Alright, let’s talk about this thing folks call “control in sex.” Sounds pretty serious, right? Like you gotta have a manual or something. For a long time, I was chasing that dragon, thinking it was all about being the puppet master, knowing all the right buttons to push.
My Old Ways – The So-Called “Practice”
I used to think being in control was the ultimate goal. Not just in the bedroom, mind you, but in the whole dance of a relationship. My “practice,” if you can call it that, was all about making sure things went according to my script. I figured if I was the one steering the ship, we’d never hit an iceberg. I thought it meant strength, being decisive, all that jazz. I was convinced that if I just managed every little detail, every interaction, every shared moment, then everything would be perfect. I’d plan things out, try to anticipate reactions, and basically attempt to micromanage emotions – mine and theirs. It was exhausting, but I believed that was the price of “good” control.
Here’s a taste of what that looked like:
- Always needing to initiate things, or at least approve them.
- Subtly (or not so subtly) guiding conversations where I wanted them to go.
- Getting anxious if things didn’t unfold exactly as I’d envisioned.
- Mistaking my partner’s acquiescence for genuine agreement or happiness.
The Big Screw-Up – When My “Control” Blew Up
Then, life decided to give me a good, hard slap in the face. There was this one relationship, see. I was deep in my “control freak” phase. I thought I was being attentive, caring, by trying to manage everything for “us.” From what we’d do on a Friday night to how we should resolve an argument – which usually meant how I thought it should be resolved. I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy trying to implement my master plan.
And, surprise, surprise, it all went to hell. It wasn’t a big dramatic explosion at first. More like a slow, painful deflation. My partner started pulling away. They got quiet. The energy between us just…died. One day, they just sat me down. No yelling, no crying, just this incredibly sad, tired look in their eyes. And they said something like, “I feel like I’m constantly walking on eggshells. I can’t breathe. I don’t even know who I am when I’m with you anymore, because it’s all about what you want, what you think.”
Man, that hit me like a ton of bricks. My whole carefully constructed world of “control” just crumbled. I’d been so focused on managing the relationship, I completely failed to actually be in it. I’d pushed them away with my own damn hands, trying to hold on too tight.
Picking Up the Pieces – The Real Learning Began
After that relationship ended, and it ended because of me, no doubt about it, I did a lot of thinking. Hard thinking. I realized all that “control” I was chasing? It wasn’t strength. It was fear. Pure, uncut fear of being vulnerable, of not being good enough, of things not working out. I was trying to armor myself against hurt by controlling the environment, but I just ended up isolated and causing the very hurt I was trying to avoid.
My new “practice,” the one that actually means something, started then. It was, and still is, about learning to let go. Seriously, just letting things be. It’s about:
- Shutting up and listening. Really listening, not just waiting for my turn to talk or direct.
- Being okay with uncertainty. Life’s messy. Relationships are messy. Sex is messy. And that’s okay.
- Trusting the other person. Trusting them to be themselves, to have their own thoughts and feelings, even if they don’t align with mine.
- Focusing on self-control instead. Managing my own reactions, my own anxieties, rather than trying to manage someone else.
It’s a daily grind, not gonna lie. Some days I slip back into old habits. But I know now that genuine connection, whether it’s in a deep conversation or an intimate moment, doesn’t come from one person pulling all the strings. It comes from a willingness to be open, to be a bit vulnerable, and to meet someone where they are. That’s a different kind of “control” altogether – it’s the quiet confidence that comes from being secure in yourself enough to not need to dominate or orchestrate everything. And frankly, it’s a hell of a lot more satisfying than my old ways ever were.
