The Funny Thing About Control

The funny thing about “control” is that I’ve learned there’s really no such thing. Horses remind me of this repeatedly: we never have control over another soul. Because my horse doesn’t speak my language – and weighs twelve hundred pounds – I grasp this truth more easily with him. With people, though, it always feels like if I could just find the right, magic words someone needs to hear, — they would finally do what I want or need.

These days, I live in a household with five adults, each of us trying, in our own way, to steer the ship. If anything, my mother-in-law’s Alzheimers has created a chaos that drives our desires for control even harder. And it certainly doesn’t stop her from moments of wanting to take over, or insisting that things should be different than they are. And when it comes to safety, quality of life, or managing Bev’s Alzheimer’s, everyone here has their own opinion — some delivered like commandments, others like sighs.

When my parents were both terminally ill and living under the same roof, I bulldozed my way across them and my brothers to take charge. My mother once told me I could become like a robot, and she wasn’t wrong. When things fall apart, I zero in on the problem like a heat-seeking missile: emotions, sentimentality, sensitivity be damned. Just fix the thing. After my parents died, I had an epiphany — namely, that my idea of control was completely false. We were all just riding a wave of heart-breaking and permanent change, clutching at it in different ways; sometimes squeezing so hard it left permanent bruises.

This weekend, after I had a meltdown about a safety issue in our household, I had to remind myself of the lessons from my parent’s situation during 2008 and 2009. Control is an illusion. I’m not going to stop Bev’s Alzheimer’s. I can’t prevent every potential bad thing. I can’t bulldoze my way through the family dynamics I married into and expect the outcome I want to fall neatly into place. What worked with my parents — what they allowed me to do for them — belonged to that moment, that family, that season. None of it actually transfers to the story unfolding before me. This is my first rodeo with Alzheimer’s, and I’m still figuring out where the arena gates are.

Even after 28 years of marriage, I had never truly understood my husband’s family. Trying to now, during these caregiving circumstances is confusing, even unsettling. I’m in completely uncharted territory. And most of the time, I’m simply trying to accept the new life my husband and I chose when we moved here; to really understand that we are never going back to how and where things were. This isn’t a visit with family: we live with them now! And since that reality hasn’t fully sunk in – there’s not much of a foundation for successfully navigating all the unfamiliar dynamics.

Since horse-life is the one area where I better understand the concept of control, I’ve turned to it. After my meltdown, I began reminding myself that when my horse and I are confused during a ride, I step back. I ask in a different way. I listen harder. Was he balking at that dressage movement because his body hurt, because he was bored, or because he simply didn’t feel like it? There are a hundred possible answers. And usually, when there’s a stalemate between horse and rider, the answer is not to push harder but to change the conversation. Let go. Shift the topic. Move differently.

Control *is* an illusion, and if I keep repeating that often enough, maybe I’ll finally believe it. Maybe in this new life of learning about Alzheimer caregiving and this family’s dynamics – maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally move differently and loosen the reins a bit.