Control, Control, Control
On How Order, Regulation, and Self-Restraint Can Become a Defence Against Shame
“Control, control, control.”
The words return throughout the conversations that formed the foundation of my doctoral dissertation, A Study of Shame. They may concern food, the body, the home, work, emotions, relationships, or everyday routines. Some people need to know exactly what is going to happen. Some struggle with surprises. Some clean, organise, or arrange. Others hold the body tightly, avoid closeness, or try to regulate every reaction.
From the outside, this may look like rigidity.
It may be understood as perfectionism, stubbornness, compulsion, or a need to dominate. But from within, control may carry another meaning.
It may be a defence against chaos.
When a person’s boundaries were once violated, the need for control may become an attempt to ensure that nothing similar can ever happen again.
No one must come unexpectedly close.
No one must decide over the body.
No one must find a fault.
No one must gain power through unpredictability.
Control becomes more than a habit. It becomes a way of holding life together.
When the World Ceased to Be Trustworthy
A child depends on the world having a certain order.
Adults should protect.
A no should matter.
The home should be safer than the world outside.
Closeness should not involve danger.
When an adult breaks these assumptions, more happens than a single violation. Trust in the order of the world itself is weakened.
What appeared safe was not safe.
The person who should have protected could cause harm.
What began as care could change character.
The child learned that danger does not always announce its arrival.
It may appear in the midst of what is familiar.
In such a world, control becomes understandable. If danger cannot be recognised in time, the entire environment must be monitored.
One must pay attention.
Anticipate.
Plan.
Arrange.
Control.
When Unpredictability Becomes a Threat
For many people, a change of plan is merely inconvenient.
For someone who has learned that the unexpected may be dangerous, the same change can trigger intense unease.
An appointment is moved.
Someone arrives earlier than expected.
A person’s tone of voice changes.
A door is closed.
The plan becomes unclear.
Others may say:
It will work out.
Take things as they come.
But “what comes” is precisely what the body has learned to fear.
The need for control is therefore not always about wanting power over other people. It may arise from the fear of once again becoming trapped in a situation one does not understand and cannot escape.
Predictability becomes a form of safety.
When I know what will happen, I can prepare.
When I have a plan, there is a path.
When things are in their proper place, the world feels less threatening.
Order Outside and Unease Within
Some people try to create external order when their inner life feels unmanageable.
The home must be clean.
Objects must stand in the right place.
No one must find anything to criticise.
Everything must be completed before one can rest.
It is easy to understand this as excessive. But the actions may carry a clear meaning:
What happened cannot be undone.
The memories cannot be cleared away.
The shame cannot be washed off.
But the floor can be scrubbed.
Windows can be polished.
Drawers can be organised.
A room can be restored to a condition in which nothing is out of control.
In this way, an incomprehensible task is transferred into something concrete.
Inner chaos becomes external labour.
The work brings temporary relief because it has a beginning, an order, and a visible result.
The problem is that the relief often lasts only briefly.
Then control must be repeated.
No One Must Find a Fault
Control may also be closely connected to shame.
The ashamed person does not merely fear that something will go wrong. She fears that the mistake will reveal who she really is.
A speck of dust is not merely a speck of dust.
A forgotten appointment is not merely forgetfulness.
A bad day is not merely a bad day.
It may feel like proof:
Now they can see that I am not good enough.
Now they will discover that something is wrong with me.
Now the criticism will come.
Perfectionism then becomes a protection against visibility.
If everything is right, no one needs to look more closely.
If I do everything well enough, perhaps I can avoid being judged.
If no one can find a flaw in what I do, perhaps they will not discover the flaw I believe exists in me.
Control does not merely guard order.
It guards the self against exposure.
The Body That Must Be Monitored
When the body has been subjected to another person’s actions, it may later be met with strict surveillance.
What does it eat?
How much does it weigh?
What does it look like?
What does it feel?
How does it respond to touch?
Can it be trusted?
The body is no longer simply lived. It is inspected.
Some try to make it smaller.
Others make it stronger.
Some avoid eating.
Others use food to calm unease.
Some exercise intensely.
Others hide the body in loose clothing.
What these strategies may share is an attempt to regain mastery:
This time, I am the one who decides.
That is understandable. The abuse meant that someone else took control of the body. Strictly regulating the body may feel like reclaiming it.
But a painful repetition may also arise.
First, the body was treated as an object by another person.
Later, it is treated as an object by the person herself.
It must obey.
It must not surprise.
It must not show need.
It must be kept under control.
In this way, the old form of power may continue, even though the person now exercising it is oneself.
Controlling the Emotions
Control does not apply only to what is visible.
The emotions must also be kept in place.
Do not cry.
Do not become angry.
Do not show fear.
Do not lose control.
Do not let others see how deeply this affects you.
