For a good deal of my life, I attracted some seriously controlling people. The tendency began with Mom (it always begins at home) and charged along in my life until my early fifties, when I’d finally had enough. 

Controlling people don’t always have bad intentions. Many of my controllers, like my mother, thought they were somehow serving me. Mom was an insecure, anxious woman who was easily intimidated by life. So when she gave birth to me, a zealous, exuberant bundle of energy from the earliest moments of my life– the kid who talked too loudly, who ran and never walked, who was simply “too much”– she did her best to control me. For my own sake.

Or so she thought.

Right up until age 16, I was told what to wear, who to play with, how to behave, where to go and what to do. But I’d already broken free long before that, diving headlong into a dozens of projects with gusto. I can still remember my mother standing at our front door, calling after my retreating back as I darted towards the main street in our village, “Susie, slow down! You’re doing too much!”

God bless my poor mother, who believed it was her job to keep me safe by keeping me ‘under control’. I paid enough attention to mollify her somewhat, and so the pattern continued. It kept right on through most of my love relationships, as I attracted those who dictated choices such as what we ate, where we vacationed, how we spent our time, and even “our” politics. I didn’t always agree. But I remained quiet by then, realizing things would go better if I just put up and shut up. And ultimately, each of these relationships quietly died.

The last one was with a particularly spiteful woman who needed to put me down as a means of controlling me. If I came home with a piece of jewelry or a treasure I’d discovered, I’d be met with a sneer. She considered my wardrobe her domain, right along with who I spent time with, what I ate (again) and even what type of exercise I did. This was controlling on steroids, and I bought right into it.

After all, I was new to California, freshly divorced and vulnerable. And this was strangely comforting behavior I recognized from long ago, and so I complied. Never mind that I had far more resources and professional success, and we were living in my home. Twice I tried to leave, and twice I came crawling back.

I was triggered enough to actually believe I needed this controlling abuse.

I was finally rid of this controller when she dumped me. Yet, I immediately found two more controllers in the form of housemates who tried to bully me into submission, one in California and one in Europe. But by now, I’d finally begun to wise up. I was no longer pliable, willing, or eager to please. Instead, I began to speak up, to set limits. And I moved out of both situations, leaving behind the old me who blindly chose such set-ups.

Did I need to seriously get out of my comfort zone to make this happen? Yes. Did I need support from good friends who I could talk over things with? Yes. Did I feel freaking triumphant when I set my limit with each of those housemates and was able to peaceably move on? You bet I did.

Each time I was greeting with disbelief, anger, even suspicion. I wasn’t “acting like Suzanne.” Oh, but I most certainly was–for Adult Suzanne had finally shown up. And because I was able to keep my cool for the most part, I felt truly proud of myself.

It took another year of healing before I found the woman I am now married to, with whom I’m neither controlled nor controlling. I have learned that healthy relationships demand we we make requests, we disagree, and we dance to the beat of our own drum sometimes.

But most of all, good relationships demand that we love ourselves enough to keep our eyes open, be honest, and avoid those who might take instead of give. May this help you today with whatever relationship challenges you are facing.

Want to hear more ideas and inspirations about how to let go? Check out my book, The Joy of Letting Go.

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