When control is a substitute for safety, even choosing a restaurant becomes a battlefield.
It’s a quiet evening. A group of friends or a couple stands in the kitchen, trying to decide where to go for dinner. The stakes should be low—after all, whether it's Thai or Italian won’t alter the course of anyone’s life. But suddenly, the energy shifts. A disagreement brews. Tension rises. Emotion floods in.
Why?
Because for someone living in fear, under the spell of ego, the need for control becomes a stand-in for safety. It's not really about the restaurant. Or the vacation destination. Or which route to take to the airport. These are just the masks that fear wears.
To a person caught in this cycle, control feels essential to survival. The unconscious logic goes like this: If I can get my way, if I can win the debate, if I can steer the ship—then I am safe. I matter. I exist.It's not about which option is better; it's about proving control is still possible. That the unpredictable, often chaotic world around them can still be bent to their will.
And so, every shared decision becomes a tug-of-war. Every differing opinion, a threat. The ego responds like a fortress under siege—defending, deflecting, dominating. The deeper the fear, the greater the insistence on being right. It becomes reflexive: taking the opposing stance, just to assert power. Fighting not for the outcome, but for the illusion of command.
But what’s often invisible in the moment is the cost. The emotional friction, the frayed relationships, the exhaustion. The disconnection. Underneath it all lies a belief formed long ago: I am not safe unless I am in control. I am not safe unless I am winning.
What happens if we step back?
If we soften?
If we let go of the need to control outcomes, people, situations—not out of passivity, but out of trust?
Then space opens up. Space for grace. For play. For unexpected joy. For life to surprise us in ways we couldn’t script if we tried.
The core wound here is not about control at all. It’s about worthiness. If I believe I’m unworthy, I will expect life to hurt me, betray me, abandon me. I will brace against joy. I will live in survival mode. I will spin every plate, hold up the sky, and believe that if I stop, it all falls apart.
But when I begin to trust my worth—truly trust it—I stop needing to control everything. I let life breathe. I loosen the grip. I stop fighting battles that were never mine to begin with.
And slowly, peace returns.
We were never meant to control life. We were meant to meet it, moment by moment, from a place of worthiness and wonder. From that space, even the smallest decisions become less about dominance and more about connection. Less about winning, more about being together.
Control may feel like safety. But surrender—conscious, grounded, embodied surrender—is where true safety begins.