Emotions may feel dangerous because they threaten to open something that cannot be stopped. If grief is allowed to come, perhaps it will never end. If anger is released, perhaps it will destroy relationships. If fear is given words, perhaps everyday life will collapse.
So the emotions are held back.
The person functions.
She works, helps, organises, and takes responsibility.
Others may see her as strong.
But the strength may be built on a constant effort not to feel more than can just barely be endured.
Control becomes a dam.
That does not mean the emotions are gone.
They gather behind it.
The Capable Person Who Never Gets to Rest
Control can bring social recognition.
The person who always has an overview is valued.
She arrives on time.
She does more than expected.
She helps others.
She delivers.
She does not complain.
What began as a survival strategy may therefore be rewarded by the surrounding world.
No one asks what it costs to be so dependable.
No one necessarily sees the fear behind the performance.
The person learns that control does not only protect against chaos. It also gives value.
As long as I function, I have a place.
As long as I help, I am useful.
As long as I need nothing, I am not a burden.
This makes it difficult to let go.
Rest may feel like moral failure.
Asking for help may feel like a loss of control and dignity.
Not performing may awaken the old shame:
Without what I do, I am nothing.
Control in Relationships
The need for control may also shape close relationships.
The person needs to know where the partner is.
She needs clear agreements.
She struggles with sudden changes.
She may withdraw if the other person comes too close.
She may try to regulate how difficult conversations should take place.
This can be demanding for both people.
The partner may feel distrusted or restricted. The person who needs control may at the same time feel misunderstood:
I am not trying to control you.
I am trying to prevent the world from suddenly becoming dangerous.
Control may be a language for a need that has not yet found other words.
Do not surprise me.
Do not leave without explanation.
Do not use my vulnerability against me.
Do not do anything to my body unless I am prepared.
Be the same person even when I do not have a complete overview.
Behind the control may lie a plea for reliability.
When No Was Not Enough
A person who has experienced that their boundaries were not respected may later try to control far more than the specific boundary itself.
If a simple no did not work, perhaps the entire situation must be regulated.
Where shall we sit?
When shall we begin?
How long will it last?
Who will be present?
Where is the exit?
What shall we talk about?
When can I leave?
This may appear rigid. But it may also be a way of building support around a no that once had no force.
Control becomes scaffolding around the boundary.
Only when the person repeatedly experiences that a simple “stop” actually stops the action can the scaffolding gradually become less necessary.
Self-determination is not learned through reassurance alone.
It is learned through the experience that one’s choice is respected.
Control as Both Help and Harm
Control has often saved something.
It may have made it possible to function.
It may have kept memories at a distance.
It may have created order in an unsafe home.
It may have helped the person through work, education, and parenthood.
It would therefore be wrong to describe it only as a problem.
Control is not an enemy to be defeated.
It is a strategy that once had a task.
But over time, the strategy may begin to demand more than it gives.
It creates exhaustion.
It limits spontaneity.
It makes rest difficult.
It can make other people’s freedom feel threatening.
It can prevent support, because support requires allowing something to be entrusted to another person.
It may protect against risk, but also against joy.
What keeps chaos out may also keep life at a distance.
The Helper’s Temptation to Take Control
When a helper meets a person with a strong need for control, a danger arises.
The helper may think that the control must be broken.
The person must be challenged.
Plans must be loosened.
Feelings must come out.
Defences must come down.
But if the helper tries to take control of the control, the relationship may repeat the earlier violation.
Once again, another person arrives and says:
I know better than you what you need.
I decide the pace.
I determine which boundaries are appropriate.
This can happen with the best of intentions.
But a person who lost self-determination does not first need to learn to surrender it in a more therapeutic manner.
The person needs to experience that control can be negotiated without being taken away.
The helper must be able to ask:
What do you need to know in advance?
What would make this room feel safer?
What do you yourself want to work on?
How will we know that it is becoming too much?
What should happen if you want to stop?
In this way, the structure becomes clear without the person losing ownership of the process.
Freedom Is Not the Same as Spontaneity
In our culture, spontaneity is often understood as freedom.
The free person takes things as they come.
The free person does not need to plan everything.
The free person dares to let go.
But for someone who has lived with danger, planning may be what makes participation possible.
A carefully planned journey may be freer than a spontaneous trip that never takes place.
A structured conversation may allow greater openness than a completely free conversation in which the person uses all available energy to monitor the situation.
A clear time frame may make presence possible.
We should therefore not make spontaneity the measure of health.
Freedom does not mean living without structure.
It means being able to use structure without being trapped by it.
The question is not:
Do you have control?
But:
Can you choose when control is necessary and when something may be entrusted to another?
Losing Control in Safe Forms
The expression “letting go” can be problematic.
For someone who associates loss of control with violation, it does not sound liberating.
It sounds dangerous.
Perhaps the task is not to let go, but to gradually experience that control can be shared.
I can allow someone else to drive and still know where we are going.
I can rest while another person prepares the food.
I can tell a little without telling everything.
