This One is about Control

A client once shared a story that stayed with me. He had spent most of his life feeling like he had to keep everything tightly managed. Every decision, every moment, every outcome had to be weighed, measured, and accounted for. He explained how his upbringing, marked by unpredictability and hardship, had taught him that control was a way to survive. Then he told me about a rare moment when he stepped away from the chaos.

It happened during a weekend after the last day at a hostile workplace. For the first time in years, he was not responsible for anyone or anything. He sat in a quiet park, soaking in the sunshine, feeling the breeze against his skin, and appreciating the vibrant green of the grass. On that day, for the first time in a long time, he felt free, untethered from expectations and fears. But as the day came to an end, a familiar restlessness crept back in. What if something went wrong tomorrow? What if this peace was just the calm before another storm?

It was as if his mind couldn’t sit still. The brief respite had been like a sip of cool water to a parched throat, refreshing but fleeting. He felt compelled to return to the familiar rhythms of worry and planning, as though these were the only tools he could rely on to navigate life’s unpredictability.

This conversation led me to reflect on our relationship with control.

Control is comforting because it gives us a sense of stability, even when the ground beneath us is shaking. It’s human nature to want to steer the ship, to plot a course, to feel like the outcomes of our lives are, at least in part, within our grasp. There is a certain dignity in the idea that effort and planning will lead to predictable results.

But life rarely plays by the rules we set for it. Despite our best-laid plans, there are times when circumstances spiral out of control. A job is lost. A relationship falls apart. A health crisis blindsides us. In these moments, our brains often shift into survival mode. We scramble to find something, anything, that can be managed, adjusted, or improved, as if this act of control will restore order to the chaos.

It’s a natural response, but it’s also a trap.

When life feels like a series of uncertainties, our minds become like searchlights, scanning the horizon for something solid to hold onto. We focus on external factors because they are easier to measure and manipulate. The state of our surroundings, the actions of others, the progress of our goals, these become the objects of our attention.

This pattern is especially pronounced in people who have experienced trauma or prolonged stress. Trauma teaches the brain to be hypervigilant, always on the lookout for danger. It’s as if the mind develops a radar system that can never be switched off. Even when the immediate threat is gone, the radar keeps scanning, searching for the next potential problem.

The irony is that this hypervigilance, while protective in the short term, can rob us of the ability to feel safe and present in the long term. Even moments of beauty, like a sunny day or the laughter of a loved one, can feel disorienting to a brain that is wired for survival. Instead of soaking in the joy, the mind may whisper, “This won’t last,” or “What’s the catch?”

You might think that appreciating life’s beauty is as simple as slowing down and paying attention. But for a brain conditioned to survive, beauty can feel like an unfamiliar language. It’s not that the beauty isn’t visible, the mind simply struggles to trust it.

Imagine stepping out of a dark room into the bright light of day. At first, the light is blinding. It’s overwhelming, even painful. It takes time for your eyes to adjust. Similarly, when someone who has been living in a state of hypervigilance encounters a moment of peace or joy, it can feel jarring. The mind, accustomed to scanning for threats, doesn’t know how to process the absence of danger.

Instead of relaxing into the moment, the brain often returns to what it knows best: finding problems to solve, risks to mitigate, and outcomes to control. It’s as if the beauty of life becomes a reminder of how fragile and unpredictable that beauty can be.

Here is the paradox: the more we try to control life, the less we are able to enjoy it. Control gives us a sense of safety, but it also keeps us on high alert, preventing us from fully embracing the present. It’s a bit like clutching a handful of sand. The tighter you grip, the more the grains slip through your fingers.

This is not to say that control is inherently bad. There are aspects of our lives, like our health, our relationships, our work, that benefit from thoughtful planning and effort. But when control becomes an obsession, it can take over, leaving little room for spontaneity, curiosity, or wonder.

So how do we let go of this need for control, especially when it feels so deeply ingrained?

A good starting point is recognising that control is often an illusion. Life is brimming with variables we can’t predict or influence, no matter how much we try. Every day, we are reminded that events unfold in ways we cannot foresee, whether it’s the unexpected phone call, the delayed train, or the countless small and large disruptions that shape our lives. Accepting this truth is not about surrendering to chaos or shirking our responsibilities. Instead, it’s about recognising where our influence begins and ends.

This recognition is freeing because it allows us to step back from battles that drain our energy and give us little in return. Trying to control everything means we are constantly reacting to life, grasping at straws to fix, manage, or perfect things that may not even matter in the grand scheme of things. It’s exhausting. The more time we spend chasing these illusions of control, the less energy we have to focus on what truly gives our lives meaning, such as our relationships, passions, personal growth, and well-being.

Finding balance is key. Balance doesn’t mean throwing our hands up and letting life happen to us without care or direction. It means learning to discern which battles are worth fighting and which are worth leaving to the winds of chance. It’s about asking ourselves, “Is this something I can realistically influence? And if so, is it meaningful enough to deserve my time and attention?”

When we become aware of how often our energy is siphoned away by meaningless attempts to control every detail, we can begin to reclaim that energy for things that matter. Consider how much of your day might be spent trying to manage trivialities. Are you fretting over whether everyone likes you, trying to dictate how others behave, obsessing over how spotless your home is, or ruminating on outcomes that are already out of your hands? These small acts of control may seem inconsequential, but over time they add up, leaving us depleted.

Instead, imagine channelling that same effort into areas where it has real impact. Instead of agonising over someone else’s opinion, you could invest in deepening your connections with people who already value and respect you. Instead of trying to control every small detail of your surroundings, you could focus on creating a space that nurtures your creativity and peace of mind. Instead of spending your emotional energy on the “what ifs” of the future, you could engage with the present moment, appreciating the opportunities and beauty that are already here.

Balance requires practice. It’s not something we achieve once and keep forever. It’s a daily decision to pause, reflect, and choose where to direct our attention. It’s learning to hold life loosely—not gripping it so tightly that we crush its spontaneity, but not letting it slip entirely through our fingers either.

When we stop pouring our capacity into trying to control what doesn’t matter, we create room for what does. It allows us to experience life in a richer, more meaningful way, free from the weight of unnecessary struggles. It’s not about giving up. It’s about showing up for the things that truly make our lives worthwhile.

Letting go of control doesn’t mean embracing chaos. It is an active pursuit of finding a middle ground, where we can hold life’s uncertainties with a sense of curiosity and trust, and learning to ride the waves, rather than trying to calm the entire ocean.

For my client, this journey is ongoing. He’s learning to sit with the discomfort of not knowing what’s next, to allow moments of peace and joy to unfold without immediately looking for the next problem to solve. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.

And maybe that’s the lesson for all of us. Life is unpredictable. It’s messy and beautiful and heartbreaking and wondrous. We can’t control it, but we can learn to live in it, to really live in it, with open hearts and open hands.

Because in the end, it’s not control that makes life meaningful. It’s the moments when we let go, breathe deeply, and allow ourselves to simply be.