The Weight of 'Shoulds'

Chapter 9: The Weight of 'Shoulds'

The weight settled on my shoulders like a damp, heavy cloak. It wasn’t a physical weight, not the kind I could shrug off or adjust. This was the weight of ‘shoulds.’ The ‘shoulds’ that whispered from the pages of magazines, that echoed in my mother’s gentle sighs, that materialized in Marcus Bellweather’s perfectly pressed suits and his pronouncements on sensible careers. I should be more organized. I should be more outgoing. I should be focused. I should be… someone else.

It was a relentless tide, this pressure to conform. Every interaction felt like a subtle examination, a silent grading of my performance as Elara Vance. Anya, bless her steady heart, tried to understand. She’d listen patiently as I fumbled through my latest attempt at a new identity – the aspiring poet, the amateur astronomer, the volunteer at the animal shelter. "It’s okay, Elara," she’d say, her voice a warm balm. "It takes time to find what fits." But even Anya’s understanding had its limits. She saw my restlessness, but she didn’t feel the gnawing emptiness, the desperate need to peel off this ill-fitting skin and find one that truly belonged.