I can be emotionally affected without losing the entire day.
I can change the plan and still remain safe.
I can say that I am uncertain without being humiliated.
This is not a dramatic loss of control.
It is a cautious expansion of trust.
Control becomes less absolute because the world has shown itself to be somewhat more reliable.
When Shame No Longer Has to Be Hidden Through Order
Perfectionism cannot simply be dismantled by saying that “good enough” is sufficient.
For someone who fears exposure, a mistake may feel existential.
The helper must understand what the mistake means.
What do you believe will happen if someone sees that you are not fully in control?
The answer may be:
They will despise me.
They will discover that I am weak.
They will leave me.
They will use it against me.
Then the main problem is not order itself. It is the shame from which order offers protection.
Change begins when the person gains experiences in which a mistake does not lead to rejection.
She forgets something, and the relationship continues.
She arrives late, and is not humiliated.
She asks for help, and the other person does not take over her entire life.
She shows unease, and is not diminished.
In this way, shame may lose some of its power, and control no longer has to work quite so hard.
Good Control
Not all control should disappear.
A person needs control over their own life.
They need the right to decide over their own body.
They need the possibility of choosing who hears the story.
They need structure, agreements, and predictability.
After violation, regained control is an important part of healing.
The distinction lies between control as self-determination and control as imprisonment.
Good control says:
This is my boundary.
This is my choice.
I decide the pace.
I may ask for clarity.
I may protect myself.
Rigid control says:
Everything must be safe before I can live.
No one else can be given responsibility.
I must monitor everything.
One mistake will destroy me.
I can never rest.
The goal is therefore not the absence of control.
It is control that can move.
From Control to Influence
No human being has complete control over life.
Other people may become ill.
Relationships may change.
Plans may fail.
The body grows older.
The past cannot be rewritten.
The attempt to achieve total control will therefore always meet its limit.
But between powerlessness and total control lies another concept:
influence.
I cannot determine everything that happens.
But I can have some say in how I meet it.
I cannot control other people’s reactions.
But I can choose whom I trust with my story.
I cannot prevent every memory.
But I can develop ways of caring for myself when memories arise.
I cannot make the world entirely safe.
But I can build relationships in which my boundaries matter.
Influence is less than omnipotence, but far more than powerlessness.
It may be a more liveable form of control.
Resting Without Disappearing
For some, rest is difficult because activity keeps shame and memories at a distance.
When the work stops, silence comes.
In the silence, unease appears.
So the person continues.
One more task.
One more cleaning.
One more check.
Rest is experienced not as safety, but as a loss of readiness.
Learning to rest therefore involves more than lying down. It involves discovering that one still exists and remains safe when one is not performing or monitoring.
This may begin in small spaces.
Five minutes in which nothing must be arranged.
A cup of coffee without working at the same time.
Allowing a task to wait without catastrophe occurring.
Sitting in a room that someone else has prepared.
These are modest actions, but they challenge a fundamental belief:
I do not need to hold everything up every moment for the world to continue.
A Sentence for Control
Perhaps control, too, needs to be met as a part of the person that tried to protect them.
Not:
You are destroying my life.
But:
You helped me when the world was unpredictable.
You created order when I had no power.
You enabled me to function.
But you no longer need to govern everything.
I can keep my boundaries without monitoring the whole world.
I can plan and still tolerate small changes.
I can receive help without surrendering myself.
I can rest without becoming defenceless.
This is not a demand that control should disappear.
It is an invitation for it to have a less lonely task.
When Something Can Be Entrusted
Change may not appear as sudden spontaneity.
It may be much quieter.
A drawer is allowed to remain untidy.
An appointment changes without the whole day falling apart.
Another person is allowed to complete a task in their own way.
A feeling is allowed to come without immediately being explained or stopped.
A partner is allowed to come close without every moment being planned.
The person may still need clarity and structure. But control is no longer the only form of safety.
Something can be entrusted because the relationship has shown itself to be reliable.
Something can remain unfinished without the person herself becoming unworthy.
Something unexpected can happen without the past repeating itself.
The need for control did not arise because the person was difficult.
It arose because something real had once been beyond her control.
It deserves to be understood before it is challenged.
But the person also deserves a life in which all her energy is no longer spent trying to prevent what has already happened.
A life in which boundaries are strong, but not constantly armed.
A life in which order may be good without becoming a condition for existence.
A life in which control may gradually become self-determination, influence, and trust.
Not because the world can never surprise her again.
But because she no longer stands alone when it does.
A life in which boundaries are strong, but not constantly armed.
A life in which order may be good without becoming a condition for existence.
A life in which control may gradually become self-determination, influence, and trust.
This essay was developed through a new reading of the focus-group discussions and in-depth interviews that formed the foundation of my doctoral dissertation, A Study of Shame (2009). The text is part of the series Conversations About Shame and was written in conversation with OpenAI/ChatGPT.
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