Most of what limits you isn’t circumstance — it’s syntax.
One tiny, well-meaning word quietly governs your days: should.
“I should be further along.”
“I should say yes.”
“I should want this.”
It sounds virtuous, but “should” isn’t discipline — it’s fear in disguise.
Fear of being wrong.
Fear of being excluded.
Fear that if you choose differently, something vital will collapse.
“Should” speaks the language of responsibility but operates as control. It’s the invisible operating system dictating what success, productivity, and goodness are supposed to look like — written not by you, but by everyone who came before.
The Hidden Cost of “Should”
“Should” wears the mask of maturity. It whispers that you’re being responsible, grounded, professional. But underneath, it’s an emotional transaction — a quiet deal to trade self-trust for social safety.
Every “should” hides a bargain:
- “I should keep this job” = Stay safe through status.
- “I should be grateful” = Avoid judgment.
- “I should push harder” = Earn belonging through performance.
The real danger isn’t the effort. It’s the erosion of authorship.
“Should” rewards you with temporary relief — the small dopamine hit of doing the “right thing.” But relief isn’t freedom. Relief is fear that got what it wanted.
Psychologically, this makes sense. Deci and Ryan’s Self-Determination Theory shows that we thrive when we have autonomy, competence, and connection. “Should” quietly corrodes all three:
- It steals autonomy by outsourcing authority to invisible judges.
- It undermines competence because mastery requires ownership.
- It warps connection by turning relationships into performance.
Neuroscience mirrors this. “Should” triggers the amygdala — the brain’s fear center — while suppressing the dopaminergic networks tied to creativity and intrinsic drive. You stay in motion, but it’s the wrong kind: anxious momentum. You’re sprinting hard in someone else’s maze.
How It Becomes Default
You didn’t invent your “shoulds.” You downloaded them.
Family, school, culture, career — each installed a piece of code.
And because they often worked — getting praise, progress, safety — they stayed.
Over time, the syntax of obligation becomes the structure of thought. You stop hearing “should” as command and start mistaking it for truth.
That’s when it’s most dangerous — not when it shouts, but when it sounds rational.
“Should” doesn’t demand; it defaults. It’s the background process draining your cognitive battery while convincing you it’s keeping you on task.
The first act of freedom, then, isn’t rebellion. It’s awareness. You can’t debug what you don’t see.
Reclaiming Language
Language shapes cognition. The words you use dictate the code your brain runs.
So the fastest way to change behavior isn’t through discipline — it’s through vocabulary.
Start simple:
- List five recurring shoulds. (“I should network more,” “I should stay late,” etc.)
- Ask: Whose voice is this? Parent, mentor, market, culture?
- Translate: Replace “should” with a phrase that exposes agency or fear:
- “I choose to.”
- “I want to.”
- “I could.”
- “I’m afraid not to.”
That last one cuts deepest — “I’m afraid not to” reveals the real contract behind the compliance.
Each replacement reprograms your motivational circuitry. When you use language of choice, you activate the brain’s executive function, not its threat response. Over time, this rewires your internal architecture around autonomy instead of avoidance.
And once you start paying attention, you’ll notice that every “should” hides a signal — a small pulse of resistance or fatigue. That signal isn’t laziness; it’s data. It’s your system telling you you’re out of alignment.
Effort isn’t the enemy. Misaligned effort is.
The work is not to eliminate effort — it’s to make it clean.
When your effort feels clean, even difficulty feels enlivening. That’s what it means to act from want instead of should.
Updating the Operating System
“Should” once served a purpose. It kept you approved, productive, safe. But safety has diminishing returns.
At some point, stability stops being supportive and starts being restrictive.
Unshoulding yourself isn’t about chaos or rebellion. It’s about authorship. It’s the disciplined act of updating your internal software — removing outdated code that confuses fear with wisdom.
You’re not deleting standards; you’re redesigning them.
You’re not rejecting responsibility; you’re reclaiming ownership.
Freedom isn’t the absence of obligation. It’s the presence of choice.
So the question isn’t what should you do?
The question is:
What would you choose if “should” had never entered your vocabulary?
Laurie Stach 