Lisa wanted to sing before she even knew how to put it into words.

She used to shut her bedroom door and perform full concerts for her stuffed animals. She had raw talent—her voice was rich, emotional, and effortless. But she learned early on not to get too attached to it. In her house, dreams like that didn’t fly.

Lisa was raised by a single mother who, despite her strength and resilience, passed down a survival script wrapped in fear. Her mother worked constantly, wore stress like a badge of honour, and made it painfully clear that the world was not going to take care of you. If you wanted safety, you had to earn it—and earn it the hard way.

“You can’t depend on anyone,” her mother drilled into her. “You need a real career. Something solid. Something that will never leave you stranded.”

That message became a boundary in Lisa’s mind: don’t want what won’t protect you.


Singing didn’t make the cut. Choir was barely tolerated, and when Lisa once asked for voice lessons, her mother shut it down: “That’s not what people like us do.” No further discussion. Lisa didn’t push. She complied, not because she stopped wanting it, but because self-doubt was safer than rejection. If she never tried, she could never fail. If she stayed small, she wouldn’t be punished for wanting more.

That’s what the Saboteur does. It disguises itself as logic. It wraps fear in practicality. It tells us we’re being smart, responsible, realistic—when in fact, we’re just trying not to feel ashamed or abandoned.

Lisa followed the rules. She became an accountant. She built a competent, reliable, invisible life. She was good at it. She got promotions. She owned a home. She could support herself. But inside, she felt flat. She called it stress, burnout, being tired all the time.

It wasn’t until she started therapy that she named what it really was: disconnection. She was living someone else’s version of a safe life. And her Saboteur—the guardian of change—was still protecting her even when she didn’t need to be protected. She had already survived but her brain was set to keep doing what it had always done.


From Surviving to Becoming


In therapy, we unpacked the layers: her need to appease her mother’s voice that still resided inside of her, her doubt that singing had any value or even that she was any good at it. The legacy of emotional self-denial passed down from her mother. We reframed her self-doubt not as a flaw, but as a boundary she created to survive her environment. It was intelligent. Adaptive. But no longer necessary.

She didn’t make sweeping changes overnight. That’s not how rewiring works. She took small, consistent steps:
• Finding an online vocal coach
• Joining a community choir
• Letting herself enjoy singing again, without the pressure to be “good”
• And eventually, performing at a local open mic

Her voice shook. She forgot a line. And she kept going.

Each time she stepped forward, the Saboteur got a little quieter. Not gone—never gone. But no longer in charge.

Today, Lisa still works with numbers. But she sings regularly. She teaches beginner lessons. She’s started recording covers and exploring songwriting. She’s finally using her voice—not just musically, but emotionally. Her choices are no longer ruled by the belief that she has to earn her right to be here.

Her mother still doesn’t really get it. “Must be nice to have time for hobbies,” she’ll say.

Lisa just smiles. “It is.”

And it’s more than nice. It’s the freedom to become who you are meant to be.

The Saboteur and the Song

Lisa’s Story of Self-Doubt and Finding Her Voice