Essays

Control

This is the final question from my therapist, and my initial response was disinterest because I have already spent a lot of therapy time on it with previous therapists.  The question is – what can I actually control and not control. 

I immediately answered, “disturbingly little.”  Growing up I developed a coping strategy where I internalize situations and identify gaps as knowledge opportunities to feel some sense of control where there isn’t any.  I gather information. Plan. Prepare. Anticipate problems. Work harder. Take responsibility. Research every possible outcome. Consider what went wrong and change the approach so it won't happen again.

When I was married and my ex overlooked a task I was counting on, it was much easier to assume it was my own fault.  I didn’t ask in the right way, or at the right time, or I didn’t remind, or I wasn’t aware enough of their other obligations and stressors, and there was always a way I could have done better or tried harder. 

With a friend, my highly literal brain often interprets a suggestion as a commitment, and then I design an entire plan to execute the suggestion, map my calendar around it, and sometimes create a countdown to the minute of when I expect the event to occur.  And if things don’t pan out – I wasn’t being chill enough, I didn’t clarify, I should have followed up.

Sometimes it really is on me, and I could behave differently.  But often, it’s just humans human-ing and all of my actions don’t change the other person, just how busy I feel.  And the trick of it is, it kind of works.  My actions can genuinely increase influence.

But influence isn't control.

I can write the best book I’m capable of writing, but that doesn’t mean someone will like it. I can be an excellent mother. I cannot control what choices my children eventually make. And I can lead employees thoughtfully, but that does not control their experience.

It gets really easy to confuse my influence with effective control - If preparing more often improves the outcome, my brain has evidence for prepare more. If anticipating needs prevents problems, anticipate more. If taking responsibility keeps things from falling apart, take responsibility.

It’s not an irrational control strategy. The problem is when my brain converts “I can materially affect the probability of this outcome” into “therefore, if I do everything correctly, I can secure the outcome.”

And then when the outcome doesn't happen, there's somewhere for the blame to go:

What did I fail to anticipate? What should I have done differently?

That preserves the illusion of control because “I screwed something up” can actually feel safer than “I did everything reasonably well and this still happened.”

The first means I can prevent it next time. The second means sometimes I can't.

So I want to look at this a little differently than a binary of control / no control.  I think there is -

Control: my choices and actions

Influence: relationships, your children's development, your workplace, your health, your writing career, how people perceive you, whether a conflict resolves well.

Neither: other people's choices, the past, or whether something terrible happens.

I think I have a deeper understanding of that than my history might indicate.  I think my work around control now starts here:

I have done what is mine to do. I don't get to determine what happens next.

Who Am I?

As a little Mormon child, I was handed a clear answer to the question, “Who are you?”—I am a child of God. My mind was blown later in life when I was introduced to the quote by Lavina Fielding Anderson, who suggested most people get stuck as adolescents of God, sulking and rebellious, and few become adults of God who choose mature agency.

My therapist has now asked me to clarify, “Who am I truly?” I am no longer a child or religious, but I do miss having a quick answer. I understand why the inoculation was useful both for this question and so many others. I was encouraged to decide once as a young teen and never again question what behavior I would and would not tolerate, where I would get married, and what kind of life I wanted. Mormonism gave me preloaded and rehearsed answers so that when the question eventually arrived, I had already developed resistance to alternative answers or “straying from the path.”

Except this was entirely the wrong approach for me because I need to chew on something to understand and internalize it.

If I think back to what things always seem like they were part of me, from my earliest days, I see a few things. I have always been growth-oriented and future-oriented to an extreme. Ambitious. Also responsible, sensitive, funny, intellectually capable in particular ways, compassionate, deeply thoughtful, and musical.

But is that who I am? Because I have things I have done that have merged with those qualities and feel like they are a permanent part of my identity: mother, executive, cancer survivor, writer.

And also things that felt deeply fundamental for a long time and no longer resonate: Mormon/religious, wife, permanent party host, scheduler for all the people all the time, and emotional regulator available at the drop of a hat.

Then there are things that describe me without necessarily defining me but absolutely impact my development and life experience. I love to travel and I do it a lot. I have some amazing friends who I deeply love and rely on. I don’t like pets and never want any (but I love that you do). I hate sports. I make a strong effort to remain close to my family of origin and their progeny.

Is defining oneself best reduced to the values we choose? I wrote a personal mission statement when I was in college that I keep close to my heart:

“I'm building a life of strength, creativity, and deep connection. I lead with integrity, warmth, and authenticity. I trust that I'm safe enough to receive all the goodness life has to offer. My legacy is one of generosity, vulnerability, hope, and breaking generational patterns—people, places, and things are better because I was here, and because I let myself love and be loved along the way.”

