Control once kept us safe in childhood. As adults, it can keep us stuck in patterns of rage, shame, and isolation.
The other day I went to a new mall here in Bangkok. I thought it would be a simple thing—grab some lunch, look around a bit. Instead, I found myself getting tense the moment I walked in. Crowds of people, shops half-open even though it was almost 11:00, staff just starting to set up. I could feel my patience thinning. I wanted people to move out of my way, and instead of saying a polite “excuse me” in Thai, I could feel the urge to just push through.
By the time I got home, I was raging. Not at anyone in particular, but at things, at myself, at life. I felt out of control, and then ashamed for being out of control. That’s the cycle I know too well.
Control as a Survival Strategy
What was really going on here had very little to do with the mall. It was about control.
Control is one of the most common survival strategies for those of us who grew up with childhood complex trauma. If you were raised in an environment that didn’t feel safe—parents who were inconsistent, unpredictable, maybe neglectful or volatile—you probably learned early that controlling your environment was the only way to feel secure.
As children, we don’t have much power. Control becomes a stand-in for safety. It’s how we keep ourselves together in a world that feels chaotic or dangerous.
Why We Grasp So Hard
For me, control was a way to manage fear. If I could stay in charge—of my surroundings, of myself, of the people around me—then maybe I wouldn’t get blindsided. Maybe I wouldn’t get hurt.
And in childhood, that worked. It wasn’t a flaw, it was survival.
But as adults, those same strategies start to backfire.
How Control Shows Up Now
In adulthood, control often shows up when something feels unpredictable:
- Crowds, disorder, people not following “the rules.”
- Environments that feel unfamiliar.
- Cultural differences where expectations don’t line up with our own.
The pattern is almost automatic: anxiety rises → I try to clamp down and control → when it doesn’t work, frustration builds → then comes the blow-up.
It’s exhausting. And the cost is real. Sometimes the cost is isolation—staying home feels safer. Sometimes the cost is shame—because exploding or raging feels out of proportion to what’s actually happening.
The Double Bind
This is what makes control such a painful survival strategy:
- Stay home, and life feels small and boring.
- Go out, and I risk feeling unsafe, triggered, and exploding.
Many survivors of childhood complex trauma live right in that tension. Wanting both safety and freedom, but feeling like we can’t have both at the same time.
A First Step
Here’s the thing: control is not a personal failure. It’s not evidence that you’re broken. It’s a survival strategy that once protected you.
The way forward starts with recognition. Noticing when control shows up. Noticing the tension before it boils into rage. That awareness alone is a step toward something new.
I’m not going to offer quick fixes here. Control isn’t something you just “let go of” because someone tells you to. But with practice, it’s possible to create safety without needing to grasp so hard. It starts with learning to notice the moments when control takes over, and being gentle with ourselves when we do.
Final Thoughts
That trip to the mall wasn’t really about lunch. It was a mirror. A reminder of how old patterns still run my life when I’m not paying attention.
Control kept me alive as a kid. But as an adult, it keeps me stuck. And I know I’m not alone in that.
If you recognize yourself here, I want you to hear this: you’re not broken. Your need for control makes sense. And it’s possible to learn new ways of finding safety—ways that don’t leave you raging, ashamed, or trapped.
