It is all about mastering emotions

You’ve heard it before:
“focus only on what you can control”.

It sounds simple,
even obvious.
And yet, people misunderstand this principle all the time. They assume it means disengaging from the world, ignoring what happens around them, or becoming indifferent to external events. But that’s not Stoicism. That’s detachment. That’s retreat. And the Stoics were not retreating from life; they were diving deeper into its reality.

When Epictetus taught the dichotomy of control, he wasn’t telling you to stop caring about the world. He was telling you to examine your judgments about it. Because that’s where your power lie; not in changing the universe, but in changing how you see it. He asks you to consider: Is it really the event itself that upsets you? Or is it your opinion about it?

The word opinion is crucial here, and yet it is probably the very word that many people overlook when they rush (perhaps too quickly?) into Stoicism. Beginners often believe that the key is to "control their thoughts," as if it were a kind of force one acquires over time, and that with enough concentration or willpower, one can become indifferent, ignore things, empty the mind, move on… But what does the word opinion actually mean? It means "to think, to make a judgment," just like the Latin term from which it derives: opinari.

And this is the real exercise: not forcing the mind to stop feeling, to stop reacting, to stop being affected by external events, but rather examining, with rigor and clarity, the judgments we make about them. The goal is not to become an unshakable fortress, insensitive to the winds of the world, but to understand what truly troubles us—to apply rational thinking to the situation, to engage in a thorough examination. It means observing our opinions as a philosopher scrutinizes an argument: are they well-founded? Are they just? Do they reflect reality, or are they the product of illusion, desire, or misplaced fear? Let’s say that today, after a discussion with your partner, you feel anger following a criticism. Is it because you have genuinely been wronged? Or is it because, deep down, you have judged this criticism as a personal attack, as a threat to your identity, to your ego? If you change that judgment, if you deconstruct it, what remains of that anger? Perhaps just a piece of information, an opportunity to learn, a constructive reflection—rather than an inner fire that consumes you.

Let’s take another example, not the one where you’re caught in traffic—I know this is an overused example, so let say you are waiting for an important reply, maybe a job offer, a message from someone you care about, or the results of a medical test. The hours stretch, your mind starts racing, and anxiety builds. Why? The situation itself hasn’t changed—nothing has happened yet. What’s causing your distress is your judgment: the belief that you need this outcome to go a certain way, that your well-being hinges on it, that uncertainty is unbearable
But is that true?
Is uncertainty itself painful, or is it your resistance to it? Is the outcome really in your control, or just your patience, your perspective, your ability to remain steady while you wait? This is where the work happens—not in trying to force reality into a shape that pleases you, but in questioning the assumptions that make you suffer in the first place. The external event didn’t create your suffering, your judgment did.

This is why Stoicism isn’t about ignoring things.
It’s about investigating them.
Most of the things that disturb you aren’t disturbances at all; they’re stories you’ve told yourself. And if you can question those stories, you can reclaim control.

Imagine now someone insults you. Your first reaction might be anger, defensiveness, hurt. But pause for a moment. What makes an insult painful? It’s not the words themselves—it’s your judgment that those words have power over you, that they define you, that they carry truth. If someone told you that you were a purple alien, would you take it personally? No, because you’d know it’s absurd. The only reason an insult stings is because, on some level, you’ve accepted it as valid.
But that’s a choice.
And choices are within your control.
This practice of questioning your judgments isn’t passive. It requires vigilance. It requires a willingness to look at your thoughts and say, “Is this true? Or am I just reacting?” And when you do that, you start to see the world differently.

A setback isn’t a loss—it’s an opportunity.
A failure isn’t the end—it’s a lesson.
A rejection isn’t about you—it’s about something outside of your control.

This is why Stoicism is not about indifference; it’s about engagement at the deepest level. It doesn’t ask you to suppress your emotions. It asks you to understand them. It doesn’t tell you to ignore the world. It tells you to see it clearly, without the fog of irrational judgment.

So, when life throws its worst at you,
don’t look away.
Look closer. Ask yourself: Is this truly a problem, or is it just my perception? Because that’s where your freedom begins, not in changing the world, but in changing the way you meet it.

With that in mind, and as a final thought, let me remind you of one of the most important passages from The Discourses of Epictetus. We often quote the opening line of his Enchiridion:

“Some things are under our control, while others are not under our control. Under our control are conception, choice, desire, aversion, and, in a word, everything that is our own doing; not under our control are our body, our property, reputation, office, and, in a word, everything that is not our own doing.” ¹; but it is within the very first paragraph of The Discourses that we find the deeper meaning of what it truly means to navigate things beyond our control :

“What art or faculty, then, will tell? That one which contemplates both itself and everything else.
And what is this? The reasoning faculty;
for this is the only one we have inherited which will take knowledge both of itself—what it is, and of what it is capable, and how valuable a gift it is to us—and likewise of all the other faculties. For what else is it that tells us gold is beautiful? For the gold itself does not tell us. Clearly it is the faculty which makes use of external impressions. What else judges with discernment the art of music, the art of grammar, the other arts and faculties, passing judgement upon their uses and pointing out the seasonable occasions for their use? Nothing else does.
[…]
As was fitting, therefore, the gods have put under our control only the most excellent faculty of all and that which dominates the rest, namely, the power to make correct use of external impressions, but all the others they have not put under our control.
[…]
we [gods] have given thee a certain portion of ourself, this faculty of choice and refusal, of desire and aversion, or, in a word, the faculty which makes use of external impressions; if thou care for this and place all that thou hast therein, thou shalt never be thwarted, never hampered, shalt not groan, shalt not blame, shalt not flatter any man. What then? Are these things small in thy sight?" "Far be it from me!" "Art thou, then, content with them?" "I pray the Gods I may be.” ²