We live in a world woven with shoulds—I should be patient. I should be a good mother. I should always be there for others. I should meditate more. I should eat better. I should be in great shape.
These shoulds whisper to us constantly, shaping our actions, emotions, and even our sense of self-worth. They guide us, they give us direction, and often, they lead us toward growth. Let’s be clear—these conditionings are not good or bad. There is beauty in being kind, responsible, present, or disciplined. Many of these shoulds bring us joy, purpose, and fulfillment.
But here’s where we get lost: we don’t just embrace shoulds as possibilities—we unconsciously create an ideal version of ourselves, a version that should always meet these expectations flawlessly.
And where does this version come from?
It comes from the child within us.
For a child, to be loved is to be safe. At a young age, we observed the world around us, learning what was praised, what was accepted, what made us feel secure. And in that innocence, we made choices—unconscious, deeply ingrained choices.
We decided:If I am always kind, I will be loved.If I am successful, I will be safe.If I never disappoint, I will belong.
We created an inner map of how to exist in the world, believing that as long as we followed it, we would be protected. And because no one told us otherwise, we mistook this map for our identity.
But perfection is not something fixed; it is fluid, ever-changing, different for each person, and impossible to define with the human mind. It is an abstract, shifting concept—one that we can never fully grasp.
And yet, we spend our lives trying to match the impossible standard that a much younger version of ourselves created—out of fear, out of longing, out of the simple and natural need to be loved.
We attach to these shoulds so tightly that we believe our happiness, our worth, or even our ability to be loved depends on meeting them. And because this version of perfection doesn’t actually exist, we are left in a constant state of self-judgment.
When we inevitably fall short—when we lose patience, when we miss a workout, when we need space instead of always being there for others—what happens? Instead of allowing ourselves to be human, we reject ourselves. We feel like we are not enough. And if we are not enough, we fear we may lose the love of others, we may feel unsafe, anxious, or as if something terrible is about to happen.
And here is the most subtle trap: because we believe so strongly in these shoulds, we become unconscious to them. We don’t see them as something we adopted—we believe they are us. We become blind to the fact that they are just conditioned thoughts, just mental constructs. And in that blindness, we stay trapped in the shadows of our own mind, constantly trying to measure up to an illusion we can never quite reach.
But here is the shift: what if we simply noticed these shoulds? Not as something to fix, not as something bad, but just as something to see.
Because when we see them clearly, something profound happens—we realize we are not them.
If you can observe your shoulds, then who is the one observing them?
Are these shoulds truly you? Or are they merely the echoes of conditioning—the beliefs handed to you by your upbringing, your culture, your religion, your school, the way your parents, siblings, and friends treated you? Are they patterns formed by experiences, wounds, or survival mechanisms that once kept you safe?
And let’s be clear again—conditioning itself is not the enemy.
Being a good mother is a beautiful and noble conditioning. It can be one of the highest expressions of love. But when we attach to it in such a way that we reject ourselves for not always meeting our own impossible expectations, we unknowingly trap ourselves in a cycle of self-judgment. We confuse the idea of being a good mother with an unattainable version of perfection, and when we inevitably fall short, we suffer.
And it doesn't stop there—we also extend this rejection to others. Just as we judge ourselves, we judge those around us who don’t meet these same shoulds. We project our expectations onto them, feeling frustrated when they don’t align with what we think they should be.
But others are not obstacles to our growth—they are mirrors. They reflect what we are, what we want, and what we don’t want. They show us the very patterns that shape us, not so we can judge them, but so we can see them.
The real game is not about eliminating our conditionings. It is about observing our reactions to failure. It is about noticing how deeply we are attached to these shoulds, as if our peace and happiness depend entirely on achieving them.
And yet, there is a truth waiting to be uncovered:
To be loved is to be love.
The moment we truly realize this, everything changes.
But this realization is not forced. It is not about battling the layers of conditioning or aggressively tearing them away. It is about gentle observation, about curiosity, about allowing.
We peel back the layers, not as an act of struggle, but as a dance of discovery. Each time we see more clearly, we remember who we truly are beneath the conditioning. We realize that our essence has never been lost—only covered by old wounds, thoughts, and reactions.
And the process continues, again and again. It is not a one-time revelation, but a living experience found in this moment, in deep presence.
It is about being with what is, with no resistance. Or if resistance arises, it is about not resisting the resistance—simply observing it.
Transformation does not happen by force. It is not our strength that brings light to the shadows. It is the Divine that transforms, in its own time, in its own way.
It is God who does the healing. We co-create with the Divine not by effort, but by surrender.
When we surrender, we align with Divine intelligence, with the great unfolding. And in that alignment, we experience something far greater than the expectations of the shoulds—something infinitely vast, infinitely loving, and infinitely free.
This is the path—not of fixing, not of judgment, but of seeing. Not of struggle, but of surrender. Not of seeking love, but of realizing we are love.
And every time we remember this, we return home to ourselves.
Katiana
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