So who am I? I think I’m an ever-evolving conglomeration of all these things. I used to understand identity as something I was prescribed, adopted, and remained faithful to. Now I understand identity as something that can remain recognizably me while continuing to evolve.

Soul in Tupperware

As both a writer (which is Latin for overthinker) and an experienced impromptu speaker à la Toastmasters, I am almost never at a loss for words. But in my last session, when my therapist asked me to consider if I am the physical embodiment of myself or just the container, I stopped cold.

After a moment, I said, “I really don’t know.”

I feel like I understand all the words, but not in that order. After some wrestling, I’ve simplified it to mean this—is my outside the representation of my insides? Or is it just the Tupperware container that carts my soul around?

Growing up, I was taught that my body is on loan from God. It was my job to treat it well, because someday this library book is going back, and if I write in all the margins, I’m going to have to pay for the damage. While I have eschewed a lot of my previous religious beliefs, I felt them so deeply and so early that I still stumble across one from time to time like I am doing here.

I have always felt disconnected from my body, as though it was the uninterested group project member I had to carry to get a good grade. A decade of infertility struggles is a prime example. I learned and did everything I could and eventually, with medical science, tricked my body into begrudging cooperation to get my amazing children.

When dating, both as a young person and now as a divorcee, I want to issue a disclaimer—I’m really funny and great, you just have to get to know me! I’m trying to show you, just look!

But most of the time, I feel judged based on what people see. I have lost out on jobs and relationships, and I have been shamed and ignored by more doctors than I can count. I completed a half marathon less than two years ago. (My cardiologist, who decorates his office with antique scales, laughed when I told him that and asked if I was capable of walking for ten minutes without stopping or sitting down.) I have tried all the diets, all the medications, and all the programs. I am exhausted.

So again the question—is my outside a representation of my insides, or is it just the Tupperware container holding my soul? I want to be seen for who I am inside, but, like Tupperware that held spaghetti sauce one time, the container is cloudy and hard to see through without some effort.

But I hope you’ll try.

Mastering the Art of Relaxation

Lately, I have taken up painting. To be more specific, grown-up paint-by-number kits that I purchased from China. It feels like a cousin of the paint-and-sip nights I've attended a few times, but without the pressure to drink. I have both more guidance and less oversight. I chose this hobby for a few reasons, including wanting something to do with my hands after I finally finish getting my 10,000 steps at night that doesn't involve doomscrolling.

Really, the deeper reason comes down to something I'm reckoning with about myself.

I want to be excellent.

I want to be excellent at everything.

It isn't a competition with anyone else. I feel that I have an inescapable moral obligation to be the very best version of myself that I can be, at all times and in all things. Including rest.

And that is why I have taken up painting.

Already, my brain is spinning. What will I do when the paint kits are complete? Don't you worry, brain. There will be a new project. There is always a new project. I know this is exhausting. It can be exhausting for me, too. I'm not sure where the line is between something being one's personality and one's compulsive adaptation. My new therapist, whose legal name is Omega, has given me several questions to think deeply about, including some that have me examining this very distinction. I intend to write about them over the coming weeks. But for now, I need to wrap up some other things so that I can get on with mastering my relaxation time.

Welcome

Hello!  Thank you checking out my website, and I hope you’ll sign up for infrequent email updates.

What’s in it for you?

Honest stories. Thoughtful reflections. And if I'm very lucky, you'll leave feeling a little more seen and a little less alone. If you've ever wondered why childhood continues to echo through adulthood or found yourself questioning the stories you inherited, I think you'll feel at home here.

Why me?

Because I'm an ordinary person who's spent a lifetime trying to understand family, identity, and the stories we inherit. Eventually, I decided to write honestly about what I learned.

Why this?

The first thing about me is, I’m a do-er.  I have a motor.  I’ve tried lots of projects before – some worked, some didn’t. But I have always, always, always, since I was a tiny girl, wanted to write my story.  Back then I knew I had to live first.  I used to narrate my dialogue tags (for example, I would ask my mother “What is for dinner? Peggy asked.” Sigh.)

Life didn't give me the story I would have chosen, but it gave me one worth telling.

I hope to earn your attention a little at a time. I don't know exactly where this journey will lead, but I'm grateful you're here for the beginning.

If any of these stories help you understand your own life a little differently, then writing them will have been worth it.