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How to Train Your Flea, or How to Control Others

How to Train Your Flea, or How to Control Others

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Have you ever tried to train a flea? As odd as that may sound, the concept is not only real—it’s incredibly instructive. The process is simple. You place a flea—or perhaps a flock of fleas (though I’m not convinced “flock” is the technical term)—into a Mason jar and seal the lid tightly. You then leave the jar alone for three full days. After that time, you unscrew the lid. Here’s the shocking part: the flea will not escape. It will jump—but never high enough to leave the jar. It has been trained. Conditioned. Even without the lid, it now believes it cannot be free. Even more sobering: if you have two fleas of the opposite sex, their offspring will be the same. Though they’ve never encountered the lid, they, too, will not escape. It’s a generational curse. Fleas born into captivity stay there—even when the top is off.

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Are You a Trained Flea?

I came across this illustration years ago. Initially, I didn’t verify it. I used it in counseling as a metaphor because it fit so well. Eventually, I checked—and sure enough, it’s true. It’s now one of my go-to images to describe the insidious and persistent problem of human control, insecurity, and fear of man. You can Google it, too.

Take Mable, for instance. Her dad was critical, discouraging, and consistently harsh. Though she’s long out of her father’s home, the emotional ceiling he installed still hovers over her life. She’s a trained flea. She longs for approval so deeply that she makes harmful relationship decisions. Biff’s father was equally abrasive—a perfectionist who demanded excellence. To survive, Biff became a passive perfectionist: he never tries, so he never fails. It’s the illusion of control. He avoids risk and remains emotionally paralyzed. His wife feels like she’s married to a ghost. Biff is a trained flea, too.

Then there’s Brice. He’s the opposite of passive. He’s driven, independent, and controlling. His father was disengaged, while his mother nitpicked and manipulated him. Brice made an internal vow: “I’ll never be like my dad or let a woman control me.” Now, no one gets close. He’s a trained flea. Marge was only nine when her dad left. Her world was crushed, and she grew up not knowing how to relate to men without fearing abandonment. Now twenty-seven, she obsesses over her image. Her worth rises and falls based on male attention. She’s a trained flea, too.

Studying the Flea

To some degree, we’re all trained fleas. Every one of us has been conditioned by life, by relationships, by voices that told us what we could or couldn’t be. Sin has put us all in a jar. That jar is called the fear of man. For different reasons, and in various ways, we have learned to yield control of our identity and choices to the opinions of others. The stories differ. The patterns are similar. The result is the same: captivity. The heartbreaking irony is that, in Christ, the lid is gone. “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:36). Yet many believers still live as though the lid remains. If you are trying to help someone who is still in the jar, start with these discerning questions:

  • What happened to them?
  • How did they learn to live this way?
  • What controls them now?
  • Why do they continue to allow others to shape their identity?

At the core, the issue is always the same: the desire to be loved, accepted, or not rejected. That craving is not evil—it is human. But when shaped by fear and shame rather than gospel affection, it becomes idolatry. That’s how people become emotionally trained: they’ve been repeatedly “hit” by the lid of conditional love. To get hit is to be hurt. So they duck. They learn to avoid pain. Ducking is a state of being, but they forfeit growth.

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The Lasting Effects

The “hits” most often come from the mouths of parents—unkind words, criticism, rejection, impatience, harsh expectations. Over time, these words shape a child’s self-perception. The child adapts. She learns to duck. She modifies herself to avoid conflict or withdrawal of affection. In time, her mind becomes captured by what Paul calls a stronghold—a fortress of distorted thoughts that governs her behavior (2 Corinthians 10:3–6). This kind of “hit avoidance” becomes comfortable. Predictable. Familiar.

The abused child doesn’t have the luxury to fight back or walk away—not until she’s older. By then, it’s often too late. The habits are hardwired. She leaves the home, but the stronghold follows. Relationships become arenas of fear and management. She thinks a boyfriend will fix it—“He loves me.” But she cannot discern how past shaping influences drive her desire for love. Her craving feels like freedom, but it’s actually bondage to an idol she doesn’t recognize.

When the relationship fails—as it often does—she is devastated and bitter, unable to identify the true issue. She may conclude she’s bad at choosing men or that all men are the problem. In truth, she is still living under the lid. Her past continues to direct her choices—even after the people are gone.

Set a Flea Free

Taking the lid off is not enough. Leaving the toxic home, ending the relationship, and moving away—those are not the wrong steps. But they don’t fix the deeper issue. The bondage isn’t the environment—it’s the mind. This internal problem is why many trained fleas repeat cycles: multiple partners, failed marriages, constant people-pleasing, perfectionism, and withdrawal. She may have left her father’s house, but her father’s voice still lives in her head. If you want to help her, you must deal with her thought life. This approach requires identifying a few core strongholds:

  • Identity: She talks about her story constantly. Her past defines her. Her fears, anxieties, and pain shape her view of herself. The trauma becomes her name. Even if she doesn’t verbalize it, the weight is there.
  • Gospel: Though she may be a believer, the gospel is more of a theological category than a functional identity. She knows Jesus died for her sins, but that truth does not govern her emotional life.
  • Change: Without clarity on identity and gospel centrality, her life remains in a stuck cycle. She may appear put together, but her soul is operating on self-effort. Her change is cosmetic. Her freedom is an illusion.

Friending the Flea

There are three primary barriers to gospel transformation in a person like this:

  • Personal deception about the true problem
  • An unwillingness to deal honestly with the real issue
  • The absence of competent, compassionate friends to walk with her

You will need to become that kind of friend. It will be hard. She will interpret your correction as criticism. Even gentle care may feel like an attack. Her heart is sunburned, and every touch stings. But your role is clear. You must be Spirit-led, truth-speaking, and love-saturated. You must not compromise. But you must not grow cold. If you do it well, she will begin to see what is actually driving her behavior. She will begin to recognize how deeply her past controls her present. The transformation will be slow—but it will be real.

“And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all” (1 Thessalonians 5:14).

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The Flea’s Freedom

Ultimately, your goal is not her emotional recovery, better choices, or healthier habits. Your aim is Christ. Only the gospel can give her a new identity. She must come to know that the only opinion that truly matters is His—and in Christ, His opinion is fixed: she is loved, accepted, and secure.
That kind of love is foreign to her. She has only known conditional relationships: a father who loved based on obedience, a boyfriend who loved based on performance, and a child who responds when she gives in. But Jesus is different. His love is unearned, unchanging, and unwavering. She may understand this intellectually, but to live it is another story. You will walk with her as she learns to unlearn everything she thought was love. And you’ll help her build a new framework—one shaped not by fear, but by the gospel.

Call to Action

  1. What “lid” from your past still defines how you relate to people—and have you truly named it out loud to someone else? Think carefully. Is there a person, voice, or event still shaping how you see yourself and others? What would it take to bring it into the light?
  2. Do you crave love and approval more than you trust God’s unchanging acceptance—and how does that craving show up in your decisions? Where does fear drive your relationships? Where do you adapt, manipulate, or withdraw in order to feel secure?
  3. Are you willing to walk patiently with someone who has been shaped by trauma, even when their reactions seem irrational or hurtful? Think about your capacity for long-term, Spirit-empowered discipleship. Will you stay when it gets messy?
  4. Is your understanding of the gospel just theological, or does it practically guide how you process rejection, pain, and your past? Examine whether the gospel governs how you think, not just what you say you believe. Where does your functional theology break down?

Helping a trained flea means helping someone relearn what love, freedom, and identity truly are. The gospel is the only school where that transformation takes place.

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