As an overachieving kid, I was lauded for my top grades, my responsible and well-behaved nature. I succeeded in a rigorous private school, then went on to graduate Phi Beta Kappa from a reputable college. I showed all the markings of someone who would work hard, stay focused and no doubt make something of herself.

I also spent a lot of my childhood with inexplicable stomachaches, generalized anxiety that peaked in a series of panic attacks in my 20s, and varying degrees of self loathing. It’s really, really hard for me to delegate. I don’t like unassigned seating or amusement park rides. And I have a difficult time being in a car and not driving.

That’s because there’s a dark side to being an achiever: I’m a control freak. I like to know what will or won’t happen. I try to contain, predict, analyze and understand things more than I possibly can. And I know it’s a losing game. None of us controls how life unfolds. You think you know it, but if you did, you wouldn’t have the expectation and disappointment when you’re reminded again and again that you don’t.