Blog Post 2 of 6 | Series: The Truths That Set Us Free
A Quick Recap
In our first post, we met Alex — someone doing all the right things on paper, yet carrying a quiet, persistent sense that something wasn’t quite working. We explored why hard truths are difficult for the human brain to absorb (spoiler: it’s biology, not weakness), and introduced the idea that growth begins not with optimism, but with honesty. If you missed it, you can catch up [here].
Today, we’re diving into the first — and arguably most universal — of the five struggles: our complicated, exhausting, deeply human relationship with control.
The Week Everything Felt Like It Was Falling Apart
Alex had a plan.
Not in a rigid, color-coded-spreadsheet kind of way — more in the quiet, unspoken way that most of us carry plans around without fully realizing it. A plan for how the week would go. How a difficult conversation with a colleague would unfold. How a family get-together would feel. How a particular project would land.
By Wednesday, none of it had gone according to that plan.
The colleague had reacted defensively. The family gathering had been tense in the way only family gatherings can be. The project had hit an unexpected snag. And Alex, sitting in a car in a parking lot at 6:15pm not quite ready to go inside, felt something that was part frustration, part helplessness, and part a quietly humiliating question:
Why does it feel like I’m always trying to hold water in my hands?
If you’ve ever sat in a metaphorical — or literal — parking lot feeling that way, this post is for you.
The Control Paradox
Here’s the uncomfortable truth that psychology, Stoic philosophy, and pretty much every wisdom tradition on earth agrees on:
You control far less than you think. And the more tightly you grip, the more you suffer.
This is not a pessimistic statement. It is, actually, one of the most freeing things a person can internalize — once the initial sting of it passes.
The desire for control is deeply human. In fact, it’s deeply biological. Our brains are prediction machines. They are constantly trying to model the future, anticipate outcomes, and reduce uncertainty — because for our ancestors, uncertainty often meant danger. A brain that could predict and control its environment was a brain that survived.
The problem is that we are now living extraordinarily complex lives — with complex relationships, complex organizations, complex social dynamics — and we’re still running on that ancient software. The need to control kicks in not just when there’s genuine danger, but whenever anything feels unpredictable. Which, in modern life, is almost constantly.
The result? Anxiety. Over-functioning. Micromanagement of self and others. Rumination. Attempts to script conversations in your head before they happen (we’ve all been there). A low-grade, persistent tension that never quite goes away because the world never quite cooperates.
What We’re Actually Trying to Control
It helps to get specific, because “control” is a broad word that hides a lot of nuance.
When we dig into it, most of us aren’t trying to control everything. We’re trying to control specific things that feel connected to safety, love, or self-worth. Common ones include:
- Other people’s reactions — If I say the right thing, they won’t be hurt/angry/disappointed.
- Outcomes at work — If I work hard enough, the result will be what I need it to be.
- How we’re perceived — If I manage my image carefully enough, people will respect/like/value me.
- Our own emotions — If I stay busy enough, I won’t have to feel that.
- The future — If I plan carefully enough, nothing will blindside me.
Notice what all of these have in common: they are all, to significant degrees, outside your control.
You can influence people’s reactions — but not control them. You can do excellent work — but not guarantee outcomes. You can be thoughtful about how you show up — but not manage every perception. You can make plans — but life will revise them without asking permission.
This is not a reason to stop caring or stop trying. It’s an invitation to get much clearer about the line between influence and control — and to invest your energy accordingly.
The Stoics Had a Word for This
The ancient Stoic philosophers — Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, Seneca — were remarkably practical people for their time. And they identified this exact human struggle more than two thousand years ago.
Epictetus, a former slave who became one of the most influential philosophers in history, framed it this way: there are things within our control (our own thoughts, intentions, responses, and choices) and things outside our control (everything else). He called this the dichotomy of control, and argued that nearly all human suffering comes from confusing the two categories.
Modern psychology arrived at the same place, just with different language. Psychologists call it locus of control — the degree to which you believe you have agency over what happens in your life. Research consistently shows that people with an internal locus of control (who focus on their own choices and responses) experience lower anxiety, higher resilience, and greater overall wellbeing than those with an external locus (who focus on what outside forces are doing to them).
Neither philosophy nor psychology is asking you to be passive. They’re both asking you to be precise — to put your energy where it can actually do something.
What Helped Alex
Back in that parking lot, Alex didn’t have a philosophy textbook. But Alex did have one habit that had been slowly developing over the past few months: the practice of asking a single, quiet question when things went sideways.
What part of this is actually mine to change?
Not: how do I fix this person? Not: how do I prevent this from ever happening again? Just: what’s actually mine here?
That week, sitting with the frustration of a derailed plan, the honest answer was: the colleague’s defensiveness wasn’t mine to fix. The family tension had roots deeper than one gathering. The project snag was partly circumstance, partly a decision that could be revisited.
What was Alex’s: the response to all of it. The next conversation. The choice to bring curiosity instead of more control. The decision to let Wednesday be a hard day without making it mean something catastrophic about the future.
Small shifts. But they changed the temperature of the whole evening.
Practical Moves: Working with the Control Instinct
If this resonates, here are a few evidence-backed ways to begin loosening the grip — gently, not recklessly.
1. The Two-Column Exercise Draw a line down the middle of a page. On the left: everything that’s stressing you that you genuinely cannot control. On the right: everything you can influence or change. Most people are surprised to discover how much energy they’re pouring into the left column.
2. Name the Fear Underneath Control is almost always protecting something. Before reacting from a place of over-control, ask: what am I actually afraid will happen if I let this go? Naming the fear takes away some of its power.
3. Shrink the Time Horizon When the urge to control the future spikes, gently bring your attention back to what you can do today. Not the next five years. Today.
4. Replace “I need this to go a certain way” with “I prefer this goes a certain way” Subtle, but meaningful. Preferences leave room for reality. Needs create collisions with it.
5. Mindfulness as a Daily Reset Even five minutes of mindful breathing — simply observing without trying to change — trains the nervous system to tolerate uncertainty. Over time, it genuinely shifts the baseline.
The Reframe That Changes Everything
Letting go of control is not the same as giving up. It is not passivity or indifference or resignation.
It is the deeply mature, deeply courageous act of directing your finite energy toward what you can actually affect — and extending genuine grace to everything else.
Alex left that parking lot without a fixed colleague, a resolved family tension, or a rescued project. But something smaller and more durable had shifted: the white-knuckle grip had loosened, just slightly. And in that space, there was room to breathe.
That room is where growth lives.
Where We’re Going Next
As we continue the journey, we’ll explore one of the most quietly liberating truths in psychology: the fact that almost no one is thinking about you the way you think they are — and why understanding the spotlight effect might just be the permission slip you’ve been waiting for.
Alex has a moment coming up that makes this one very personal. Stay tuned.
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