The ways we sabotage ourselves

Dear God, 

Isn’t it fascinating that we spend so much of our lives fighting enemies that barely exist, while quietly surrendering to the one that does? People blame the devil for everything.

“The devil made me do it.” But You must sometimes shake Your head and wonder, “Really? Did he?”

Because if we are being honest, the devil rarely needs to work overtime. We are remarkably efficient at sabotaging ourselves. He whispers, we volunteer. He suggests we execute.

Sometimes I imagine You, dad, looking down at us, wondering how creatures blessed with intelligence, free will, and an instruction manual called the Bible still manage to complicate the simplest things.

You created enough love for everyone, yet we compete for affection. You created enough food, yet people die of greed. You created enough opportunities, yet envy convinces us there isn’t enough to go around.

The greatest prison isn’t built by Satan. It is built by fear, selfishness, pride, and our desperate need to please the wrong people. Which brings me to an unforgettable conversation I had somewhere flying between continents…

I found myself seated beside an Ethiopian gentleman during a long transit flight. Long flights have a way of forcing strangers into temporary friendships. You either spend several hours pretending the other person doesn’t exist or discover that everyone carries a story.

This man fascinated me almost immediately. He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but throughout the flight, he quietly helped everyone around him. An elderly woman struggled with her luggage. he stood up. Someone couldn’t adjust their seat, he helped. A mother needed space with her child, he helped. Little things. Tiny acts of kindness. The kind no one applauds.

After watching him for a while, I smiled and said, “You are a genuinely kind man. Thank you for helping all these people.”

He laughed. “Maybe I’m making my last atonements.”

I laughed with him. “What do you mean?”

“I could be dead tomorrow.”

“Well,” I replied, “that is true for all of us. At least you’ll have a healthy collection of good deeds before then.”

He shook his head. “My death could come much sooner than yours.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “So, this giant flying metal box has finally entered your imagination too? Have a little faith, my friend.”

He laughed. “No.” “If I survive the flight……my wife is probably waiting for me with a knife.”

That made me laugh so hard that people turned around. Now that sounded like the beginning of a very interesting story.

“Why,” I asked, “would your wife greet you with a knife instead of the biggest hug after you’ve been away for so long?”

He answered with the calmness of someone announcing tomorrow’s weather.

“Because I went home to Ethiopia……and married another wife.”

Silence. Complete silence. I stared at him.

“You did…what?”

“I married an Ethiopian girl.”

Father Lord, where do some men buy whatever they are smoking? Because clearly the manufacturer’s warning label isn’t strong enough.

Then he began telling me a story that was so unbelievable it almost sounded fictional. He and his wife had been together for seventeen years. There were high school sweethearts and married for ten, with a beautiful ten-year-old daughter.

They have a life built together in America, but the problem, however, wasn’t inside their marriage, it was outside it. His mother never accepted that America had become home.

She believed her son’s heritage was disappearing. She worried that his bloodline, traditions, and family legacy would be swallowed by another culture. Since his wife disliked travelling to Africa, every visit home became another battlefield between him and his mother.

Then came the visit that changed everything. He stayed longer than usual. His family intensified the pressure. The emotional manipulation became relentless.

“You need an Ethiopian wife, “You need someone to preserve your heritage.”

“You owe your family.” “You owe your ancestors.” “You owe your legacy.”

And somehow…

A full-grown man, an educated man and a successful man, allowed himself to become the leading actor in a wedding he never truly wanted. Not because someone held a gun to his head. Not because he was kidnapped. Not because he was drugged.

Simply because he couldn’t say one small, terrifying word. No.

That one word would have saved everyone years of pain. Instead, he said “Yes” to the culture. Ironically, saying “yes” to everyone else became the biggest “no” he ever said to his wife. The tragedy didn’t end there.

His worst sin was that he didn’t tell his wife. Not before. Not during. Not after. She discovered the truth the way millions of people discover life-changing news these days.

Through Facebook. Someone proudly posted photographs of the ceremony and his wife saw them. Imagine discovering that your husband had married another woman…while scrolling through social media. Some betrayals don’t just break you. They humiliate you.

As he narrated the story, I noticed something unexpected. He wasn’t arrogant. He wasn’t defending himself. He wasn’t justifying what he had done. He just looked…broken.

Regret has a language no acting coach can teach. It sits in your eyes, it slows your voice and it steals your laughter.

“I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life,” he admitted quietly.

I asked him, “Were you forced into the marriage?”

He burst into laughter. “No.”

“So nobody dragged you there?” “No.”

“You walked there?” “Yes.”

“You sat through it and finished it?” “Yes.”

He laughed again. I laughed too. Because sometimes the only alternative is screaming.

Dad, that conversation stayed with me long after the flight ended. Not because it was about polygamy. It wasn’t. It was about something far more common.

The frightening ability of intelligent people to surrender their judgment just to avoid disappointing someone. People often destroy the relationships that matter most because they lack the courage to have one uncomfortable conversation.

They lie to avoid conflict. They hide to avoid confrontation. They pretend because they fear rejection. Yet every shortcut around honesty eventually becomes the longest road back to trust. The irony is heartbreaking.

We are so desperate to avoid hurting someone’s feelings today that we create disasters that wound everyone tomorrow. Real love requires courage. Real marriage requires boundaries. Real maturity requires disappointing people when what they ask you to do is wrong.

You cannot outsource your conscience. Not to your parents. Not to your culture. Not to your friends. Not even to tradition. Not to your organisation. Because when the consequences arrive, they will not queue up beside you to carry them.  You cannot always control the pressure around you. But you are always responsible for the decisions within you.

So, my Lord, teach us that obedience to people without wisdom is simply another form of disobedience to You. Teach us that love without honesty becomes deception. And teach us never to mistake the inability to say “No” for being a good person.

Sometimes, the most loving word we can ever speak…… “NO” especially if it prevents a lifetime of regret.

This is your daughter Lord, I am checking in.