the weight of expectation

The Weight of Expectation

By: John Kazerooni

Once, in a picturesque and peaceful city, two beautiful souls met and fell deeply in love. Their connection was pure and radiant—so profound that distance between them seemed impossible. Their days were woven with tenderness, laughter, and shared dreams. In time, their love blossomed into a family—children born of affection, innocence, and joy.

For a while, their lives shone like a golden morning. The walls of their home echoed with laughter—tickling games, flour-dusted hands baking cookies, bedtime stories whispered under soft light, sunlight spilling across pages as the children dreamed of faraway worlds. Weekends were adventures: piano lessons, soccer games, walks through meadows, and rainy afternoons spent painting and building forts. Their love was quiet, tender, and constant—a rhythm of shared moments that turned ordinary life into something beautiful.

But life often tests even the purest bonds. One of the lovers began to build expectations in his heart—small at first, then growing into walls constructed from imagination and pride. What began as love slowly became possession; what once was joy turned into silent demand. These expectations clouded the purity of their love and began to strain the bonds with their children. Laughter dimmed, trust weakened, and separation took root. The home that once radiated warmth became a battlefield of silence—an unseen wound inflicted not by hatred, but by pride, neglect, and unspoken need.

The children, confused and wounded, wandered between fading warmth and growing distance. Their innocent eyes searched for the love that once held them safe, now fractured and uncertain. Mealtimes once filled with stories and smiles became quiet rituals of endurance. Every corner of the home seemed to whisper of what had been lost.

This is what we often do in life—to lovers, friends, and family. We begin with love, then burden it with expectations. We want others to walk our path, think our thoughts, and mirror our emotions. In doing so, we forget that love is freedom, not ownership. Expectations, though natural, become a quiet poison. They corrode trust, breed disappointment, and blind us to the simple beauty of what is. Even love itself can turn into a silent weight, pressing down on all that was once light and free.

Yet love and peace can only survive when respect flows both ways—when each heart learns not only to be understood but to understand, not only to be accepted but to accept. Lowering expectations is not surrendering; it is protecting what matters most. For when love becomes one-sided—when only one bends, forgives, or listens—its spirit begins to fade. A love sustained by one heart alone cannot endure; it withers, leaving behind the ruins of relationships and family.

Still, even amid the ruins, something sacred endures. The children carry both the warmth and the wounds of that early love. They remember the laughter, but also the silence that followed. The echoes of their parents’ expectations linger, shaping how they trust, love, and dream. Some unknowingly repeat the patterns; others, tempered by pain, learn forgiveness, gentleness, and letting go. The ache never fully disappears, but it matures into wisdom—a quiet understanding that love, to remain pure, must be free.

Perhaps this is the truest reflection of love’s power: it can nurture, but it can also wound. It leaves traces that neither time nor distance can erase. And while some may find healing and forgiveness in later years, others may live forever with the ache of what was lost. Love, even when broken, continues to live—sometimes as a light, sometimes as a lesson, sometimes as both—a silent reminder of the weight of expectation, and a guide toward something better.

Still, the questions linger:

Can we ever truly free ourselves from the poison of expectation?

What gives rise to high and unreasonable demands?

Is it a wound that calls for a physician—or a healing of the heart?

Is love sustainable without demands or expectations?

And if it can—might that be the purest form of love there is?

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