Love and Control Are Not the Same, Even Though They Are Often Mistaken for One Another
It’s easy to mistake control for love. In fact, most of us have at some point in our lives. We’ve been told in one way or another that when someone is deeply involved in our choices, questions our decisions, or even outright dictates our actions, it’s because they ‘care’. Maybe we’ve been on the receiving end of it - a parent who made all our choices for us, a partner who insisted they knew best, or a friend who made us feel guilty for not doing what they wanted. Or maybe we’ve been the one doing the controlling, believing we were only looking out for someone we loved. The idea that control and love go hand in hand is something we pick up from a young age. It’s woven into how we’re raised, the relationships we witness, and the messages we see in society. Love is often portrayed as this all-consuming force, one that justifies possessiveness, demands obedience, and thrives on the idea that if you love someone, you should do what’s best for them - even if they don’t see it yet. But here’s the thing: that’s not love. That’s control.
Real love doesn’t come with a leash. It doesn’t require someone to shrink, comply, or live under another person’s rules just to prove their loyalty. Love nurtures, respects, and supports individuality. It says, I trust you to make your own choices, even if they’re not the ones I would make for you. Control, on the other hand, restricts. It pressures. It manipulates. It keeps people small and dependent, even when it’s disguised as care. And that’s where things get tricky - because control rarely announces itself as something harmful. It often feels like love, especially when it comes from people we trust. A parent who refuses to let their child make decisions might believe they’re protecting them. A partner who monitors their significant other’s whereabouts may genuinely believe they’re keeping them safe. A friend who pressures someone into doing things their way might think they’re just being helpful. It doesn’t always come from a place of cruelty, but that doesn’t make it any less damaging.
Sometimes, control is rooted in fear - fear of losing someone, fear of them making a mistake, fear of what might happen if they step outside the boundaries we’ve built for them. Other times, it’s a reflection of someone’s own insecurities or past experiences. And yes, in some cases, control is deliberate, a means of maintaining power over another person. But no matter where it comes from, the result is the same: someone’s freedom is taken away. Their ability to trust themselves is diminished. Their choices are no longer really their own.
That’s why it’s so important to recognise that control is not love. Even when it’s subtle, even when it’s done with the best intentions, control limits freedom, creates dependency, and erodes self-trust. And if we’ve spent our whole lives thinking that love and control are one and the same, it can be incredibly difficult to unlearn that belief. But we can unlearn it. We can start by asking ourselves: “Does this love allow me (or the other person) to be their full, authentic self? Or does it come with conditions, expectations, and unspoken rules that demand compliance?”
Controlling Behaviour - Whether Intentional or Not - Is a Form of Emotional Abuse
Control doesn’t always look like what we expect. When people hear the phrase emotional abuse, they might picture something obvious - yelling, threats, harsh words, or outright manipulation. But often, it’s much quieter than that. It can be soft-spoken, wrapped in concern, disguised as care. It doesn’t always feel cruel or aggressive. In fact, sometimes, it can feel safe, which is what makes it so difficult to recognise.
That’s the tricky thing about control. It sneaks into relationships under the guise of love, protection, or even responsibility. Someone might believe they’re helping when they push another person to obey their advice. They might feel it’s their duty to make decisions on someone else’s behalf. And if you’re on the receiving end of that, it might not even cross your mind that something is wrong. Because how can something be abuse if the person doing it says they love you? But emotional abuse isn’t about how something is meant - it’s about how it feels and what it does to the person experiencing it. Control, no matter how well-intended, is still control. When someone else dictates what you should do, who you should be, or how you should live, it chips away at your autonomy. You start questioning yourself. You wonder if they’re right. You feel guilty for wanting to make your own choices. And before you know it, you’re not really living your life - you’re just following someone else’s script.
Control can show up in so many different ways. It might be a partner who discourages you from seeing certain friends or makes all the financial decisions without your input. It could be a friend who constantly pressures you into choices you’re uncomfortable with or gives you the silent treatment when you don’t comply. It could be a parent who refuses to let you have a say in your own future because they believe they know what’s best.
So, here’s the hard truth again: even when control isn’t meant to harm, it does harm. Even if someone thinks they’re doing it out of love, it still leaves wounds. It teaches people to doubt themselves, to seek permission rather than make choices, to walk on eggshells in fear of upsetting someone else. Over time, that kind of environment can erode a person’s confidence, independence, and sense of self. And the longer someone is subjected to control, the harder it becomes to trust themselves. They may start believing they need someone else to tell them what to do. They might feel lost when left to make their own decisions. They may become so accustomed to seeking approval that they struggle to recognise their own voice. This is how control, even when subtle, creates lasting emotional scars.
It’s important to say this: just because someone has controlled you does not mean they are a bad person. And if you have controlled someone, that doesn’t make you a monster either. Many people control out of fear, insecurity, or what they were taught love is supposed to look like. But good intentions don’t erase harm. And if we want to build healthy, respectful relationships - whether with partners, family, or friends - we have to be willing to see control for what it is: a form of emotional harm that limits both people involved.
