. No one was going to give me permission to believe in myself. That was a decision I had to make. The turning point wasn’t dramatic, but it was decisive.
I stepped into a secondment opportunity, one which I created and chose to approach it differently. Rather than shrinking into the role, I started to shape it. I leaned into my strengths, spoke with more intention and allowed myself to contribute in a way that felt authentic. In doing so, I created a role that reflected my skills and my purpose — and what began as a temporary opportunity became a permanent position.
The doubt didn’t suddenly disappear. It still showed up, just as it does for many of us. The difference was that I stopped allowing it to lead my decisions. I began to challenge the internal narratives I had carried for years. I let go of constant comparison and shifted my focus towards impact rather than perfection. I started to redefine success in a way that aligned with who I was, not who I thought I needed to be.
What I’ve learned is this: self-limiting beliefs are often shaped by our experiences, our environments and the expectations placed upon us — but they are not fixed.
They can be questioned.
They can be unlearned. They can be replaced.
We can honour where we come from without being confined by it. Perhaps most importantly, we don’t have to wait until we feel confident to move forward.
Confidence is built — through action, through discomfort, and through choosing, again, to believe in ourselves even when it feels unfamiliar.