The Outsourcing of Sovereignty

Several times over the last few weeks, I found myself in the company of people openly discussing their struggles with their children and the different ways they were trying to address them.

I live in Athens, Greece, on the Balkan Peninsula, and even having these conversations publicly feels like a significant step forward. For generations, personal and family matters were rarely discussed outside the home. Seeking help was often seen as weakness rather than wisdom.

Having the opportunity to witness these conversations repeatedly, and in such a short period of time, opened a topic worthy of deeper observation.

The stories were different. The circumstances were different. The children were different. Yet one thing remained the same:

Everyone was looking for solutions somewhere outside themselves.

On the first few occasions, I participated actively. Whenever I asked questions intended to encourage self-reflection rather than provide direct answers, they were often met with subtle resistance. Not open hostility, but a passive-aggressive defensiveness that seemed almost automatic.

One particular comment made me stop participating altogether: - "So, you tell me what to do."

From that moment forward, I simply listened. I observed. And I allowed the energy beneath the words to reveal the deeper story.

There was one woman in particular.

She was in a healthy marriage and had a teenage son. By today’s standards, her life was successful and stable. Her work was highly structured. Responsibilities were clearly defined. Procedures were established. Expected outcomes were measurable. Her professional environment rewarded predictability and precision.

Over time, without realizing it, she began applying the same model to life itself. The same expectations she held in her profession slowly found their way into her home. The highest grades were expected. Two foreign languages were encouraged. Commitment to sports was non-negotiable. Discipline was valued. Achievement was praised.

From her perspective, she was preparing her son for success. From his perspective, life was becoming increasingly scheduled.

Yet there was one thing missing from the equation.

A healthy teenager does not fit neatly into a box. A teenager is discovering life. Testing boundaries. Gathering experiences. Exploring identity. Learning through trial, error, curiosity, and sometimes even rebellion.

Without realizing it, her desire to prepare him for life slowly began occupying the space where his own exploration was supposed to emerge. And so, something predictable happened.

The more structured his life became, the more intensely he searched for a place where nobody was directing him.

That place became his dark room. That place became video games.

While listening to her frustration, my first thought was simple:

After a day filled with obligations, expectations, classes, sports, and responsibilities, retreating into a virtual world seemed far healthier than searching for release in far riskier places.

Yet that wasn't how she saw it. What troubled her most was not the gaming itself. It was the distance. Her son no longer wanted conversations. He wanted his personal space in that very limited free time he had. And the more she attempted to close the gap, the wider it seemed to become.

As time passed, she began visiting a therapist. Then she began visiting more frequently. Yet despite seeking more guidance, the situation at home seemed to become increasingly difficult.

As she spoke, frustration filled her voice. Part of that frustration was directed toward her son. Part of it was directed toward the therapist. And it was at that moment that a deeper realization emerged.

She had abdicated her sovereignty over her personal life.

This is not a criticism of therapy. Nor is it a criticism of seeking guidance. Guidance has tremendous value as long as we use it as a counseling that we should adjust to our own ‘‘box’’.

Therapy has tremendous value. Teachers, mentors, coaches, and friends all have tremendous value. The issue begins when guidance becomes a substitute for observation. When answers from outside replace the willingness to look within.

This dynamic has been observed by many of the great minds who explored human psychology.

Carl Jung captured it beautifully:

"People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own souls." - Dependency often arises not because people are incapable, but because self-confrontation requires courage. And courage comes with responsibility.

Jung also reminded us: "The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely." - True self-responsibility removes the comfort of blaming others for the circumstances of our lives.

Sigmund Freud approached the same issue from a different angle:

"Most people do not really want freedom, because freedom involves responsibility, and most people are frightened of responsibility."

Whether the quote is perfectly attributed or not, the observation remains strikingly accurate.

Freedom sounds appealing. Responsibility does not. Yet the two arrive together. Perhaps this tendency extends far beyond parenting. Perhaps it lies at the heart of many of the systems governing modern life.

Boxed ideas.

Boxed procedures.

Boxed expectations.

Predefined steps.

Predictable outcomes.

Reduced responsibility.

Everyone is simply following the process.

Everyone is simply doing their job.

But parenting is not a job…

And human is not a product…

What happens when this boxed approach encounters a new life seeking its own expression? …conflict becomes inevitable.

We often expect human beings to behave like systems. Then we become surprised when they do not.

We expect predictability from something inherently alive. We expect conformity from something naturally creative. We expect compliance from something designed to grow.

And then we call the response a problem.

A rigid approach combined with misplaced expectations can place tremendous pressure on a developing human being. Every person is unique. Every person carries different needs, different strengths, different sensitivities, and different ways of expressing themselves.

Yet beneath all these differences lies one universal impulse: The desire to express oneself authentically.

When genuine freedom disappears, pressure accumulates. Like a pressure cooker, eventually something must release. The difference is that pressure cookers are designed with valves.

Human beings are not. Our valve is awareness. And awareness cannot be outsourced. It must emerge from within…

This brings us back to the mother.

The more guidance she sought, the more guidance she needed. Each new situation required another answer. Another interpretation. Another recommendation. Another step. The solutions were no longer arising from her own observation. They were borrowed.

Another person's knowledge. Another person's experience. Another person's perspective. Another person's pattern. And borrowed pattern can only take us so far. Because no one else lives with the consequences of our choices.

No one else experiences the subtle realities of our relationships. No one else stands inside our life exactly as we do. Eventually, she found herself looking at her own child as though he were a stranger. And perhaps that is the greatest cost of surrendering our inner authority. Not that we lose answers. But that we lose trust in our own ability to find them.

Guidance has its place. Teachers have their place. Therapists have their place. Friends have their place. But none of them can observe for us. None of them can feel for us. None of them can assume responsibility for our inner world.

The moment we surrender that responsibility, we begin living according to someone else's map. And a borrowed map can never fully guide us through a landscape only we can see.

Perhaps this is why life keeps presenting us with challenges. Not because it wants us to find better experts. But because it invites us to develop a deeper relationship with our own perception.

Guidance may illuminate the path.

But the walking is always ours

Marko Micic