In a world where we constantly seek control, security, and validation from others, it’s easy to get trapped in a cycle of obsession, anxiety, and fear. Whether in our relationships, careers, or daily decisions, many of us spend an enormous amount of time scanning our environment for reassurance—searching for something or someone to make us feel whole, to fill the gaps left by past wounds. Yet, what if the security we seek isn't outside of us at all? What if it’s something we can cultivate internally?
For many people, the deep-seated fear of abandonment, rejection, or not being “enough” stems from early experiences of powerlessness. As children, we rely on our caregivers for everything—love, safety, nourishment. If those needs aren’t consistently met, we develop strategies to cope: hypervigilance, obsessiveness, or a constant need to control our surroundings. These strategies, while necessary for survival in childhood, often carry into adulthood, manifesting as an anxious attachment to people and outcomes.
In romantic relationships, especially, this pattern becomes most pronounced. When a partner becomes distant, cold, or avoidant, it can feel like a reawakening of old wounds. We spiral, obsessing over what we can do to make things better, to fix the relationship, or to prevent abandonment. We replay every conversation, every look, every moment of disconnection, trying to piece together where things went wrong. The mind races with questions: Are they pulling away? Will they leave me? What can I do to make them stay?
It’s a relentless cycle—one that offers no peace, only more anxiety. The irony is that the more we try to control, the more we push away the very connection and intimacy we crave.
But here’s the truth that many of us avoid: control is an illusion. No matter how carefully we analyze a partner’s behavior or how much we try to perfect our lives, we will never be able to control other people’s actions or guarantee a certain outcome. The harder we grip, the more fragile the situation becomes.
The real challenge, then, is not in finding the perfect partner or making the right decision that will forever keep us safe from heartbreak. It’s in learning how to create our own sense of security. It’s about realizing that our power doesn’t lie in controlling others—it lies in controlling how we respond to the world around us. It lies in the practice of grounding ourselves when everything around us feels chaotic.
This shift is not easy. It requires us to confront the roots of our anxiety, the origins of our obsessive need for reassurance. For many, this means revisiting childhood experiences where we learned, either directly or indirectly, that we were powerless or unworthy of consistent care and attention. These formative years create patterns that can be difficult to break, especially when they resurface in our adult relationships.
However, the goal is not to “fix” the past or even to fix ourselves. The goal is to become aware of these patterns, to notice when our minds are spiraling into old fears, and to gently remind ourselves: We are not children anymore. We are no longer powerless. We have the capacity, now, to care for ourselves in ways that others may not have been able to when we were younger.
This is not a call to ignore the pain that comes from difficult relationships or to settle for mistreatment. Rather, it’s an invitation to start from within. Instead of asking, “What can I do to make them love me?” we begin asking, “How can I love and support myself in this moment?” Instead of fixating on whether a partner will stay or leave, we focus on whether we are showing up for ourselves with the same level of attention and care.
Of course, external validation and support from others are important. We are social creatures, and healthy relationships can enhance our well-being. But when we place our entire sense of worth or security in the hands of others, we set ourselves up for disappointment. People are inherently fallible. Even the most loving partners will have moments where they cannot meet our needs. Life, in all its unpredictability, will challenge our desire for control.
The only constant we can truly rely on is ourselves—our ability to ground, to self-soothe, to nurture a sense of security from within. This doesn’t mean we shut ourselves off from others or become emotionally self-reliant to the point of isolation. It means we develop the capacity to hold ourselves through the uncertainty, to find peace even when life feels unsettled.
In a world that often encourages us to seek validation from others, this internal work can feel radical. We are conditioned to look outside of ourselves for answers—to believe that the right partner, the right job, the right set of circumstances will finally make us feel “enough.” But true security comes from the quiet confidence that no matter what happens externally, we can handle it. We can navigate life’s ups and downs without losing our sense of self.
This is a practice, not a destination. It’s not about achieving perfect calm or never feeling anxious again. It’s about becoming more aware of when we are spiraling, recognizing that those feelings are rooted in old patterns, and choosing to respond differently. It’s about learning to trust ourselves, even when the ground feels shaky.
In the end, the journey to finding security is not about controlling our environment or the people in our lives. It’s about cultivating a deep trust in ourselves—a belief that, no matter what happens, we have the strength, the resilience, and the wisdom to carry ourselves through. And that kind of security is something no one else can give us but ourselves.