The Dirty Little Secret Of A Control Freak

Let’s just say… I like things done a certain way.

So when I left town for work when the kids were home (which happened about six times a year), I would tend to prepare my family like they’re about to go through military training. I left behind what I call the novella—a lengthy, detailed, slightly condescending document outlining every task that must be completed in my absence.

It includes gems like:

“Feed the dog.”

“Wake the kids for school.”

“Feed them breakfast. Don’t miss the bus.”

“Lock the door at bedtime.”

And my personal favorite: “Put the kids to bed at a decent hour.”

Now, to be clear: my husband is a highly intelligent, capable man. He’s the kind of person you’d pick first for your trivia team—and also the kind of person who ruins every mystery show by calling out the killer 20 minutes in. He’s brilliant. Competent. Has handled children, pets, and household emergencies.

And yet, I still send him off like he’s the intern on day one.

Why? Because the dirty little secret of a control freak is this: we don’t delegate out of fear they’ll fail—we fear they’ll succeed without us.

Even more than that, we struggle to believe that anyone else can do it right.

This became crystal clear to me on a trip years back. I decided to try something new. I ditched the novella and left a three-line note with only the times for basketball, tennis, and dance. When I called home, I asked about their day—not about the list. I asked if they were having fun. I even managed to go a whole day without calling. 

(Well, almost.)

And guess what? I returned to a calm, functioning home. My husband hadn’t just survived—he’d handled an emergency vet visit when our dog needed surgery. The kids were happy, the house was still standing, and no one had starved.

It turns out, I’m not the only one in the family who’s capable.

And here’s the miracle: letting go didn’t make me less valuable. It made all of us more powerful. My husband felt competent. The kids felt trusted. And I felt… free.

It’s not about being unnecessary—it’s about making space for others to rise. When I stopped micromanaging, I gave my family the opportunity to step into their own strength. And I came home to a team that was thriving, not waiting for me to come back and “fix” everything.

So here’s what I’ve learned over the years: Control isn’t love. Control is fear dressed up like responsibility. Love says, “I believe in you.” And that’s the voice I want my family to hear then and now.

 Love,