Curtis Park || Guest Post by Regan Zuege
Confessions Of A Control Freak
When I was in third grade, I came home from school one day and my mom had surprised my two brothers and me with the cutest, most precious miniature dachshund puppy. I cried. Not because of how cute she was, or because I was overjoyed, but because I felt emotionally unprepared for this life change. I should have been consulted! I was 8.
Hi. My name is Regan, and I’m a control freak. 🙋🏼♀️ Anyone else like to be the one in charge? Of life, of meetings, of grocery lists, of dinner choices, of vacation plans, of ALL THE THINGS? I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember.
I cried many times through my adolescence and into my 20s over things I wish I could control — dance tryouts, breakups, bad grades, the loss of loved ones. But nothing prepared me for the loss of control I would experience being diagnosed with an autoimmune disease of the central nervous system, multiple sclerosis (MS), at age 26.
I wish I could recall the details of the moment, remember the exact wording the neurologist used to tell me. The feeling of the cold chair as my hands gripped it hoping for good news I knew deep down wasn’t going to come.
My emotions were bubbling over and I had to focus on keeping it together. It’s all I could do when I felt like I was losing control. Losing control of my emotions, but even more so, losing control of my body, of my future.
I knew TOO MUCH about MS. My beloved paternal grandmother suffered for years with the disease, losing mobility little-by-little. I had worked at the National MS Society for several months when I first moved to Denver. I knew what a thief it could be, and I knew that not everyone had the privilege of managing its symptoms, even with the best medication. Would the scar tissue on my brain and spine leave me impaired? Would the double vision and numbness that were my initial symptoms ever go away? Would I Iose mobility? Would I be a burden to my soon-to-be-husband? Could I still be a mom one day? How would this fit into my plans – marriage and motherhood, my career, dreams of traveling to faraway places?
The hot tears and quiet sobs broke free the second the elevator doors closed. As the elevator carried us down, my future mother-in-law reached for me, then guided me through the lobby of the medical building to her car. She took me to Curtis Park, a green space nearby, where we sat at a picnic table and ate hearty, comforting green chile burritos together as I continued to process, to plan, and to control what I knew I couldn’t.
The weeks following the diagnosis were tough. I was faced with the unknowable, the uncomfortable, the uncontrollable. I knew once I was diagnosed that I couldn’t muster anything that would fix this. I knew in all of my human-ness, I couldn’t fight this fight alone and hold my weakness in tension with the joy that I was known for radiating. It wrecked me in a lot of ways.
But what I’ve learned through my MS journey with my control-freak tendencies is that there is an untouchable peace and inexplicable joy that can be found on the other side of surrender, even in the hard. Especially in the hard.
I could take this weakness of mine — my MS, which I knew I couldn’t control — and I could give it to God. I could tap into a strength greater than myself and allow this setback to be a springboard that launched me into living on purpose.
And living on purpose looked like being bold in the face of fear.
As someone who had never even formally run a 5K before, I know it sounds nuts to say I felt a strong pull to submit an application to run seven marathons in seven days with a nonprofit I came across online while searching for runs for MS. But in the act of surrendering, of seeking guidance and direction from a higher place, I knew that this was for me. Soon I was on a video call with the organization’s President, telling her my story and convincing her to put me on the team, promising to run a half marathon soon to show her I could handle some distance. She believed in me. And so did the other people in my circle. Weeks later, I received an invitation to the team in the mail. I was on the docket to run 178 miles in 7 days across part of Colorado in 6 months’ time.
You would think that this challenging physical feat would bring pressure and stress to a control freak like myself. But weirdly, I felt relieved. To not have to generate my own strength. To hand the control over to God. And boy, did God go to work when I was brave enough to admit my own insufficiencies — physical, mental, and emotional. This aha moment has carried me through the years. It carried me through the miles of training and months of fundraising, during my run across Eastern Colorado, and through nearly 10 years living with MS.
“The joy of the Lord is my strength”, adapted from Nehemiah 8:10, has become my personal mantra.
I spoke it aloud to myself for 178 miles during my relay segment when I wasn’t sure I could take another step.
I’ve since used it to remind my kids that they can do hard things.
I still recite it as a meditative breath prayer when I feel anxious.
The truth is — the life I could have meticulously crafted for myself in the absence of my MS diagnosis would pale in comparison to the richness of the life I’ve built acknowledging my need for God. I’m acutely aware of the frailty of life. Of the blessing of mobility. Of the power of surrender.
Weakness acknowledged but unspoken is true weakness; weakness spoken aloud — asking for help — THAT is the truest kind of strength. Whether it’s asking God or asking a friend — or better yet, both! I found God and I found my people, and that’s what gives me the courage and strength to continue to make the most of every minute of my life, even when it feels out of control.
Would you believe that the picnic table where I sat crying into a burrito plate the day of my diagnosis was located in the VERY park where I started my MS Run the US relay segment? It’s one of the many divine coincidences that continue to remind me that this journey is for me, and that loss of control can sometimes wake you up to what matters most. It makes a lot of life more clear, and you see what amazing opportunities are there for you if you’re willing to surrender to the beautiful unpredictability of life.
I’d love to tell you all of my control freak tendencies ended back in 2016 with my diagnosis and the aha moments that followed. But my poor husband can attest they have not — I oftentimes tell him what “we” are ordering on the way to a new restaurant, I research and choose our next binge-worthy show, and I insist on being the one to pack for our kids every time we go on vacation even when he graciously offers to help. So, maybe I haven’t fully mastered releasing control, but I’m working on it.
What I do know, is that I’ve found peace in acknowledging how much is truly out of my control. I don’t know what my future will look like – none of us do. Living with MS has given me a reason to face and accept that. And I’m now at peace with it. I know I can do hard things, because when things feel too hard, I don’t have to carry it alone. I know how to lean on a power far beyond myself and live on purpose. And that’s more than enough – it’s everything.
Guest posts are now a regular part of Meaning In The Mess by Ashley M. Schneider, in an effort to bring you stories that help you take action and turn ideas into plans! If you or someone you know has a cool story you’d like to see featured here, please submit a message to Ashley via the contact form on her site ashleymschneider.com