Years ago, I titled this blog Finding Peace. At the time, I believed I understood what that meant.
Peace, to me, was a sense of control.
Control over my surroundings. Control over my direction. Control over myself.
If I planned well enough and anticipated thoroughly enough, I believed I would be safe. I could trust that what I envisioned would come to pass, and that I would secure what I needed for the future I was building.
I believed this control would truly protect me from feeling vulnerable, or from being placed in a position that left me looking unprepared, naïve, or blind to whatever hardship arose. I believed control was the key to happiness.
Of course, I never labeled it as “Control”, but looking back on my behaviors and triggers – that is exactly what I was seeking.
Years later, I see it all a bit more clearly.
I see that control is not peace. My control- the control I was striving to have- was vigilance wearing the skin of security.
What this has created in my life is a mind that runs constantly. A mind that cycles through incomplete tasks, emotional conflicts, future conversations, and contingency plans without ever taking a breath.
There is always something to anticipate, something to solve, something to optimize.
I have joked with close friends about this never ending marquee scrolling through my brain of tasks to complete, and we’ve laughed about it.
This vigilance, though, has not been entirely destructive.
It has helped me to survive through some pretty hard experiences. It has helped me to succeed despite some very intense obstacles.
I have gracefully navigated crises others couldn’t imagine facing because I was prepared. I have supported loved ones smoothly through their own chaos because I was already thinking several steps ahead.
Professionally, this habit makes me valuable, because my constant consideration of what could come to be has helped me to anticipate fires before they ignite and manage pressure well.
But behind the competence is something much heavier than a busy mind.
It’s waking up in the middle of the night because my subconscious finally solved a problem I had been ruminating about in my sleep.
It’s mentally scripting difficult conversations during my commute so I know I’ll say the right thing and cover every important point.
It’s monitoring future commitments and new tasks so I can properly build and modify timelines to meet constantly changing deadlines – personal and professional.
My mind is not only always on “Go”- it’s always on “Go faster,” “Go bigger,” “Go longer,” “Go better”.
The worst part is – when it is quiet, I do not feel relief. I feel danger.
If my ever-racing mind is silent, it means that I must have missed something.
It means I’ve forgotten something, I’ve failed to prepare, or worse- I am about to lose access to something I need for comfort or stability because I have overlooked some sign, or some requirement that I must not have met if I’m sitting here and not working.
That is not peace. That is the antithesis to peace. It is pure, uncut survival.
Sustained long enough, this type of survival becomes exhausting, not only for me but for anyone who tries to build a relationship with me.
There is never true down time for anyone who spends a significant amount of time talking with me due to my constant narration of tasks, plans, successes, and failures spilling outward.
When I was blind to this issue, I praised myself for my “transparency”. I valued this as “vulnerability”, and romanticized the act of “wearing my heart on my sleeve”.
But it is none of those things, and it has never been any of those things.
It is overwhelm. It is fear. It is a lack of trust in myself, in my environment, and in the people around me to manage time, expectations, respect, and hearts properly without constant consideration.
For the past several months, something has shifted:
I do not want control anymore. I want quiet.
I want the marquee to stop scrolling.
I want to:
- trust that if something arises, I will handle it when it arrives rather than rehearsing it endlessly beforehand
- make a phone call without scripting it first
- walk into a conversation without mapping every possible outcome
- believe those around me care for me without scanning for any possible sign that they don’t
- truly rest
But what does rest actually look like for someone who has spent years rehearsing catastrophe?
Not a vacation to the Bahamas, or even a bubble bath with a good book and candles.
It doesn’t look like taking on less responsibility, or committing my time to less people.
I need it deeper, fuller, and more permanent than that, and I need to be able to live my life completely inside of it.
For me, this kind of rest is:
- driving home without mentally drafting tomorrow’s conversations
- going to bed without solving problems that have not happened yet
- walking my by kitchen without taking stock of every sitting dish
- hearing my partner tell me they will be home late, and not analyzing every prior text message for clues about honesty
- listening to my daughter tell me about her day fully present in the conversation, and not miles away ruminating on some issue I haven’t resolved yet
It is allowing silence to simply be silence.
And what do I hope to gain from this rest?
Two things: Trust and Energy.
Energy to focus. Energy to be present. Energy to build relationships that are lived instead of managed. Energy to create instead of to brace. Energy for excitement instead of fear, and for fun instead of chores.
I want to go out and live my life without the constant pressure of failing to live it properly.
And, when I find my ability to do that, I know I’ll find my ability to naturally trust myself and those around me to manage ourselves just fine without considering every possible problem.
See, what I’ve truly learned is that peace is not about mastering outcomes.
It is about trusting myself to meet life and loved ones where they are at.
I used to believe peace would come once I mastered every variable in my life. Now I see that peace begins when I release the need to control and understand every outcome.
The work ahead is not about planning better or preparing harder.
It is about learning to sit in quiet without searching for danger.
It is about reclaiming the energy I have spent bracing and redirecting it toward living.
And maybe that is where the real work begins.
Not in dramatic life changes or in perfectly executed routines, but in noticing where control has quietly replaced trust…
For those taking the time to read this:
If you find yourself constantly rehearsing conversations, scanning for signs of danger, or solving problems that have not happened yet, you may not be chasing productivity. You may be chasing safety.
What would it look like for you to loosen your grip just slightly?
What would rest look like in your life if it were not a vacation, but a daily practice?
Maybe peace does not arrive when everything is handled. Maybe it arrives when we allow ourselves to stop handling everything all at once.
At least, that is the kind of peace I am finally ready to build.
CaliStray 