The Expectations We Carry

"I am not releasing myself. I am releasing the impossible expectations I have placed upon myself."

I have been thinking a lot about expectations—why we have them, where they come from, and how something that seems so reasonable can quietly steal our peace.

For me, the lines between expectations, goals, priorities, and even judgment can become blurred. I set high standards for myself, and without realizing it, I can expect other people to respond, react, love, or show up based on how I would. When they don't, disappointment enters the room. Sometimes judgment follows. And eventually, I begin to pull away.

I don't believe this comes from wanting to control everyone around me. I think it comes from a lifetime of trying to be good enough.

When Giving Becomes Overgiving

I love helping people. I genuinely become excited when someone calls to pick my brain, needs advice, or trusts me to help solve a problem. Serving others is not something I simply do; it is part of who I am.

But somewhere along the way, serving can turn into overserving. I give more time, more energy, more thought, and more of myself than I have available. I forget to take care of me. Then, when I finally need someone to be there, I quietly hope they will notice without my having to ask.

I am not necessarily looking for a favor to be returned. I am hoping someone will check on me before they need something. I am hoping they will ask how I am and stay long enough to hear the real answer. I want to feel seen, valued, remembered, and cared for—not simply useful.

When that doesn't happen, I dim my light. I hold back. I give up a little. But becoming less generous does not make me feel protected; it makes me feel less like myself.

The Fear Beneath the Expectation

I am learning that my expectations are often connected to two deep fears: either it won't get done, or they will leave.

When someone offers to help me, my instinct is usually to take control and do it myself. If I do accept the help, I may feel indebted, as though kindness comes with a bill I will eventually have to pay. Receiving is difficult when you have spent most of your life proving that you can handle everything alone.

I learned very young to be the strong one and the responsible one. Every once in a while, I would mess up or try to live my own life, and the possibility of disappointing someone felt unbearable. A mistake did not feel like a mistake. It felt like proof that I had failed at the very role that made me valuable.

So I kept striving—to be smarter, stronger, more admirable, more successful. I looked for validation that I was good enough. When I did not feel successful or capable, I felt weak, as if I were disappointing everyone around me.

The Validation We Keep Chasing

Sometimes we continue seeking validation from people who have never known how to give it. We keep presenting our accomplishments, our growth, and even our relief, hoping that this time they will finally say, "I see you. I'm proud of you." Instead, we may receive silence, suspicion, criticism, or another reminder that nothing we do will ever feel like enough to them.

Why do we keep caring? Because some part of us still remembers being the child who wanted to be seen, protected, and celebrated. Growing older does not automatically erase that need.

But someone else's inability to recognize our goodness does not mean that goodness is absent. Their lack of affirmation is not an accurate measurement of our worth.

If I could sit beside the younger version of myself, I would wrap my arms around her and say:

Girl, I see you. You are a light to people who don't have one. You serve like no other person. You have a heart bigger than anyone and a mind that can find a solution to almost anything. You can overcome opposition, and even in your darkest struggles, you still reach out to care for others. I know that not letting anyone in is how you learned to protect yourself—but I've got you. You can count on me, not simply because you are a survivor or a warrior, but because the good ones are not forsaken.

Releasing Expectations Without Losing Myself

Letting go of expectations does not mean lowering my standards. It does not mean accepting poor treatment, abandoning my boundaries, or pretending not to care. And it certainly does not mean becoming less loving, less driven, or less generous.

It means releasing the belief that my peace depends upon how other people respond to me. It means understanding that I can communicate what I need without demanding that someone think, feel, or behave exactly as I would. It means allowing people to reveal who they are—and then deciding, with clarity rather than resentment, how close they should be allowed to stand.

It also means releasing the impossible expectations I place on myself. I do not have to be powerful every moment. I do not have to fix every problem, prevent every disappointment, or earn rest through exhaustion. I am allowed to make mistakes. I am allowed to receive. I am allowed to experience joy before every task is finished.

I want to be free. I want a level of peace I have never known. I want to do the work I love, serve from a full heart, and enjoy the life I have worked so hard to build—without giving up who I am.

What Choosing Peace Looks Like

For me, this new beginning does not require a dramatic escape. It looks like waking up when my body is ready. It looks like walking outside with my puppies and feeling the grass beneath my feet. It looks like clearing my inbox, following up with my leads, and doing work that matters to me.

It looks like taking spending time with someone I love and being fully present with them so they feel seen and heard—because everyone needs to feel seen and heard. And it looks like going dancing with friends because I miss dancing. Fun is not a reward I must earn after everyone else is satisfied and every responsibility has been perfectly handled. Joy is part of caring for the woman who carries so much.

I am learning that boundaries do not have to be walls. Sometimes they simply need to shift enough to protect our peace while still allowing love and joy to enter. We do not have to dim our light to stop others from taking too much of it. We can let it shine while becoming more intentional about where, when, and why we give.

Put Your Oxygen Mask on First

If you are exhausted from trying to meet everyone's expectations, but you are afraid that choosing yourself will make you selfish or disappoint the people you love, remember what we are told every time we board an airplane: put your own oxygen mask on first.

You do that so you can remain present and capable of helping the person beside you. If you are not whole, rested, and breathing, you cannot continually give your best—and you may not know how to receive the love others are trying to give you.

It is a circle of life: giving, receiving, resting, and returning. None of us is meant to live on only one side of that circle.

So I am beginning with myself. I am releasing the expectation that I must always be strong, successful, useful, and perfect to deserve love, pride, rest, or joy. I will still serve. I will still care deeply. I will still work hard and look for solutions. But I will no longer abandon myself in the process.

I am not giving up who I am. I am finally giving myself permission to become all of who I am—peaceful, joyful, loved, and free.