The Shoulds

My daughter has a nickname for my husband and me. “The Shoulds”.

Or at least she did. Years ago, she started pointing out how often we told her what she should be doing. “You should try this.” “You should do it this way.” “You should have done that first.” “You should really…” Apparently, we did it enough that eventually we became "The Shoulds". And, in fairness, she had a point.

Once she brought it to my attention, I started noticing it too. I tried to stop doing it or at least become much more aware of it. Funny thing is, I recently realized I may have stopped shoulding her but I didn't stop shoulding myself.

I should exercise more. I should get that done today. I should be more patient. I should have handled that better. I should have figured this out by now. I should be further along. It's amazing how much disappointment we can squeeze into six little letters.

I think many of us carry around an invisible rulebook for how life is supposed to go. By this age, I should have figured this out. My life should look different. My relationships should be easier. I should have more energy. I should be happier. I should be more organized. I should be able to handle this. And when life doesn't cooperate with the rulebook which, it rarely does, we don't question the rules. We question ourselves.

That's what I've started noticing about should. It often sounds like motivation. But listen a little more closely and there can be a surprising amount of judgment hiding underneath it. I should be more patient can quietly mean I'm not patient enough. I should have handled that better can become I messed that up. I should be further ahead by now can become I'm falling behind. Behind who or what exactly? Apparently, there is an imaginary woman out there who exercises regularly, keeps up with her emails, drinks enough water, never loses her patience and knows what she's making for dinner before 4:47 p.m. I have yet to meet her.

Then there are the other peoples shoulds.  Of course, we don't save all our shoulds for ourselves. We generously hand them out to everyone else too. They should understand. They should know better. They should appreciate what I've done. They should know that bothered me. They should apologize. They should change. And sometimes? They probably should. People should treat us with kindness and respect. The people closest to us should care when something hurts us. There are expectations in relationships that are completely reasonable. But I've been learning something that I wish weren't quite so true. Believing someone should behave differently doesn't mean they will. And waiting for another person to become who I think they should be isn't a particularly reliable strategy for finding happiness.

That's where I'm trying to change the question. Not: How do I get them to change But: What can I do from here? Maybe that’s what a boundary really is.  I've always thought of boundaries as something we tell other people. Please don't do that. That isn't okay with me. I need you to respect this. But I'm beginning to understand that those are actually requests. The boundary is what I do next. Maybe I end a conversation that's going nowhere. Maybe I stop explaining myself for the seventeenth time. Maybe I say no without feeling I need to provide a three page defence of my decision. Maybe I go do something I enjoy instead of spending the afternoon replaying something somebody said at breakfast.

Maybe I simply decide: I'm not carrying this around all day. That doesn't mean whatever happened was okay. It doesn't mean I wasn't hurt. And it certainly doesn't mean people get a free pass to treat us however they please. It simply means their behaviour doesn't automatically get the rest of my Tuesday too.

I really like that idea. I'm not saying I'm particularly good at it yet. But I like it. And maybe that's what I'm discovering about should in general. It might be less about banning the word and more about noticing when it appears. Instead of: What should I have done? I can ask: What can I do from here? Instead of: I should exercise more. Maybe: I'd like to move more. What would actually feel manageable? Instead of: I should have figured this out by now. Maybe: I haven't figured it out yet. What's one thing I could try next? And perhaps the biggest one: Instead of: They should change. Maybe: If they don't change, what choices do I have? That one lands differently. Because suddenly I'm not standing around waiting for somebody else to become the person I think they should be. I'm looking at the part I actually have some control over. Me.

I don't think getting rid of should means letting ourselves or anyone else off the hook. There are things we need to do. There are times we need to own our mistakes, make changes, try harder or have uncomfortable conversations. And there are times when someone else's behaviour really isn't okay. But there's a difference between recognizing that and spending our days wishing reality were different. Maybe I should becomes: I choose to. I'd like to. I'm willing to try. And sometimes: Actually, I don't want to anymore. That's useful information too.

Apparently sometimes, I actually should.  Not long ago, I was having a conversation with my daughter and son-in-law. They were thanking me for something I'd done, and in my mind they were being far too grateful about it. So naturally, I did what I tend to do when someone says something nice about me. I tried to talk them out of it. “You don't have to thank me.” “It wasn't a big deal.” “Honestly, it's fine.” Apparently, this made absolutely no sense to them. They explained that they weren't thanking me because they felt obligated. They were thanking me because they appreciated what I'd done. And instead of brushing it aside, minimizing it or explaining why it really wasn't worthy of all this fuss, I should simply accept it. Say thank you. Let them appreciate me.

Well. There was a should I hadn't considered. And I realized how uncomfortable I can be receiving praise or appreciation without immediately batting it back across the net. Maybe some of us get so accustomed to noticing what we could have done better that we're not particularly skilled at sitting still when someone notices what we've done well. There seems to be a strange little belief that accepting a compliment too readily might mean we've suddenly developed an enormous ego. But perhaps there is quite a bit of territory between arrogance and arguing with people who say something nice about us.

Maybe we're allowed to quietly know a few things about ourselves too. That we care. That we try. That we show up. That we've made mistakes and learned from some of them. That we've survived things we didn't think we'd get through. That we've brought something worthwhile into other people's lives. Not because we're better than anyone else. Simply because those things are true. And apparently, when someone notices one of them, we're allowed to say: Thank you.

I'm still working on it.

So, this week I'm going to listen for my shoulds. The ones I aim at myself. The ones I quietly aim at other people. And when one pops up, I'm going to try asking: What do I want? What can I change? What do I need to accept? What boundary might I need to keep? And most importantly: What can I do from here?

My daughter figured out years ago that being shoulded isn't particularly enjoyable. Apparently, it has taken me a little longer to realize that shoulding myself or waiting for everyone else to live according to my invisible rulebook isn't much fun either. Although I have to admit, there is something rather satisfying about the daughter who christened us The Shoulds eventually turning around and telling me there was something I should do. Accept the compliment. Maybe I'll let her have that one.

And maybe that's the funny thing about becoming more aware of ourselves. Sometimes it starts with a word. Sometimes with a conversation. And every once in a while, life puts someone in our path who quietly helps us see things a little differently. Not by telling us what's wrong with us, but by holding up a mirror to something we haven't been seeing. I've been fortunate enough to experience a little of that lately.

Changing one little word doesn't change the situation. It doesn't change another person. It doesn't erase what happened. It doesn't magically make life cooperate. It simply changes the place we're standing when we look at it. 

And maybe happiness isn't waiting for other people, our circumstances, or even ourselves to finally become what we think they should be. Maybe some of it begins when we stop looking outward long enough to notice what's already within us.

I am still one of The Shoulds.

I'm just becoming a little more particular about which ones I keep.