“should”

I have a habit. When the word should shows up in my thinking — or comes out of my mouth — I stop. Not dramatically. Just a small internal pause. Long enough to ask: where did that come from? And does it belong here?

It sounds like a small thing. It isn't.

I've always been a word nerd. Not in the crossword-puzzle sense — in the sense that I find language genuinely fascinating as a system. The words we reach for reveal the architecture underneath. They show us what we're assuming, what we're avoiding, what we've accepted without examination.

"Should" is one of the most loaded words in the English language. It carries obligation without origin. It tells you what to do without telling you who decided. It arrives already dressed as truth — and most of the time, we let it in without checking its ID.

Think about the last time you used it. I should be further along by now. I should want that. I should be handling this better. Now ask — whose voice is that, really? Is it yours? Or is it something you absorbed so long ago it's started to feel like yours?

Society runs on should.

It is embedded in the instructions we receive from the moment we're old enough to receive them. You should share. You should be grateful. You should know better. You should want to settle down, slow down, speak up, quieten down — depending on who's talking and what they need from you in that moment.

The problem isn't that all of these are wrong. Some of them carry genuine wisdom. Some are worth keeping. But most of us have never actually sorted through which is which. We inherited the whole pile and called it our values. Call it choice.

This is the thing about the subconscious mind — it doesn't distinguish between a belief you chose and a belief you absorbed. It holds them with equal conviction. The should that came from a considered personal value and the should that came from someone else's discomfort sit side by side in there, indistinguishable. Until you start looking.

And looking, it turns out, starts with language. With catching the word before it becomes an action. With asking — not to rebel, not to justify, but simply to know — is this mine?

Not every should will fall apart under that question. Some of them have roots. I value being present, so I should put the phone down. I decide this should will stay because it comes from me. I care about this relationship, so I should make time for that conversation. Those shoulds came from somewhere real, something genuinely chosen.

Those above came from me and so, they belong. But a lot of them don't… A lot of them are noise — other people's preferences wearing your voice. And the only way to tell the difference is to stop, just for a moment, and ask. To pay attention.

Once you start noticing it, you find it in the strangest places. In how you spend your Sundays. In what you order at a restaurant when someone else is watching. In the career path you stayed on past the point it stopped making sense. In what you reach for to wear in the morning — whether getting dressed is an act of self-expression or just another should you've never examined.

It's all too easy for the way we dress to become a should rather than a genuine form of expression. Another place where other people's expectations — about what's appropriate, flattering, acceptable — quietly take the wheel without us noticing.

The practice isn't a grand overhaul. It's just a pause. A small, honest question every time that word surfaces:

Where does this should come from? And does it belong here?

See what it opens up for you.