What Happens When It All Goes Out of Control?

We never really have life under control.

I know that. You know that. We can probably all nod sagely and say something profound about accepting the things we cannot change.

But for those of us who may or may not have slight control issues, we do at least like to feel as though we are in control of our own destiny.

We make plans. We create timelines. We work out what happens next. We build a picture in our heads of how something is going to unfold.

Then life comes along and says, “Absolutely not.”

Something changes and the plan you had isn’t possible anymore. The outcome you expected suddenly looks different. Perhaps there is a solution, but it isn’t your solution. It isn’t the route you had planned, prepared for and already mentally lived through, and that can be incredibly unsettling.

For some people, particularly those of us on the autism spectrum, a sudden change of plan or loss of predictability can feel like far more than an inconvenience.

You can understand perfectly well that the world hasn’t ended while simultaneously feeling as though your entire nervous system thinks it has.

That impact can be mental, but it can also be very physical.

Your stomach turns. Your chest tightens. You can’t sleep. Your brain starts running through every possible scenario at 400 miles an hour. You struggle to concentrate on anything else because some part of you is desperately trying to put everything back where it was supposed to be.

People love to say, “Don’t focus on what you can’t control.”

Excellent advice… infuriatingly difficult to actually follow, especially when there is something you can do, but it isn’t what you wanted to do and that distinction matters.

Sometimes accepting what we cannot control doesn’t mean doing nothing. It means accepting that Plan A has gone to shit and deciding what we’re going to do with Plan B, and that can be scary.

What do you do when the plan changes?

We all respond differently. Some of us put our heads in the sand. If I don’t open the email, make the call, look at the bank account, have the conversation or make the decision, perhaps the problem will politely disappear.

Spoiler: it generally doesn’t.

Some of us go immediately into fight mode – Fix it. Now! Send the emails. Make the calls. Create seventeen spreadsheets. Find twelve possible solutions before breakfast. Do absolutely anything that might restore that feeling of control.

Neither response is particularly surprising. When something feels threatening, our nervous system wants safety, and certainty feels safe.

But sometimes there isn’t an option that feels safe, there is simply the next thing that needs to be done, and sometimes you have to do it afraid. I love that phrase because it doesn’t pretend courage means suddenly not being scared.

You might still be terrified – Do it afraid.

You might not know whether you’re making the right decision – Do it afraid.

You might desperately wish there were another option – Do it afraid.

Courage isn’t always walking confidently towards something, sometimes it’s walking towards it while every part of you would quite like to turn around and go home.

The annoying part is that putting it off rarely makes it less frightening, usually, the opposite happens. The thing sits there, it grows, your brain gives it additional heads and teeth and occasionally a flamethrower. The anticipation becomes worse than the action itself.

So, eat the frog.

Make the call.

Open the email.

Have the conversation.

Look at the numbers.

Ask for help.

Make the decision you didn’t want to have to make.

Take the first step towards Plan B.

You don’t need to feel ready first.

Control what you can. Release what you can’t.

I am still learning this bit. There are things we can control: how we respond, whether we ask for help, whether we take the next step, whether we communicate, whether we show up. Then there are the things we simply cannot – other people, timing, decisions that aren’t ours to make, unexpected changes, life doing what life does.

There comes a point when you have done what you can and then you have to release the rest. Call it acceptance, call it trust, call it putting your faith in the universe. Whatever works for you.

For me, there is something comforting in reminding myself that the route changing doesn’t necessarily mean the destination has disappeared. Maybe Plan B will be better, maybe it won’t, maybe six months from now I’ll understand why everything had to shift. Maybe I’ll still think Plan A would have been bloody preferable.

But right now, I don’t need to know how the whole story ends, I just need to do the next thing. Even if I’m scared… especially if I’m scared.

Eat the frog. Do it afraid. Control the things you can control.

And then, as much as humanly possible, let the rest go.