“I felt at home in myself when I stood up for what I needed, but not when I tried to exert a tightfisted control.”
I have control issues.
It’s no secret or grand revelation.
I’ve discussed it with Matt, my family, some friends, my therapist.
You just need to let go. Yeah, I know. I get that.
But HOW?
My "strong independent woman” traits were always encouraged growing up. I was stubborn and firey as a kid. I’ve always had opinions and plans. As an adult I’ve been driven (maybe a little too perfectionistic) and seemingly in charge of most aspects of my life.
Or at least, that’s what I’d convinced myself.
I’ve never actually had control over things, but for a while I think there was the illusion of control.
The illusion has vanished over the last year and a half.
In January 2018, Matt and I decided we wanted to start a family. I know I can’t predict, plan, or control this process, so on the full moon that month I wrote out I release my need to control on a slip of paper and threw it into a fire. Then Matt and I made s’mores in the flames.
Ten minutes later I accidentally stepped where there was no step on our deck, and I fell. After the initial freak out about possibly re-injuring a bad ankle sprain, I calmed down enough to realize what had just happened. The universe was like, Oh you’re releasing control? Game. On.
A couple weeks later my mom told me my aunt had breast cancer.
A few weeks after that Matt’s work in Atlanta dried up, and he went to LA for 3 weeks to work on shows out there.
Those 3 weeks turned into 7. Baby plans were put on hold.
That spring my mom was diagnosed with breast and thyroid cancer.
Summer 2018 was a flurry of flights home, doctor visits, and Downton Abbey reruns. Plus my own health issues and finishing my thesis.
Matt and I traveled to Europe for a belated honeymoon, where I got a migraine in Paris on our one-year anniversary, and I cried in Tuscany as I journaled about not being pregnant yet, then smiled and danced at his cousin’s wedding. The trip was a beautiful experience, but I was struggling. Nothing was happening the way I’d planned.
Later that summer I defended my thesis, got my MFA, and Matt accepted a full time job in LA that would separate us for the fall but was too good to turn down. Baby plans got pushed back again.
My mother had a mastectomy in the fall. Her thyroid was removed in the winter.
I struggled and planned and struggled and revised plans, even though I knew I could not control any of this. Even though there was a lot of good happening too.
Over and over and over again the universe gave me the message: let go.
The loss of control still terrified me.
The main issues I care about right now (fertility, creativity, my family’s health) I cannot control. No matter how much I want certain outcomes, no matter how hard I pursue certain results, ultimately I can’t control what happens.
Intellectually, I know this. Emotionally, it’s so incredibly hard.
Even though my mom is recovering, Matt has steady work in Atlanta, and I’m taking steps toward the career I want, I still feel like I’m grasping for control. There are still a thousand things a day I try to control and can’t.
Recently I’ve been feeling tension all over my body. I was down for two days last week with a migraine. I feel the familiar grip of protect yourself, control the situation and then the reminder let it go, you have no control. And the tug of war between those two doesn’t help.
Monday morning, my friend Erin and I were on a walk and we saw a little kitten near our houses. Not a huge surprise since there are a number of outdoor cats in the neighborhood. He saw us and ran to the side. I said Be safe kitten and we left. An hour later we returned, the little guy was a few doors down from where he was before, hiding under a car. As I walked by, he followed.
He kept following.
He cried for food.
He walked up my driveway.
I really tried to resist.
If you feed him, you have a third cat, Erin said.
{Side note: The issue of adding more pet responsibilities has been a recent discussion with Matt and I. I held the position that we are not a three-cat household. I really thought I had control of at least that. Silly me.}
Because there he was, this little one, hungry and adorable and dead-set that I was the one who was gonna help him.
So obviously, I did.
Meet Raptor. He makes velociraptor noises when he’s hungry.
The vet says he’s probably 6 weeks old and seemingly healthy.
My to do list Monday got an overhaul. Instead of all the things I “had” to do, I sat with Raptor, got him to eat, showed him his litter box, got really happy when he used it. Yesterday, I probably spent an hour cooing as he played with a ball and a piece of string.
Basically, I’m ridiculous.
But also, I ‘m listening. I got the message.
I texted my mom a picture of him and explained what happened. This was our exchange:
When your therapist says you should read books on surrender, your cancer-survivor mom says you need to relax, you say you don’t know how, and then the universe delivers a kitten to your house, all you can do is accept it.
Last night Matt and I laughed together as Raptor flung himself across the room in pursuit of a toy. I’ve taken approximately 1 million pictures where he is a blur of excited kitten cuteness. He cuddles and purrs nonstop.
I could call this a distraction. I could call this an inconvenience. I could see it as an impediment to what I “should” be doing. I could dwell on how this was not part of my plan. But I feel strongly when the universe gives me something so directly. It’s how I found Matt and how we decided to move across the country. I know not to dismiss it.
There are a lot of things I can’t control, but I can control my outlook. At least today. So I’m choosing to see this as a message on how to surrender:
Calm down. Slow down. Find joy.
Be open to what comes your way.
