There is a long line of control freaks and perfectionists in my family. As a product of my history’s conditioning and socialization, I, too was a control-freak perfectionist. Notice, I said was. Let me explain: I define myself as a recovering control-freak perfectionist. For years, I struggled with trying to control every aspect of my life with the intent on making things perfect. My home had to be spotless, with everything in its place, and a place for all things. I wanted to control what people said and did—for their own sake of course. Every decision made regarding anything I claimed as mine or impacting me, I had to be involved with to make sure nothing was overlooked or went wrong. If a task or action was not completed expeditiously (per an acceptable time frame I conjured up) I immediately took it over because only I understood the importance of getting the task completed immediately. I was proactive and insisted on doing this right (e.g., my way). I was driving myself crazy—and dragging my friends, husband and sons along for the ride.