The Limits of Control

Photo by Ibrahim Boran on Unsplash

Early last week we found out that our new grandson Theo had Covid. It made for a long few days.

It's hard when babies are sick. Scary too. Theo is so tiny and so new that everything feels like a threat. Any kind of sickness is scary. A respiratory disease that has done what Covid has done worldwide is extra scary. For a couple of days he was struggling to breathe, and that meant he was struggling to eat. Alex wasn't feeling her best (obviously), and was now responsible for caring for a very sick kid. She was exhausted but did an *amazing* job. I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of how she is doing as a mom.

The challenge for us as grandparents is that there was precious little we could do other than listen, provide support, and give encouragement. We couldn't physically help - the presence of Covid (and Justin's asthma) negated that. All we could do was cheer from the sidelines.

It sucked. 

It sucked because it felt like we weren't doing enough. Which is a pretty common feeling as a parent: the constant, nagging sense that you could be doing more to help your kids navigate their lives and prepare for their future.

For me, that feeling was co-located with something else - feeling out of control. I wanted to be able to control what happened to Theo. I wanted to make the Covid go away. I wanted to help him eat, I wanted to be able to help Alex rest. I wanted to be able to control outcomes.

And this isn't the only place where I struggle with a need to control outcomes.

I have been with Justin more than anyone else in his life since he was born. We have gone on so many adventures and spent SO much time together. I know him better than anyone else. I can sense the slightest changes in his mood. I know what he is trying to say when he is struggling to say it. 

When he went to school, it was hard. I was giving up control of what his day looked like to someone else, even if it was just for a few hours. When he was diagnosed with autism, it was hard. I felt like I was the only one who really knew how to care for him, the only one who could effectively and efficiently meet his needs.

One of the main reasons that Barb and I teach the K-1 Sunday school class is because that is the one Justin is in. I want to make sure that someone is there who knows how to deal with Justin's mercurial moods and idiosyncratic personality. 

I struggle to let go. I struggle to let other people help Justin. I struggle, even, to let Justin help himself. 

He recently started Applied Behavioral Therapy. In therapy, he is often pushed out of his comfort zone by his therapist as a way of helping him learn healthy coping skills. It is impossibly hard to be close by, see Justin be put in situation I *know* will trigger him, and then let someone else help redirect and guide him.

It's about control. I am not in control of what happens. Not with Theo. Not with Justin. Not with a million different things. 

And here's the thing, I *know* that control is an illusion. I know that it is not really a thing. I know that things happen and that the only thing that we can even try to control is our reaction to what happens, and even that is hit or miss. 

I know all that, and I can explain it to my kids or other people and at the same time it KILLS me when I don't feel like I have control. When the remote isn't in my hand. When I don't get the last word. When people make the "wrong" choice. 

I know control is an illusion. And I keep chasing it like a gambling addict chases a straight on the river. 

I have done enough therapy to know where all this comes from. My childhood trauma made me feel fundamentally unsafe. I had NO control over the terrible things that happened to me. And so as an adult I gravitated toward a need for control, and thrived in systems of control. I did well in the military, where there is a clear hierarchy based on control. I initially found comfort in conservative evangelical religion, a clear system of control. These are the kinds of environments in which I know what is expected and can respond accordingly.

Knowing what is happening is great and all, but that doesn’t mean that I am able to translate that to - you know - not trying to control everything. I am working on it.

We all have a thing. It is the thing that we struggle with. A part of our personality that causes disruption and frustration and agitation. Some coping mechanism that may have made sense in one context, but is completely maladaptive for normal adult functioning outside of that context. It may be a need to control. It may be being passive aggressive. It may be avoidance. Whatever the thing is, it is something that has to be dealt with, one way or another. And there are no easy fixes.

The truth is that most change happens slowly, incrementally, and over time. There is no magic wand I can waive that will make me stop trying to control things I can’t change. I have to practice gratitude and mindfulness and the art of letting go. Like I said, I am working on it. 

I hope that whatever you are working on, it gets a little better for you today. 

Because a little bit better is enough.

May it ever be so.