The Difficulty of Recognising Control as Harmful
One of the hardest things about control is that it rarely feels harmful - well… at least, not at first. When someone cares about us, it’s natural to assume they have our best interests at heart. If they tell us what to do, discourage certain choices, or insist they know best, we might not see it as control. Instead, we convince ourselves it’s protection. It’s love. It’s guidance. And because of that, we don’t question it. We tell ourselves things like, “They just worry about me. They only want what’s best. Maybe I do need their help.” And when control is wrapped in love, reassurance, or even praise, it becomes even harder to recognise as something damaging. If we’ve grown up in environments where control was normalised - whether through parenting, relationships, or cultural beliefs - it might not even register as something unhealthy. It just feels familiar.
Truthfully, when control is all you’ve known, it’s incredibly difficult to see it as a problem. If you were raised in a household where independence was discouraged, where questioning authority was seen as disrespectful, or where love was given conditionally based on obedience, then control might even feel like safety. It can feel comforting to have someone else take the lead, make decisions, and "know what’s best" - especially if you’ve been taught to doubt your own judgment. This is why so many people stay in controlling relationships, whether with family, friends, or partners. They don’t necessarily feel trapped - they feel protected. They may even feel relieved that someone else is taking charge. And when they do start to feel uneasy, there’s often a wave of guilt or self-doubt that follows. “Am I being ungrateful? Am I overreacting? Maybe I should just listen to them.”
What makes this even more complicated is that controlling behaviour is often inconsistent. A person who is controlling isn’t necessarily cruel or overbearing all the time. They might be loving, supportive, and deeply caring in many ways, which makes it harder to see the harm in their actions. They might even apologise when they push too hard, reassuring you that it’s "only because they care." This cycle - control followed by love and reassurance - can make it even harder to step back and recognise what’s really happening.
Then there’s the fear. The fear of what happens if you resist the control. Will they be disappointed? Will they pull away? Will you lose their love entirely? When someone has been controlling for a long time, they may have also made you feel like you need them. Like you wouldn’t be okay on your own. That’s how control works - it doesn’t just limit your choices; it convinces you that you can’t make choices for yourself. But in reality: You can make your own decisions. You deserve to trust yourself. And love - real, healthy love - doesn’t require you to give up your autonomy. It doesn’t make you feel small, uncertain, or dependent. It allows you to grow, make mistakes, and find your own way. Recognising control for what it is doesn’t mean you have to walk away from the people in your life, but it does mean becoming aware of the dynamics at play. It means asking yourself, “Does this relationship allow me to be fully myself? Or do I feel like I have to shrink, change, or constantly seek approval?” It means acknowledging that love should never come at the expense of your freedom. And once you start to see that clearly, you can begin the process of reclaiming your own voice, your own choices, and your own life.
How Do We Differentiate Between Control and Love, and What Can We Do to Protect Ourselves?
If control can sometimes look like care, how do we tell the difference? If someone truly believes they’re acting in our best interest, does that make their behaviour acceptable? These are hard questions and answering them requires unlearning a lot of the messages we’ve been taught about love. But the truth is, the difference between love and control isn’t as complicated as it might seem - it comes down to one simple thing: choice.
Love, in its healthiest form, respects freedom. It allows us to be our full, authentic selves, even when that means making mistakes. It doesn’t demand obedience, guilt us into compliance, or make us feel like we owe someone our choices. Love offers guidance and support, but it never forces. It never punishes us for thinking for ourselves. Control, on the other hand, removes choice. It creates pressure - whether through fear, guilt, or manipulation - to act in a way that aligns with what someone else wants. It tells us that our independence is dangerous, that our judgment can’t be trusted, that stepping outside the lines will lead to rejection, conflict, or disappointment. Even when it’s dressed up as care, even when it’s wrapped in good intentions, control is still about power. It’s about one person’s needs, fears, or desires taking priority over another person’s right to live their own life.
So how do we protect ourselves from falling into this dynamic? The first step is awareness. We have to start questioning the relationships in our lives and noticing how they make us feel. Do we feel free to be ourselves, or do we feel like we’re constantly adjusting to meet someone else’s expectations? Do we feel supported in our choices, or do we feel pressured to justify them? Do we feel loved for who we are, or only for who we become when we comply?
Once we start recognising these patterns, the next step is setting boundaries. And this can be terrifying, especially if we’ve spent our whole lives equating love with control. Saying no, making independent choices, or stepping away from controlling relationships can bring up fear, guilt, and self-doubt. But boundaries are not a rejection of love - they are a necessary part of it. They tell the people around us; I respect myself enough to protect my own freedom. And I respect you enough to expect the same from you.
For those who have been deeply affected by control, healing takes time. It involves rebuilding self-trust, learning to listen to our own voices again, and reminding ourselves that we do have the right to our own lives. It means surrounding ourselves with people who respect our boundaries, who support our growth without needing to direct it, and who love us not for what we do for them, but simply for who we are.
So finally, the good news? Awareness is the first step to change. The moment we recognise control for what it is, we can begin to unlearn it. We can start questioning the dynamics in our relationships, understanding where these patterns come from, and making different choices moving forward. Because real love - healthy, supportive love - doesn’t thrive on control. It thrives on trust, respect, and the freedom to be fully ourselves. Real love doesn’t ask us to shrink ourselves, to trade our independence for approval, or to prove our loyalty through compliance. Real love allows us to stand on our own two feet, knowing that we are fully capable of making our own choices - and that we are worthy of love, just as we are.
Comments