The Weight of Expectation

The Truth About Expectations: Mine, Yours, and Ours

I’ve been thinking a lot about expectations lately — the ones I carry, the ones I place on others, and the ones that quietly shape my days without me even realizing.

My husband. My kids. My friends.
Myself, most of all.

Sometimes I’ve told myself that expecting less means less disappointment. But that feels like a dismal way to live — like shrinking down your hope just to avoid friction. And frankly, that’s not the woman I want to be at 49 and a half.

The Expectations I Place on Myself

If I’m being honest, I expect the most from me.

I expect to be calm and competent, strong and soft, driven and grounded. I expect to look a certain way, perform a certain way, show up a certain way — even when I’m tired.

I don’t lower the bar for myself. I raise it.
And while that’s made me successful in a lot of areas, it’s also made rest feel like a luxury I haven’t earned.

Marriage and Shifting Roles

I have this quiet expectation that my husband should provide for me — not because I can’t, but because I always have.

For years, I’ve carried my own financial weight. I’ve made the plans, managed the schedules, kept all the wheels turning. And part of me wonders: is it okay to want to put some of that down? To expect something different now?

But then I ask myself — is that expectation fair? Or is it based on a version of life I haven’t fully examined?

This isn’t about dependence. It’s about evolving. And figuring out what partnership looks like when the roles start to shift.

Friendship and Frustration

Sometimes I find myself frustrated when friends don’t prioritize themselves — when they say they don’t have time to work out, or grab lunch, or do anything that isn’t for someone else.

And it’s not that they aren’t busy — they are. Just like me.
But I wonder: if I can find a way to make space for myself, why can’t they?

It’s something I’m working on, because that frustration can turn into quiet judgment. And I don’t want to hold my friends to a standard I’ve never said out loud.

But I do crave friendships where there’s shared energy — not the same routines, but the same intention. The same effort to show up for yourself, and for each other.

Maybe that’s part of midlife too: paying attention to how people spend their time — and choosing to stay close to the ones who spend it with care.

So Where Does That Leave Me?

I’m not done wrestling with these questions.

I still don’t know the perfect balance between high standards and grace, between independence and partnership, between judgment and discernment.

But I do know this: expectations shape how we love, how we lead, and how we live. And I want mine to come from a place of trust, not fear. Of vision, not control.

Even if that means getting disappointed now and then.