A confession: my life is controlled, at least in part, by a 7 year old boy named Lee. I don’t like Lee. I doubt he’d even remember me now, nearly three decades later, but in my head he hasn’t aged a day.
It was a dark, wet lunchtime in the assembly hall at primary school. We were hiding from the rain with games, paper, pens and classmates. I’d just exerted 20 minutes of tongue-out effort on a drawing of the Eiffel Tower when Lee walked over. He saw my drawing, smiled and gleefully announced that it was crap - and that I was fat, too. Crap and fat. Two things that were clearly bad, that I clearly was, and that I clearly shouldn’t be.
Thanks to Lee, I still know - decades on - that I should not be crap and I should not be fat. When I feel I might be either, I feel bad. When I might do something that might lead to feeling that I might be either, I feel bad and don’t do it. I should not attempt things that might make me look crap. I should not risk judgement. I should not rock the boat. 7 year old Lee dropped these shoulds on me and went on his way.
Lee’s throwaway words became rules I never chose. And like most rules we inherit, they shaped me long after he forgot them.
We all carry them. Little rules that say who we should be, what we should do, how we should live. Most of us never chose them, yet they shape us all the same. Shoulds stick over time, like barnacles to a whale. They come from all around:
Family and childhood: A sibling’s summer-holiday jab, a parent’s throwaway line about what counts as a “proper” career. Tiny remarks that still echo in the background when we speak up or hold back.
Comparison and observation: A friend who seems endlessly social (I should get out more). A colleague with unshakable discipline (I should be more like that).
Modern noise: A podcast declaring no alcohol is safe. A book selling the cure for some ailment I might have. Influencers influencing.
Shoulds often serve us well - improvement in health thanks to ‘I should exercise’ finally sticking. They can help you deal with challenges - ‘I should **give myself some kind of routine in the morning’ in the face of weeks or months living in a way you don’t want to.
Many shoulds are less useful though - coping patterns that outlived their usefulness. Some were once useful, but are not any more - the exercise compulsion that doesn’t allow rest days, or the routine that cannot be broken for even the most fulfilling experiences.
Most of us are walking around with more shoulds than could ever be fulfilled with the time we have. Before long, they start to contradict each other; sleep or social? Work or family? Create or hide from Lee?
These contradictions border on identity crises. Modern writers talk about one of the key parts of habit formation being identity - that habits stick when you see yourself as the type of person who would do the habit. ‘I am a runner’ vs ‘I want to run more’. Maybe shoulds sticking is a challenge of identity - of taking on too many, or of not being confident enough in one’s own - often entangled with the urge to please. Some people seem to avoid being bogged down with too many shoulds. Perhaps their confidence in their own identities serves as a useful barrier.
So what should we do with them?
What to do when you feel like carrying all these shoulds might not be serving you?
For me, it began with noticing. A subconscious should is far more dangerous than one that’s been named and interrogated. Noticing Lee’s impact on me has started to make it all seem pretty feeble. Seeing the nagging voice as a bit pathetic gave me more confidence in hoisting my head above the parapet and publishing this essay, for example.
When you feel compelled, ask: is this a want, or a should? Where did this come from? Does it even belong to me, or does it belong to someone else - your own Lee?
Soon it becomes obvious: there are more shoulds than can possibly be satisfied. You’ll never be able to appease them all, and it’s absurd to think - even subconsciously - that you could. As Karen Horney wrote in The Tyranny of Should:
What strikes us first is the same disregard for feasibility which pervades the entire drive for actualization. Many of these demands are of a kind which no human being could fulfill. They are plainly fantastic, although the person himself is not aware of it. He cannot help recognizing it, however, as soon as his expectations are exposed to the clear light of critical thinking.
Each should, once noticed, eventually demands a choice - does this should deserve to stay? Do I want it? Does it serve me?
To understand this, a sense of direction and an understanding of what you actually want is important. A 5am wakeup could be perfect for the Dad trying to get things done before the kids awake and bring their beautiful chaos. A carefree midnight cocktail with the man you may build a family with could be vital for the young woman seeking love. For either of these to be derailed by the other’s misplaced shoulds could be tragic.
Simple in theory; far harder in practice. Many of these shoulds are a little more stubborn and require something deeper to shake them off. Onto the bigger picture.
If we’re more likely to accumulate shoulds when we’re not confident in our identity and when we are operating from a position of people pleasing, then we are likely to combat them when we are confident and living our lives in a way authentic to ourselves. When we are able to trust that our deepest feelings and our intuition are a worthy guide, and that they are more likely to help us than whatever we pick up from the outside world.
When we feel that we are enough, despite all of our flaws. That outside criticism - real, like Lee’s feedback on my infant drawing, or imagined, like his criticism of anything i’ve thought about making since - isn’t relevant to us enjoying and making the most of the only life we have to live.
A life built on shoulds is borrowed. A life built on wants is one’s own.