9 things you do on vacation that reveal you're secretly controlling

Vacations are supposed to be where our shoulders drop and our nervous systems breathe.

And yet, if you’re anything like me on my worst days, time off can expose just how tightly we white-knuckle life.

Here are nine vacation behaviors that quietly scream, “I need to control this.”

If a few hit too close to home, welcome to the club.

1. You over-architect the itinerary

Color-coded spreadsheet. Backup spreadsheet. Offline PDF of the backup spreadsheet.

I’ve done it all—down to 15-minute blocks with contingency plans for wind, crowds, and “unexpected vibes.”

Planning is smart.

But when your trip starts feeling like an obstacle course where spontaneity is the enemy, you’ve crossed from intentional into controlling.

Tell-tale signs: you feel irritated when others “disrupt the flow,” you resist lingering at a café because it’s not in the plan, and you can’t relax until you’ve “completed” the day’s agenda.

Try this: plan anchors, not handcuffs—one must-do in the morning, one in the afternoon, and generous white space.

Spreadsheets can serve you without running you.

2. You need to drive (literally and figuratively)

You insist on holding the car keys, leading the way through alleys, and “just quickly checking” every bus schedule yourself.

On group trips, you become the default GPS—directions, decisions, and dinner.

Underneath? Anxiety.

If someone else drives, you can’t regulate your discomfort.

So you control the wheel to control your feelings.

Swap the script: share navigation duties for a day.

Let someone else pick the route—and don’t “help.”

Breathe through the uncertain turns.

You might discover the world is still there when you’re not steering.

3. You police everyone’s food choices

As a vegan traveler, I know the pre-trip restaurant reconnaissance.

It matters.

But control shows up when you treat meals like compliance tests—insisting on the exact spot you bookmarked, at the exact time you set, with the exact order you pre-approved for the group.

Food can be about connection, not just “getting it right.”

The controlling tell is when you can’t tolerate others wandering into a non-planned café because “what if it’s not good?”

Reality check: sometimes the best bowl of tofu and noodles lives in a place you didn’t vet.

Let the map surprise you.

Keep a shortlist for non-negotiables (access to plant-based options), then aim for discovery, not domination.

4. You treat rest like a productivity leak

You schedule “rest” the way a manager schedules a performance review—brief, necessary, slightly suspicious.

If a nap happens, you feel guilty.

If a beach day stretches, you itch for “real activities.”

Here’s the trick: control and rest don’t co-exist easily.

Control wants output.

Rest invites surrender.

Epictetus said, “Some things are in our control and others not,” an old Stoic mic-drop that hits especially hard on holiday when weather, crowds, and timing refuse to obey us.

When you loosen your grip, rest stops feeling like failure and starts feeling like fuel.

5. You script other people’s emotions

You don’t just plan the day—you pre-write everyone’s reactions.

“This sunset will blow your mind.”

“You’re going to love this museum.”

And when they don’t? You subtly nudge, persuade, cajole.

You need them to feel what you feel, to validate your plan.

I’ve mentioned this before but we don’t have to outsource our joy.

Let people have their own trip.

If your friend is bored at the gallery, their boredom isn’t a referendum on your taste.

It’s just… their experience.

The softer move is to share your excitement without demanding a matching performance.

“My plan is the botanical garden. You’re welcome to wander elsewhere and meet us for gelato at three.”

6. You pack for apocalypse, not vacation

Your carry-on contains: three backup chargers, two first-aid kits, rain gear for four climates, and a laminated emergency card.

Preparedness is responsible.

But watch for the line where packing becomes an exorcism for anxiety.

When your bag carries the weight of “controlling every variable,” your back (and brain) pay the price.

Micro-experiment: choose a “trust item” you usually overpack (extra shoes, tech, toiletries), and leave it.

Let the possibility of improvisation build your tolerance for uncertainty.

Worst case, you buy what you need and gain a story.

7. You bristle at local pace and norms

Control sneaks out as cultural rigidity.

You catch yourself correcting customs in your head, judging service speed, or comparing “how we do it back home.”

I once stood in a Lisbon café, annoyed that the server didn’t rush my order—then realized I was importing my pace into their place.

That impatience wasn’t about the coffee.

It was about my control addiction to efficiency.

Travel asks us to be guests.

Slow service could be an invitation to look around, not a problem to fix.

You can advocate for your needs without flattening someone else’s culture under your schedule.

8. You make photos about proof, not presence

You’re curating posts in real time—angles, captions, the “we’re thriving” story arc.

Photos can be art.

They’re also a sneaky control lever: shape the narrative, control the meaning, avoid messy moments.

Anthony Bourdain once wrote, “Travel isn’t always pretty… Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay”.

Not every day needs to look like a postcard.

Try a no-post window until evening.

Or give one person “photo captain” duties and agree to live the scene before you shoot it.

9. You chase perfect and miss good

Perfectionism is control’s best disguise.

You’ll wait for the ideal table, the clearest sky, the “worth it” hike.

You trade living for optimizing.

Voltaire was blunt: “The perfect is the enemy of the good” (Voltaire, La Bégueule).

Good sunsets count.

Pretty good meals count.

The memory is in the mood, not the flawless conditions.

A practical riff: adopt a “B+ policy” for travel days.

If an experience hits 80–85% of your hope, celebrate it instead of tinkering your way into frustration.

What this is really about

Control is a nervous system strategy.

It’s a way to reduce uncertainty and guard against disappointment.

Vacations amplify uncertainty.

That’s why your control patterns get loud out there.

The move isn’t to shame yourself for planning, steering, caring.

It’s to watch your threshold—when care morphs into compulsion, when structure suffocates wonder.

A simple self-audit for your next trip

• Before you go: list three non-negotiables (e.g., “one vegan dinner I’m excited about,” “two hours alone each morning,” “no emails before 10 a.m.”). Everything else becomes negotiable by design.

• During the trip: when you feel the urge to over-steer, ask, “What am I trying to protect right now?” Then pick a micro-letting-go move: let someone else choose, skip one check, accept the slower route.

• After you return: scan your favorite memories. How many were planned? How many were accidents you allowed to happen?

The bottom line

You’re not “bad at vacation.”

You’re good at control.

That skill probably helps you elsewhere.

But breaks are for softening edges, not sharpening them.

If a few of these behaviors feel familiar, take it as data, not diagnosis.

Practice loosening one finger at a time.

Let the trip happen to you a little.

That’s where the real rest lives.