Confessions of a Recovering Control Freak
I am a creature of habit. I am pretty sure that I have mentioned that before. But… if I’m being honest, it can be… a little more.. intense than that. More than habit, I am a creature of routine. I wake up at the same time each morning. I can’t truly start my day until I’ve made my bed. I have my meals as close to the same time as I can. I have the same bedtime routine and bedtime each night. Heck, I somehow always have to put my right shoe on before my left. I find comfort in the structure and predictability of this type of schedule. While I try not to be too rigid, straying too far from these habits and schedules… is uncomfortable. Unsettling.
Does that make me a control freak? Probably.
Has this become problematic at times? Absolutely.
Over time, I have had to closely and patiently, sometimes painfully and painstakingly, dissect and examine why each of these specific routines or structures are so comforting to me. I’ve also had to step back and take a good, long, hard look at my relationship with… well… control.
Control, by definition, means exercising power, restraint or direction. Over a person or a situation, over a task or a space. Control implies influence - over a person, an action, or an outcome. And while the word control is, in and of itself, morally neutral, in practice, it almost always has some sort of connotation, depending on what is being controlled, who is doing the controlling, and what the societal influences are regarding each of those aspects.
But here’s what I have learned. At least for myself.
In most situations, at least within my normal everyday life, control is an illusion. Moreover, my “need” for control has more to do with my own fears, insecurities, and intolerance to the unknown than with the specific task, function, or outcome I am working on completing or achieving in the moment.
I thought that by controlling things - my kids, my schedule, my food intake, my bedtime… I thought that these things would make me strong. I thought that the predictability would offer comfort and stability. I thought that being in control in these areas would bring me some sort of peace or happiness.
The truth, however, was very different.
Have you ever tried to hold water or sand in your hands? The tighter you grip it, the more of it slips through your fingers. The harder you try to hold it, the less of it you actually have.
I discovered that my own life was just like that. The more tightly I tried to hold on to things, the harder I tried to control them… the further away from me they went. The peace I was seeking with my rigidity quickly morphed into stress and anxiety. Even when I kept to my routines or schedules, I’d find myself second guessing or over analyzing, seeking ways to further control my… control.
And here’s the other thing that I learned. Again, at least for myself.
The more tightly I controlled my life, the less capacity I had for anything outside of my rigid structures. I didn’t have room for both control and creativity. For both control and joy. My world became small. Dark. Insular. And to add insult to injury, I felt more out of control than ever.
I learned that I had to replace the false senses of courage and strength that I’d hoped these systems and controls would bring with the true courage of… letting go. I had to learn to allow the world to turn as it saw fit. To allow my body to tell me what it needed rather than to try to outsmart it. To allow a fun day to be fun, even if that meant that meals would be later and bedtime would be forgotten. I had to learn that sometimes the moment gets to be a moment, not a power struggle.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I still find comfort in scheudles. I still appreciate structure and routine, and I still find comfort in being able to predict at least small portions of my day. Heck, I still usually put my right shoe on before my left. But I am learning to release my grasp on the water and sand that make up my life, and to see the beauty of how they flow through my fingers. Even more so, I’m learning to enjoy the beauty that it creates in the world around me when I let it go.