Big Girl Panty Diaries - Entry #27: Control Freak Chic — My Favorite Illusion
I’ll admit it: control is my comfort food. Some people reach for ice cream or wine when life feels shaky. I reach for my planner, my color-coded lists, my obsessive rituals. I cling to the idea that if I can just organize everything — my house, my calendar, my emotions — then maybe I won’t feel so… out of control.
Spoiler: it never really works. But that doesn’t stop me from trying.
My Confession
Here’s my real confession: I like life to feel perfectly choreographed. I want people to show up when they say they will. I want my day to go exactly as planned. I want conversations to follow the script I’ve already written in my head.
Humans crave predictable outcomes — and I am Exhibit A.
Where It Shows Up
Control shows up in obvious ways: The tidy routine I swear by. The yoga class I have to nail or the day feels “off.”
But it also hides in the sneaky corners: The apology email I rewrite five times — just to make sure no one’s upset. The moments I micromanage — at work and at home — terrified that one loose thread will unravel everything. The mental gymnastics at 2 AM when anxiety squeezes my ribs and whispers, “What if you missed something?”
A Tiny Shoe, A Big Truth
One time, I completely lost it over a single sneaker in the hallway. Not because of the shoe — but because the mess reminded me how little I actually control. Some days, one stray sneaker feels like proof the universe is laughing while I try to keep it all together. (Slips, trips and falls are the #1 injury type!!!)
Control’s Worst Trick
Here’s what I know: my obsession with control is really about safety. If I can manage every variable, maybe I won’t get blindsided. Maybe I can protect the people I love. Maybe I won’t have to feel pain or disappointment or the sting of uncertainty.
Control feels like armor — until it feels like a tight fist I can’t unclench. It feels steady — until it feels like anxiety pressing on my ribs at 2 AM.
The Season That Shattered It
If you’ve followed me, you know my daughter’s illness ripped that illusion right out of my hands. Nothing rips away the fantasy of control like a health crisis you can’t fix. No list, no 2 AM spiral, no perfectly worded question could make her better. No amount of “doing everything right” could guarantee tomorrow.
When Work Feeds the Monster
Want to know where my control monster gets super sneaky? Work. In corporate life, we reward people who never drop a ball. We confuse micromanaging with excellence. We admire the “I’ve got this” leader — but the ones we trust most admit when they don’t.
I once spent three hours rewriting a perfectly fine presentation because the idea of a tough question made me sweat. Spoiler: they didn’t ask it. I lost sleep for nothing — but hey, my slide deck was flawless.
What I Know Now
I’m not “cured.” I still slip. But now I catch myself: “What am I afraid of? What am I trying so hard to protect?” And then the scariest question of all: “What would happen if I loosened my grip — just a little?”
These days, when I feel the urge to over-fix, I pause. Sometimes I breathe through the mess instead of organizing it. Sometimes I delegate — and resist the urge to hover. Tiny steps. But they matter.
A Little Humor, Because… Me
There should be a medal for Best Imaginary Control. Pretty sure I’d win it every year. And my color-coded planner should come with a warning label: “May cause the illusion that you have your life together.”
Big Girl Panties Diaries Rule:
Control is an illusion — and the biggest thief of peace. Corollary: Peace loves a messy, open palm.
So — what illusion are you clinging to? And who might you become if you finally loosen your grip?
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