The Struggle of Not Meeting Expectations

The Struggle of Not Meeting Expectations

I’m 19, and somehow, I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. As a woman, as a daughter, there’s an expectation to have it all together—particularly when it comes to the household. I should know how to cook, how to clean, how to do everything perfectly. But here’s the truth: I don’t. I try, but I always end up failing.

Cooking, in particular, has been the biggest challenge. I’ve tried so hard to get it right. I’ve had moments where everything falls into place, where the meal comes out just as it should, and for a brief moment, I feel a sense of accomplishment. The house is in a good mood, my family’s proud, but then, it’s like I hit a wall. The next time, everything seems to go wrong again, and I find myself back in the cycle of disappointment. Sometimes, I even ask if I did it right, but there’s that fear of hearing that I haven’t. And it stings, every time.

The kitchen has become a battleground. When I stand next to my mom, I feel suffocated. There’s no room for mistakes, no understanding that I’m trying, that I’m learning. When I used to ask questions, eager to learn, I was stopped with words that still echo in my mind: “You’re a woman. You should know these things by now.” It was as if my effort didn’t matter. It wasn’t about learning; it was about being expected to already know everything. That left me with a sense of inadequacy that I carry with me today.

And it doesn’t stop there. I hear my mom telling others that I know how to clean but can’t cook. It’s almost like she’s announcing my failure, putting me in a box where my worth is measured by my cooking skills, or lack thereof. It makes me feel like I’ll never meet the standard, that I’ll always be seen as the one who can’t get it right.

Sometimes, I wonder if things would be different if I were a boy. I’ve seen my brother get away with things I could never dream of. There are no expectations for him to cook, no pressure to clean, no judgment for not knowing how to do those things. The privileges boys seem to have are stark. Maybe it’s easier for them, or maybe the world just expects more from girls. The roles we’re given are different, and it’s hard not to feel the weight of that difference every day.

But, as much as it hurts, I wonder if this struggle is just part of growing up. Maybe it’s not about getting everything perfect the first time, or even the tenth time. Maybe it’s about learning, trying, and finding my way, no matter how hard it is. Maybe one day, I’ll find my own way to do things, and it won’t be about meeting someone else’s expectations, but about doing things my own way, in my own time.