BIG GIRL TIME

For a long time, I didn’t have the language for it, but I was operating from an anxious attachment style. I felt like I needed control over people, over situations, over outcomes. Not in an obvious or intentional way, but in a quiet, underlying sense of “if I don’t manage this, something will go wrong.” And if something went wrong, I would be the one left dealing with the hurt. So I tried to get ahead of it. I tried to prevent it. I tried to make everything… work.

But the truth is, that control wasn’t about strength—it was about fear.

Over the past six months in therapy, I’ve started to see my patterns more clearly, especially in how I communicate. I noticed how often I would over-explain, over-function, or step in before anyone even asked me to. I felt this constant pressure to be the one who “makes it happen,” because in my mind, if I didn’t, who would? I carried that into my relationships, my friendships, my responsibilities everywhere.

And while I thought I was being dependable, loving, and proactive, I was also overextending myself, exhausting myself, and honestly… controlling more than I realized.

I also had to sit with the fact that I haven’t been able to fully operate in my feminine nature the way I desire to. I was always in motion, always fixing, always anticipating. There wasn’t much room for softness, for rest, for simply being. I was so used to being the one holding everything together that I didn’t know how to just exist without feeling like something was about to fall apart.

I gave a lot sometimes too much. I made myself overly available to people, even when it came at my own expense. I stretched myself thin trying to be more liked, more loved, more needed. And the hardest part? None of that actually created the kind of deep, lasting connections I was hoping for. If anything, it left me drained and, at times, resentful.

So I had to ask myself a hard question: who was this really helping?

Because constantly managing people, correcting things, and taking on emotional weight that wasn’t mine… wasn’t love. It was control disguised as care.

Lately, I’ve been taking small, intentional steps toward healing. I’m learning how to regulate my nervous system instead of reacting from it. I’m practicing walking away when I feel overwhelmed instead of trying to force resolution in the moment. I’m saying no when I need to, even when it feels uncomfortable. I’m choosing to do more things that genuinely make me happy, without needing them to serve anyone else.

I’ve also had to learn not to make the people closest to me my emotional dumping ground. Not every thought needs to be processed out loud, and not every feeling needs immediate validation from someone else. Some things I can sit with, pray through, and work out internally.

One of the biggest shifts for me has been learning to let people experience the consequences of their own actions. That has been hard. Because I can see solutions so clearly, and I know how to “fix” things. But stepping in all the time was leading me to take ownership of situations that had nothing to do with me. And then I’d end up stressed, overwhelmed, and frustrated… for something that was never mine to carry in the first place.

I’ve also been more intentional about creating peace in my physical environment. I upgraded my bedroom into a space that actually feels like a place of rest. Somewhere I can reset, breathe, and not feel like I’m constantly in motion. And most importantly, I’ve been drawing closer to God. That has been the foundation of all of this. Because at the root of my need for control was a lack of trust, not just in people, but in God’s ability to handle what I was trying so hard to manage.

This is a process. It’s not overnight, and I’m still unlearning a lot. But I know one thing for sure: I don’t want to be that version of myself anymore. The one who is always tense, always anticipating, always correcting. The one people feel like they have to walk on eggshells around, or who unintentionally makes others feel like they’re not doing enough.

I can acknowledge that version of me had strengths. She was organized, aware, and incredibly perceptive. But those strengths, when driven by fear, started to get in the way of the kind of relationships I actually want, ones built on trust, ease, and genuine connection.

So now, I’m choosing something different. Less control. More trust. Less overextending. More alignment. Less fear. More faith. And quite frankly… that feels like the beginning of becoming who I’m actually meant to be.