Fasting from Control
I’m a bit of a control freak. Is that still a publicly acceptable, politically correct phrase? A quick Google search says that “A control freak is usually driven by the urge that they want everything to be done in a way that they feel is correct.”
Mm, yes.
I used to think I was a perfectionist. It turns out that I don’t care so much about having things done perfectly as I care about it being done the way that I want it to be done.
I come by it honestly. My paternal grandma, sweet lady that she was, was notoriously particular about everything—from the angle at which her door was left open when we arrived or left her seniors’ apartment to how she ate her daily pudding cup. My dad is a little more subtle about it, but he carries on the ‘particularity’ trait quite well in his own forms of perfectionism and control. And here I am, genetically endowed with the particular trait of desiring everything to be ‘just so.’
One counsellor mused that I exhibited some OCD-like behaviours. That was a bit of an eye-opener; surely, I wasn’t truly obsessive-compulsive. My opinions on how to load the dishwasher just so or fold the laundry just so aren’t debilitating in any way. However, it did cause me to wonder at the anxiety hidden by the behaviours, because that’s what OCD really is—an anxiety disorder.
It’s not really that earth-shattering. Controlling my environment helps me to feel calmer and in control of life in general. No surprise there.
I have learned, however, that trying to control people doesn’t go well. I have also learned that, no matter how I try to control my environment, most things are simply out of my hands.
Control is an illusion.
It didn’t matter how much I tried to control my environment, plan my health, or schedule our moments of intimacy… conceiving children still didn’t happen.
It didn’t matter how much I tried to control my job, to do it well, and to bend over backwards when others asked me to take on more tasks… the pandemic still resulted in job loss.
It still doesn’t matter how much I try to predict the future and plan ahead… the future never, ever works out as I imagined, because there are forces moving in our world that are far beyond my reach and I can’t predict how they will impact my life.
Thankfully, I’ve grown beyond throwing hissy fits when things don’t go my way. Ugh, that sounds disgustingly childish. But yes, as a child, I did throw hissy fits, or at least retreated into sullen silence, when things didn’t go my way. As an adult, it has taken marriage, the grinding years of post-secondary education, a pandemic and job loss, and years of infertility to finally deposit in me a sense of relief that life is utterly outside my control.
A number of years ago, I heard a speaker say, “God is God and I am not, and that is a very good thing.”
What an absolute relief that I am not God! How amazing that I am not actually, truly responsible for the turning of the world and all its complexities!
Fasting from control means trusting in God to be enough to take care of me—to know my needs (my true needs beneath the anxiety) and to meet them in just the right way.
Giving up control means relinquishing my tight grasp on the things that I perceive to be most important for thriving in life. It firstly involves recognizing that I truly don’t always know what is best for me and my loved ones. God does, always.
The stranger and more complex life gets, the more I am tempted to hold on tightly to the patterns, behaviours, habits, and stuff that I know well. These familiar things comfort me when life is thrown off-kilter.
But, with the slow, gradual creep of maturity, I am realizing how freeing it is to let go. To float in the waters of God’s presence and power. To simply be and allow him to fret about how to make life work out (but of course, he doesn’t fret about it at all).
It’s a bit embarrassing to admit my controlling behaviours and tendencies. Sometimes I think I hide it well, but my husband and close friends and family know otherwise. Sometimes it behaves as such a ‘good’ coping mechanism that I begin to justify my tight-fisted behaviours (which only ends up in more frustration and distance in relationships… trust me, I know).
I’ve been complimented on my discipline many times by various people. I’m ever so disciplined and intentional in my habits—how I spend my time, what I eat, how I exercise, who I hang out with, etc. What people might not see is that my disciplined behaviour is often a method of controlling my life. I control my energy expenditure, weight, health, social influences, and time.
Self-control is glorified; it’s a fruit of the Spirit, after all. I don’t mean that control is always a bad thing. Obviously, a certainly level of self-control is responsible and good. I’m referring to the motivations beneath the desire to control. When I pull back the layers to reveal the ugly monster driving my desire to control my life, I am disgusted.
As it turns out, control is an illusion.
Healthy behaviours and habits are not a bad thing. But why are we engaging in them? Is it simply one more way for us to feel like we are managing a dozen spinning plates?
During Lent, we meditate on the cross of Christ.
What an example of relinquishing control! Christ went willingly to the cross, knowing that there was immense suffering waiting him there. There was no personal gain for him, only pain.
Yet, in that expression of ultimate trust and love, there is freedom. There is conquering of death, anxiety, fear, and brokenness.
In the giving up of his life, there is new life. Freedom. Liberty in love. Absolute contentment. Resurrection from the dead. Wholeness in relationship with him.
How might you imitate Christ in giving up control this week? How is he inviting you to trust that he is enough for you as you look to the cross of ultimate surrender?
