Expectations have a way of settling on your shoulders long before you even name them. They start as whispers—gentle, almost harmless—until they grow into a chorus that drowns out your quiet voice.
I grew up on a steady diet of "You should," "You must," and "Someday you'll understand." Obedience once felt like the price of belonging. But over time, those invisible commands became bricks stacked into a tower I could neither climb nor escape.
I spent years trying to be the girl everyone believed I should be: the responsible one, always on time; the calm one, biting back sharp replies; the one who never questioned too loudly or cried too long. I tucked away my dreams—the desire to study art instead of accounting, the longing for spontaneous adventures—so neatly that even I forgot they were there.
One evening, I sat on the edge of my bed, assignments scattered around me, the room dimly lit. I faced my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back was unfamiliar. Tears spilled freely, hot and unfiltered, washing away years of pretense. That night, I made a promise: the world would no longer decide the boundaries of my becoming.
I started drawing gentle boundaries—declining requests that drained me, choosing quiet evenings over noisy events. I treated failures as lessons rather than judgments, and victories as small markers on a much longer journey. Slowly, I learned to let opinions slide past, like leaves on the wind. I could not stop them from flying, but I could choose which ones to carry.
The quiet voice within, long ignored, began to speak. Timid at first, it grew steadier with every choice I made for myself. It reminded me that becoming was not defiance—it was sacred responsibility. Courage, honesty, and gentleness became my companions.
Expectations still lingered, as they always will. But they no longer dictated my path. I walked free, guided by purpose, embracing mistakes, detours, triumphs, and uncertainties alike. Bit by bit, I bloomed where I had once been afraid to plant anything. The greatest expectation I now met was my own: to evolve, to rise, and to remain true.
And as I set down my journal that night, a flicker of anticipation stirred in me: if I could rise alone, what heights could I reach with those who walked beside me?