“Surrender is not about giving up. It is about letting go of the illusion of control.” ~Judith Orloff
Watching her mother lose her memory while she felt she was losing her own seemed like a cruel preview of the future. Then she learned that stress, not genetics, was writing her story.
It was 3:47 a.m. again. She had been awake since 2:13, and before that she had slept maybe ten minutes. This had been her pattern for years: wake up shortly after falling asleep, check the clock, lie there frustrated. Wake again, check the clock, review the prior day, and plan the next day.
But that night was different. Lying in the dark, she had a thought that gripped her heart with panic: What if I never sleep again? Sleep is important for brain health, and I will end up with dementia.
Her mother had dementia in her early seventies. And here she was at age 50, in perimenopause, unable to sleep, and already forgetting words and names she used every day.
The insomnia did not start overnight. It crept in slowly, starting with disrupted sleep from newborn care, then difficulty getting to sleep in perimenopause. Stress hormones fueled her days working in a busy clinic and raising her family. When night finally arrived, she was completely wired.
By the time she turned 50, she was managing on 20 minutes a night of interrupted sleep. She had forgotten what it felt like to be rested. She tried changing her diet and taking natural sleep supplements. She saw sleep specialists and tried various medications. Cognitive behavioral therapy and hormone therapy were mildly helpful.
As time passed, she could not recognize the faces of her neighbors. The names of her family were sometimes difficult to recall, and she lost concentration during important presentations. With the insomnia and worry about her memory loss, she was snapping at her partner and finding herself lost in periods of rage. She could not see a way out.
Then her mother was diagnosed with dementia. They had been estranged for almost 20 years. She received the news as a phone call from a concerned neighbor on the other side of the country. Her mother was losing her memory, and she was terrified she was losing hers.
Control as a coping mechanism
Control was not something she chose. It was something she inherited. As a child, being around her mother felt like walking on eggshells. Her mother was a single parent with precarious mental health who controlled everything and everyone just to get through the day. She learned that when things felt emotionally unstable or beyond her ability, control could provide some sense of stability and power.
So when mood changes and sleepless nights started piling up, along with her mother’s diagnosis and fear about her own memory, she did what she had always done. She controlled. She made lists for everything. She told her family exactly how things should be done and complained and blamed when they did not do it her way. She kept to strict daily routines and lost all flexibility. If she could just keep all people where she needed them to be, doing all the things she needed them to do, she could feel safe enough. Then maybe she would sleep again, and everything would be okay.
But she never asked herself whether it was actually working, whether she felt more emotionally stable, or whether she was sleeping any better. She certainly never asked if this was bringing her closer to the people she loved. This controlling was on autopilot, completely below her awareness. And it was exhausting, not just physically from the sleep deprivation but emotionally.
Control creates distance. When you are busy managing everyone else’s life, you cannot be present for your own. She recalled the night she was yelling at her children because they needed help with their homework. One child was crying, and the other had shut down. She had nothing left to give them. She could not control how they learned in school, and she was overwhelmed and frustrated by this. She heard herself yelling at them the way her mother used to yell at her, with the same words, tone, and rage. It was heartbreaking.
Meanwhile, she was supposed to care for her mother on the other side of the country, the woman who had taught her this pattern in the first place, the woman she had been estranged from most of her adult life.
The turning point
She remembers exactly when she realized that mindfulness was not just something she did in yoga class but a lifeline she had been searching for. She had been introduced to a mindfulness-based stress reduction course as a way to support her clients. One of the first exercises was to notice what arose while lying in stillness and scanning her body. It was excruciating to be still because she needed to be doing. Fortunately, the container of the program was a safe place to explore this pattern, and she learned to notice and be compassionate with herself for the need to be busy.
Weeks later, they were given an exercise to notice how she automatically reacted to stressful situations in everyday life. She discovered a glaring pattern: control. When anything felt even mildly challenging, she would organize everyone and everything to feel safe. She realized she had learned this coping strategy as a child and had never considered whether it was still useful. She just habitually kept using it. When she saw herself yelling at her children for something as inconsequential as needing help with homework, she knew control was no longer serving her. She was ready to let it go and learn more helpful tools.
When she finally let go of seeing her insomnia as a catastrophic problem that she needed to control, her sleep improved dramatically. Her body had finally remembered it was safe to sleep. Her memory recovered too. She still forgets things sometimes and probably always will. Not because she is developing dementia, but because she is human. When she notices her memory slipping now, it is simply a sign that she is overtaxing herself. She does not spiral anymore. She does not catastrophize every forgotten word or memory.
The fear of losing her memory was doing more damage than any actual memory problem. When she stopped feeding that fear with sleepless nights and guilt over the way she habitually coped with stress, mental space opened up.
The first time she sat with her mother and her mother did not know who she was, something unexpected happened. Instead of hurt or anger, she just felt present. She could see her mother was confused, frustrated, doing her best with what she had, just like she had been. They had both been running the same program: control what you can, stay vigilant, keep going. Her mother learned it, passed it to her, and now here they were, both losing control in different ways. The difference is that she has the privilege of consciously giving up control and trying to meet life with presence and compassion for herself.
There is no point in rehashing the past or having some big conversation about their relationship. She just needed to be there now with her mother as best she could. Somehow, that was enough.
What she learned
Control is fear wearing a mask of competence. When she was trying to control everything and everyone, she thought she was being responsible, proactive, and caring. She was actually terrified. And control kept her from the one thing she valued most: connection to herself, to those she cared most deeply for, and to the present moment.
Our bodies do not know the difference between a real threat and a perceived threat. Her nervous system was in constant survival mode not because she was in danger, but because she was convinced she might be. Learning to regulate her nervous system was not about positive thinking or willpower. It was about seeing a pattern that was no longer serving her and consciously deciding to let it go so she could teach her body it was safe.
You cannot criticize yourself into healing. Every harsh judgment she leveled at herself for being irritable, losing her temper, blaming others, or trying to control others just added more stress. Compassion, real, deep compassion for her exhausted self, was what finally allowed her to let go and sleep again.
