I’ll Just Do It Myself: On Control, Care, and the Need to Be Needed

What we miss when we take over instead of teach

When I was in New York with my sister a few weeks ago, she asked me how to use the Nest thermostat.

Not to do it for her, just to show her how. She was trying to turn on the AC.

I said sure.

And then I walked over and did it myself.

Boop. Tap. Done.

Later, she asked me why I always take over instead of showing people how to do something. This wasn't the first time she noticed this habit of mine.

She didn't ask with judgment. There was no performative “just curious” voice. She meant it. She was actually wondering.

I flinched slightly. I had been called out. In a very loving way, sure, but still, I was called out. That isn't something that happens often.

Without a thought, I said, “Because I like to be in control. And I yet like to be needed.”

It came out so fast, I didn’t realize how true it was until it landed in the space between us.

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It’s not just her.

I do this everywhere.

At work. In relationships. In friend groups. On the internet. At the grocery store, when someone is blocking the pretzels.

I jump in.

I handle it.

I answer the question before it’s even asked.

I anticipate what people need, and I meet that need so they don’t have to struggle, slow down, or, god forbid, figure it out the hard way.

It looks like efficiency.

It feels like generosity.

But it’s actually something else.

It’s control, dressed up as care.

It’s perfectionism in helper’s clothing.

It’s the part of me that says, “If I do it, I know it’ll get done right and I'll get it done fast.

It’s survival.

And it’s exhausting.

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The worst part?

I don’t just do this to others.

I also do it for others, in ways that look helpful but quietly take something away.

I don’t teach. I fix.

I don’t collaborate. I decide.

I don’t show you where the map is, I just drive the damn car.

And I’m realizing how many learning experiences I’ve taken away from people under the banner of being “helpful.”

Not because I was taught to value being capable, not in any conscious way.

But because I had to be.

Being the one who knew what to do kept me safe.

It gave me a role. A reason. A way to matter in rooms where it wasn’t always clear I belonged.

If I didn’t know what to say, I could be useful.

If I wasn’t sure who I was, I could still fix something.

If everything felt unstable, at least I was holding something together.

It’s not so much my personality as it is my wiring.

It’s what you learn growing up in chaos. To read the room before you enter it, to find the exits fast, to anticipate needs before they become problems.

To be needed before you're discarded.

And yes, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

Because there’s a cost to being the capable one.

It’s lonely.

It’s heavy.

And it’s quietly terrifying to wonder what happens when you’re no longer needed, or when you don’t jump in fast enough to earn your place.

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I’ve mentioned in a previous post that lately, I’ve been noticing things I didn’t use to.

My fingers are slower.

My memory skips more than it used to.

I lose words. I reread things. I sigh more at technology.

It’s subtle, but it’s real.

And it’s made me realize that I won’t always be the one who can just fix it.

I won’t always be able to step in, solve the thing, explain how it works, carry the load.

And if I keep doing everything for everyone now, then when that day comes, when I physically or mentally can’t, no one else will know how.

So in some ways, letting go of control isn’t just healing an old wound.

It’s preparing for the future.

It’s saying: You’ll need to know how to do this without me. Let me start showing you now.

Because love isn’t in the fixing.

It’s in the teaching.

And maybe the most caring thing I can do isn’t to take over — it’s to trust people with the learning.

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Being needed isn’t the same as being loved.

Being in control isn’t the same as being safe.

And doing everything myself isn’t actually a personality trait.

It’s a wound.

I’m learning to leave some things undone.

Not everything needs me.

And that might be the best news I’ve heard all year.

Love today,

Heather 🌸

If you see yourself in this —
the fixer, the quiet helper, the one who just does it —
I’d love to know how this pattern has shown up in your life.

Have you tried stepping back?
Have you been on the other side of it?

Feel free to share in the comments or reply.
I always read them. And I’d be honored to witness your story.