Confessions of a Recovering Control Freak

The moment the world around me got quiet, the voices that have shaped me — or tried to — got very loud. 

I stepped away from work expecting rest. What I thought would be clarity turned into a storm of uncertainty, fear, and unexpected growth.

It became a full-blown war for my identity.

This is a glimpse into the inner workings of my heart and mind over the past six months—a window into my most private thoughts and quiet wrestlings.

A Pause That Changed Everything

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop. Not because you're giving up, but because you're finally ready to listen; to your body, your mind, and your heart. When I stepped away from corporate life to study, I didn’t know how much of myself I had lost or how much I would rediscover.

1. It Wasn’t the People. It Was the Environment.

I’ve always loved people. That was never the problem. But for a long time, I believed they drained me. I thought I needed distance to protect my energy. What I’ve come to realise is—it was often the environment that wore me out.

Unrealistic expectations, unspoken pressures, and constant urgency—that’s what left me depleted. Work will always be busy, but busyness is no excuse for a toxic environment. I’ve learned that in a healthy space, surrounded by people who inspire and challenge me, I come alive. That’s where I thrive. That’s where great ideas are born.

In essence, it might not be the pace or pressure that’s draining—it’s the dynamic. Some people, whether in your personal life or professional world, are wrestling with their own brokenness. When you carry wholeness, peace, or a sense of clarity they haven’t yet found, it can quietly stir discomfort. It’s not always intentional, but it does have an impact. That’s why protecting your space—emotionally, mentally, and spiritually—is so vital.

2. The Gift of Time and the Courage to Feel

Taking time off is not a luxury—it’s a necessity. I’ve come to believe deeply in living below your means so that you can afford pauses like this. I’m not talking about scraping by—I’m talking about the kind of spending that numbs, validates, or distracts: the daily R50 lattes, the brand-new car to keep up appearances, the lifestyle inflation that steals our margin for rest. The world doesn’t slow down, and we tend to bury our pain, burnout, and even trauma so deep that when the silence finally comes, it floods in like a wave. And for me, boy, did a tsunami hit me.

We need space to feel. To process. To heal. And I’ve learnt that healing doesn’t happen in hustle—it happens in stillness. 

3. You Need Someone in Your Corner

Whether it’s a psychologist, a life coach, or both—mental health professionals are not optional. Most of us treat the symptoms, never the root. But from unresolved emotions often come physical issues. We need people who can walk with us through the messy middle, not just prescribe a quick fix. And while I’m not trying to start a debate, I want to acknowledge that, sadly, healthcare systems often prioritise covering medication over the time and investment needed for meaningful mental health support—making it challenging for many to access true healing

If we’re serious about growth, we need to normalise having help—not just when things fall apart, but when we’re building something new.

4. Learning to Listen (For Real)

One of the most humbling things I learnt through Coaching for Developoment is how hard it is to truly listen to understand rather than listen to respond. We so often come into conversations with our own agenda. But when we drop the script and tune into the moment, people surprise us. They grow us. They open up entirely new possibilities—if we let them.

People are uniquely different—we say this all the time. But do we listen like we believe it? If we moved through life humbly instead of trying to be the smartest person in the room, we’d be amazed at what we could learn. With age should come wisdom, not arrogance. So why does it often feel like the opposite? To me this typically indicates intellectual arrogance and I have found that people who are very intellectually arrogant normally aren’t that intellectually gifted.

5. Not All Feedback Deserves a Seat

I’ve had to learn this the hard way: just because someone offers feedback, doesn’t mean it’s true, helpful, or yours to carry.

In life, we do not have to accept every piece of feedback about the way we show up—the way we speak, the way we perform, or the way we carry ourselves. Listen to it. Thank them for it (assuming it was constructive). And then sift it. If it doesn’t align with your values—let it go. Not everything spoken over you is truth.

I value feedback deeply. I have created workshops around it. I believe in growth and refinement. But I’ve also learned that not all feedback comes from a place of clarity, kindness, or understanding. When we internalise every opinion under the guise of being “teachable,” we risk losing the very essence of who we are. Discernment is just as important as humility.

6. Your Worth Is Not Your Work

You are so replaceable at work. We know that. But what isn’t replaceable is your ability to live with yourself; the decisions you make, the boundaries you hold, and the peace (or torment) you carry when you come home and face your own soul.

Don’t tie your worth to a title or income. It will eat away at you. Fulfilment doesn’t live in promotions or paycheques. There is no perfect peace outside of alignment with God—so search for that alignment. That’s where your peace, identity, and direction truly come from.

7. Imposter Syndrome Is Real. And I’m Still Standing.

Even now, while considering all options, even pursuing things I’ve done before, I feel it—like I don’t belong. Like I’m not enough. But I’m learning that it’s okay to feel that and still keep going. Hard doesn’t mean wrong. Uncertainty doesn’t mean failure.

Growth often feels like standing in a room you once owned, but with new eyes. You question everything—and maybe that’s the point. Maybe the old way of doing things no longer fits, because you’ve outgrown it.

Feeling out of place is often the first sign that you’re growing into a new, stronger version of yourself. So yes, I am embracing the discomfort.

8. What Now? I’m Still Anxious.

Even with all this growth, I feel anxious about the future. I feel like a novice—like I’m starting from scratch, even if I went back to something I’ve done before. But I’m not who I was, and that’s the difference. My approach, my heart, my priorities—they’ve changed.

I don’t feel like I have gained confidence yet. Instead, I feel like I’m in the wait. But what I have learnt is that seasons of waiting are not passive. They are times of learning, facing fears, and readying oneself for what is next. It’s about being a good steward of what has been entrusted to you—preparing, growing, and trusting the process.

There’s no map for this season. Just the understanding that this wait is part of the journey.

9. Embracing Failure and Trusting the Bigger Plan

I’m still wrestling with the concept of failure. What is failure, really? Does it mean you lost something? Or that you didn’t achieve it the way you thought you would? Maybe failure is just life inviting us to adapt. If we can shift our definition of success, are we ever truly “failing” in the true definition of the word…? Or simply learning, pivoting, and evolving?

It’s also okay to not know what comes next. We so often fall into the trap of a God-complex, trying to control every detail. I certainly do.

If you truly want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans. Instead, rest in the knowledge that His plans are always greater than ours. When we stay aligned with Him, those plans lead to deeper fulfilment and prosperity beyond what we can imagine.

It became clear to me; hard work without alignment is still disobedience. No matter how much effort we put in, if it’s not aligned with our true purpose and values, it won’t bring the peace or success we’re longing for.

In closing

And yet, amid the uncertainty and waiting, I’ve found a kind of peace I never thought possible—one not earned through control, clarity, or achievement, but through surrender.

A peace that isn’t self-made or circumstantial, but supernatural, rooted in something far greater than myself.

It’s not the kind of confidence that comes from having all the answers. It’s the quiet, unshakeable kind that rises when you finally let go of the illusion of control.

I’ve stopped gripping the steering wheel so tightly. And in doing so, I’ve discovered: being held is far better than being in charge.