Here’s a post about being controlling. One definition describes it as the ability to exercise restraint or direction over something — to command or dominate. That definition captures well how many of us try to manage our lives, our environments, and even the people around us.
I see this in myself at home. When my husband cooks, I’m genuinely grateful for the break — yet I still catch myself offering unsolicited “suggestions,” even when he clearly has everything well in hand. He gives me a familiar look that says, “You’re trying to control this.” And he’s almost always right. Interestingly, the same dynamic appears when I step into his tool shed — his own domain of control.
Why do we do this? Why do we try to control our homes, our workplaces, and even our vacations? Why does the idea of letting go feel so unsettling?
At its core, control is often an attempt to meet our needs and protect ourselves from vulnerability. We believe that if we manage every detail, we can influence outcomes and avoid discomfort, failure, or disappointment.
In the workplace, the effects are clear. During my years as an executive recruiter, the most common comment candidates made about leadership was, “I don’t like being micromanaged. I want a manager who guides me, then trusts me to figure things out.” No one enjoys working for someone who tries to control every step — and yet most of us, at times, behave that way.
A simple thought experiment illustrates this tendency: imagine you’re in a car during a snowstorm. Would you rather be the driver or the passenger? Most people prefer the driver’s seat, not because it’s easier, but because it feels safer to be in control.
But life rarely follows our plans. Effective leaders and project managers succeed not by controlling every variable, but by adapting when the unexpected happens.
My own understanding of control changed dramatically after a serious fall down a staircase. In seconds, my full calendar, routines, and sense of stability disappeared. I went from being fully self-reliant to completely dependent on others. And in that vulnerability, something surprising happened: I discovered how deeply supported I could be when I surrendered control. My caregivers — nurses, doctors, staff, and my husband — cared for me in ways I never would have allowed had I been able to “manage” it myself.
Letting go didn’t diminish who I was. It uncovered a deeper truth: underneath the effort to control is a well of gratitude and a more authentic, loving presence.
Now, when I catch myself trying to control others, I try to remember that lesson — and I try to extend the same understanding to others when they attempt to control me.
Consider where control shows up in your life:
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Do you believe your team would function better if someone just changed their behavior?
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Do you find yourself frustrated with family members who don’t do things the way you prefer?
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Do you control through subtle tactics — withholding information, disengaging, or managing too closely — or do you simply take over because you’re convinced your way is best?
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And most importantly: How much of your need for control comes from fear of what might happen if you let go?
See if you can loosen your grip, even slightly. You may discover that releasing control reveals not chaos, but clarity — and perhaps even a deeper connection to the people around you.
Kathleen