Alibi

An email arrives at 8 am with a subject I recognise. We have been going back and forth on this for weeks. I am in a rush, so I skip the message and open the attachment first.

The proposal is good. Thorough, too. It answers the question that held up our last meeting, with the numbers underneath. I scroll back to check something. They have covered that as well.

I reach for my coffee and find it cold. By the last page, I am ready to forward it to the rest of the team.

Then I read the rest of the email.

It begins with an apology. They pulled this together quickly. It is still rough. There are probably things they have missed.

I look at the attachment again. Did I miss them too?

A minute ago, I was ready to forward it. Now I wonder whether to wait for another version. I reread a paragraph I liked, looking for what needs work.

I begin my reply by calling it a good first pass.

But I wonder, whose doubt is that?

An excuse can be useful before anything has gone wrong. It gives a disappointing result an explanation that feels less personal.

Psychologists Steven Berglas and Edward Jones called this self-handicapping: creating or claiming a disadvantage before a performance, so that failure need not imply a lack of ability.

In their 1978 experiments, university students worked on either solvable or impossible problems. In the first experiment, everyone was then told they had succeeded.

For students given solvable problems, the result made sense. Those given impossible problems had no clear reason to believe they could repeat their success.

Before another test, participants chose between two supposed drugs. One was described as improving intellectual performance. The other supposedly impaired it.

The men given impossible problems and success feedback preferred the impairing drug. The same effect did not appear among women in the study.

The researchers interpreted this choice as preparation for possible failure. A poor result on the next test could be blamed on the drug instead of ability. Participants were willing to accept a disadvantage that could spare them a more painful explanation.

Outside the laboratory, the obstacle can be less obvious. We leave too little time to prepare or make sure someone knows how exhausted we are before they see our work. An unfinished attempt allows us to keep believing that more effort would have produced something better.

Fatigue, illness and lack of time can be genuine limitations. Mentioning them does not automatically make them excuses. The distinction is whether the disadvantage is being used to prevent a result from reflecting on our ability.

***

The way ability is praised may contribute to the pattern.

In an experiment with fifth-graders, children praised for their ability subsequently reported more anxiety and spent less time working after a setback than children given neutral feedback. They also improved less on the next task. The researchers interpreted these responses as self-handicapping, although anxiety and reduced effort can have other explanations.

A longitudinal study found that students who self-handicapped more had poorer study habits, weaker academic performance and worsening adjustment. Poorer adjustment also predicted more self-handicapping later. The pattern was associated with difficulties that continued beyond the performance it was meant to explain.

There is a promise in self-handicapping: failure will hurt less, and success will feel even better because we managed it despite the disadvantage.

The second part is less reliable. People with strong self-handicapping tendencies do not fully internalize their successes. They avoid some of the damage of a bad result without taking full credit for a good one.

We may pass the exam and decide it must have been easy. We may receive praise and assume little was expected. The relief is genuine. Yet by the next attempt, we need an excuse again.

This can be difficult to recognise because we have achieved what we wanted. There is a finished piece of work, a good grade, an invitation to do something again. Other people see reasons to trust us. We can acknowledge all of that and still hesitate to say we did well because we were capable.

Perhaps we expected confidence to follow achievement more naturally. We thought enough good results would eventually make the next attempt easier. But each success comes with a qualification, and we approach the next task feeling that we still have something to prove.

It is possible to spend years doing well without allowing those years to change our opinion of ourselves. Each success gets treated as an exception.

An excuse designed to soften failure can also weaken success.

^{This is a space for exploration and reflection, not medical, psychological, or therapeutic advice. Each reader’s situation is unique and deserves the right kind of support. If you are struggling or in crisis, please contact a licensed mental health professional. This edition contains affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate, we may earn from qualifying purchases at no additional cost to you.}