Control in an Escape Room

The hubbub of six 12 and 13-year-old boys dimmed in my awareness as my senses tuned into the notably small space into which I had just been locked with them. The Gamekeeper of the escape room left me in the darkness with four of these kids, and the only potential escape route was a two-by-two “trap” door in one corner of the dark jail cell that led to the “Sorcerer’s Lair.” In the adjacent room, the other two boys were accompanied by my son’s older stepbrother and my son’s dad. Immediately, I recognized an imbalance and wanted to get over to the other side with the more mature lot! However, more intense was the feeling of anxiety that washed through me with the recognition that I was trapped. Claustrophobia tormented the edge of my consciousness, and I had to remember that we would, in fact, be set free in one hour, regardless of how successful these kids were in solving the puzzle. It should be noted that during the first 30 minutes in the room, there was barely a shred of hope that these guys would get it together enough to set us free!

There, in our escape room, my mind flashed to an alternate reality where I was thrown into a jail cell during a time long ago, and I just had to wait while some process unfolded, my ability to get out entirely beyond my control. I would feel far more distressed and panicky if I believed there was something I could do to effect a change in my circumstances. I realized that I could sink into simply being present with the situation if I didn’t believe there was an outcome I could control. But there I was, standing in this dark jail cell with four boys who were completely disorganized and lacking strategy, pondering whether I had any control of this situation. I wanted to guide the kids and help them get organized so we could leave this dreadful room ASAP. I restrained myself. I knew that my system would settle if I let go of control, both in the theoretical reality of me being in a jail cell as well as my actual reality of the escape room. Further to that, when I did offer my son a suggestion, he readily turned and said, “You are not playing; you are just our chaperone. Sshhh!” That actually helped me to just sit back and observe.

I have been reflecting on my relationship with control a lot in recent weeks, prior to the escape room. In fact, my last piece about my old friend raised many questions about control. After I published it, I emailed my writing to my old friend because we are not entirely out of each others' orbits these days, and I felt it was only the fair thing to do, given that I had written about our friendship. I told myself I didn’t want him to stumble upon my writing and feel somehow betrayed or uncomfortable. In actuality, I was emailing him in an effort to prevent my own discomfort of never knowing whether he had read it and, if he had, what he had thought. I was trying to control the outcome of writing about a topic that was incredibly sensitive for me.

After hitting send on that email to “Ben,” I told myself it did not matter whether or not he responded to me. For many days, I avoided my email because I feared what I might find. Would he be angry? Would he be confused? Would I be called upon to review some of our history with him? I realized that it does not matter. His reaction does not matter because I simply told my story, not his. But in telling my story, I felt deeply vulnerable. I felt vulnerable because, in years past, I never wanted to admit how much I cared for and loved Ben. Being a deeply intuitive person, I know that he felt the connection even though he would not admit to it, and some gaslighting made me doubt my own intuition about our relationship. In spite of that, I spent a lot of time trying to control when, where, and how I might see Ben during those years, partially in hopes that I could prove that I was right about what I believed existed between us. I also craved his company and attention; sometimes, he teased me with plenty of subtle flirtation. Here I was, 20 years later, still feeling vulnerable about that and trying to control our communications. When I noticed this, I laughed and shifted my perspective quite readily. But it is fascinating that these old vulnerabilities and needs for control were still lurking in the shadows so many years later because I had never examined them head-on. Hence, the last few weeks were spent considering how I relate to control.  

During my childhood, the Serenity Prayer (“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference”) was posted on our refrigerator. Still, somehow, it did not translate for me in these instances. My mother is an adult child of an alcoholic, and little did I know as a child that some of the maxims she spoke out loud or posted on the fridge were actually Alcoholics Anonymous and Al-Anon guidance. I know that she grappled a lot with the notion of control, from her early years with an unpredictable home life to her motherhood of three children and a marriage to a workaholic physician. I believe my mother to be sage in knowing the difference between the things she can and cannot change. Notably, I thought I was equally wise until I realized I am not at all! Within me, there have been so many unconscious patterns that push me toward trying to control situations.  

In the world of “work hard to get what you want” and “you can manifest your dreams,” I have spent many, many hours of my adult life trying to create a certain reality and control particular outcomes. As a single, self-employed mother, I have tried the “work hard to get what you want” approach in an effort to earn a decent living and afford the life I want for myself and my child, but in doing so, I fried my nervous system. Being the hippie I am, I have absolutely attempted to “manifest my dreams.” Guess what that feels like? It feels (to me) like trying to control things I cannot control. Furthermore, as long as I think I can control things that I cannot, I am continuing to stress myself out. The more I think I can influence an outcome, the more clearly I visualize a particular situation, the more I am exerting my own efforts to control a situation or even people when I truly cannot control them.

I am not implying that we have no control over our lives, but I suspect we are adding significant stress to our systems by believing that we have control over aspects that we genuinely don’t. It is in allowing ourselves the spaciousness within our discomfort that we often find relief. I find that my efforts to control and direct situations usually leave my body feeling constricted and contracted, my nervous system amped up, and my mind unable to fathom, let alone appreciate, any alternative outcomes to a situation. We cannot force particular outcomes on our lives; sometimes, things are just the way they are. As for me being locked in a jail cell with those boys, I knew that time would pass and my circumstances would change; I knew that in an hour, we would be back in my dining room eating birthday cake. I simply needed to allow myself to relax within that hour and witness the unfolding. As I often tell my patients who are brand new parents, “Whether you are in a pattern you love, or you and baby are completely miserable, not sleeping, or whatever, just wait two weeks, and it will change.” That is something I need to remember about all situations in life. As my mom always says, “This too shall pass.”