Losing Control

As I continue on this journey towards sustained optimal well-being and joy, one of the things that have continuously come up as a pothole on the road is the issue of control. In fact having control, using control, being controlled, became so much of an issue that it caused me to take my first mothering sabbatical, a story for another day.  

At the time I felt like going mad. Seriously.  There were questions all the time.   She asked for a snack.  And then asked for another snack.  When she wanted to change the movie, she asked if she could watch a different movie. Then ten minutes later, I didn’t like that movie, can I watch another one instead? Can I brush my teeth first, then take a bath?  Can I do this?  Can I do that?

I could see her behavior changing in order to accommodate our controlling ways.   When she came upstairs, she would call out, “I’m just going to the bathroom”, in order to supersede the question that would inevitably be asked by one of us.  Picking up on our irritation and looking for ways to limit our interactions, she began to negotiate, “Is it okay if I watch any of these three shows and is it okay for me to change when I want to?”

I was triggered all the time.  Another snack?  She just ate a snack five minutes ago.  Why can’t she just watch one tv show and just finish that? When I was growing up, we just had to watch what was there.  Why does she need five paint colors instead of the four I just gave her?  Why can’t she just brush her teeth when I tell her to?

I felt overwhelmed and often angered by needing to answer all those questions.  Sometimes my answer would be no, just because she asked.  If she had just brushed her teeth and then taken her bath, I wouldn’t have cared. But because she asked, my need for control took over and I told her to do it the way that I wanted.

I couldn’t tell if we had a lot of unnecessary rules or if she was just a needy child.  It was easier to externalize and make it about her. Why can’t she be easier? Why does she need so many things? Motherhood felt like a burden, and of course I felt shame about that. Loads of it.  So much of it.  

But there is more to the story.  I wasn’t alone in my control issues.  My husband was controlling and I was in his path.  I, too, couldn’t walk from room to room without being questioned where I was going.  I was fussed at, needled, questioned, harangued, and lectured. I was talked to like a child.  I was yelled at like a child.   I felt like I was being treated like a child.  Put a pin in that – we’ll talk about this language, “like a child” another day.

I was in the midst of a control tornado and didn’t know how to get out of it.   I didn’t like that my daughter felt constrained so much and I didn’t like doing the constraining.  I didn’t like that our house felt full of conflict.  I felt angry and powerless and victimized.  I could see my daughter’s behavior changing.  She became more anxious andand she became more anxious.  Where was the freedom in that?

What happened?

I changed therapists and strengthened my support circle. I learned about codependency and control. I learned how to set appropriate boundaries.  I started to heal from my childhood wounds and baggage I picked up as an adult.  Very importantly, my husband stopped drinking and learned that he had to respect my boundaries or we would have to part. 

And while I continue to heal, I started looking for ways to release control over things in my life, most importantly my daughter.  

More to come…