Leadership vs. control

This isn’t something you learn in an MBA program. You don’t get it from a leadership book or a LinkedIn course. It’s something you learn by living it—usually the hard way.

Here’s what I’ve learned about the cost of control, and what it takes to lead from trust instead.

You learn it when the stress builds up so high you stop recognizing yourself. You learn it when you watch how your own energy affects the people around you.

Do you lift people up? Inspire them to do their best work? Or do you control them, getting only what you ask for—never more, never trust?

For a long time, I confused control with leadership. And on the surface, I had good reasons.

In high-growth, product- or sales-led organizations, marketing is a pressure cooker. There were daily meetings about lead volume, high-stakes projections, and relentless defensiveness about things I didn’t control. It often felt like the entire company was playing against us. And in higher education, it wasn’t much better—just a different flavor of chaos.

I thought I was protecting my team. Playing interference against the madness. And I was.

But I was also clenched. Tense. Managing up and down with equal intensity. And when I clenched, my type-A tendencies took over.

“Firm but fair” is how someone once described me. That was generous.

I didn’t do a great job hiding my stress. And over time, I became demanding. Perfectionistic. A little Jekyll and Hyde, depending on how high the pressure was that day.

Looking back, I can see the pattern wasn’t just at work. It was in me. And I’ve seen this in so many other high-performing leaders: control isn’t a personality flaw—it’s a survival response.

In earlier years, personal stress showed up in how I controlled food. Not uncommon for women and girls—I got militant about what I ate. Twice in my life, friends had to pull me aside and say, "Are you okay?"

Later, that energy transferred to my work. Perfectionism. Codependence. Unrealistic standards for myself—and sometimes, for my team. I could handle a lot of stress. But when that stress turned into fear—fear of failure, fear of judgment, fear of losing control—I stopped being the kind of leader I wanted to be.

Instead of being the surf break, absorbing the impact so my team could do great work, I became part of the storm.

And I worked for bosses who made it worse—leaders who confused pressure with performance, who made veiled threats about job security if numbers didn’t move fast enough. That only amplified my fear. My grip got tighter. My presence got heavier.

Eventually, I couldn’t ignore it.

Snapping at my son was the wake-up call. I realized I was bringing that energy home. And I didn’t want to be that kind of leader anywhere—not in the office, and not in my own family.

So I changed.

Therapy helped. Meditation helped. Time spent at a very chill Buddhist temple helped.

But what helped most was this: I stopped trying to control everything. I started observing how I made people feel. And I decided to lead differently.

To lead without control is not to be passive. It’s to be aware. Responsive. Trusting. It’s to notice when your own fear is driving the bus—and choose a different route.

That’s not easy. But it’s the difference between managing people and actually leading them.

And it’s a lesson no book can teach you. Only your own patterns can.

The Takeaway:

If you’re in a leadership role, your team doesn’t just experience your actions—they absorb your energy.

When your fear of failure turns into control, your team learns to play it safe. When you grip too tightly, they stop growing.

Real leadership is knowing the difference between high standards and hidden fear. It’s asking: Am I leading from trust—or managing from anxiety?

Teams led by fear don’t innovate. They don’t speak up. And they don’t stay.

Letting go isn’t weakness. It’s what creates space for your people to rise.

And that shift starts with self-awareness. Most of us don’t even realize we’re controlling—we think we’re being responsible. High standards, follow-through, quality control. But underneath, there’s often fear: of failure, of judgment, of not being enough.

The most powerful leadership change I ever made wasn’t strategic. It was personal. It was realizing this wasn’t just a work pattern—it was a life pattern. And that recognition was the first step to changing it.

Try this:

• Ask your team what energizes them—and what drains them. Then really listen.

• Scan your calendar. Are you attending meetings just to stay in control? What can you let go of?

• If you’re a perfectionist, challenge yourself to ask for feedback—not to fix, but to understand your impact.

• Reflect: What am I trying to control? And what am I afraid will happen if I don’t?

Where have you mistaken control for leadership? And what changed when you let go?