I’ve been thinking of “should” vs. “could.”
“I should go to bed.” “I should exercise more.” “I should just get over this hurt.” In therapy, I often talk with clients about the difference and help them explore what it might be like to shift into a “could” mindset. It is a daily practice to be aware enough to catch ourselves in “should/have to,” and then to realize we have a choice.
In thinking of this topic, I decided to see what AI might come up with. I asked it to write about “could” versus “should” in the style of some of my favorite writers. This was a fun experiment–I’d love to know what you think.
Chat GPT in the style of Annie Dillard on “Should” vs. “Could”
In the dim morning light, I am compelled to untangle the snare of “should” from the gentler, freer tendrils of “could.” It is a task that requires patience, for the former clings stubbornly, moss-like, to every decision, weighing down the limbs of action. “Should” whispers with an austere authority, suggesting that life is a ledger, each deed a credit or debit. It is the voice of inheritance—not the tender passing of genes, but of expectations, of imagined duty, of roles defined by invisible architects long before you were born.
“Could,” by contrast, is a meadow at dawn, unmarked by footpaths. It invites wandering. Its boundaries dissolve in the mist, opening to possibility rather than demand. To live by “could” is to apprentice yourself to wonder, to gaze at the horizon not as a line to cross but as an invitation to explore. The distinction is no trifling matter, for the frame through which you see is the architecture of the life you build.
I think now of the times I’ve obeyed “should” as if it were a law inscribed on stone tablets. You should write a novel; you should take the promotion; you should speak up in that meeting, because if not, who will? The word bears a weight of inevitability. To resist it feels not like rebellion but irresponsibility. The weight accumulates. A person bent under the heavy sky of “should” moves through the hours as though trudging through snowdrifts. Each step is effortful, and the joy of movement is forgotten.
“Could” speaks softer. It does not carry a whip. “Could” says, “What if?” It peers around corners, tilts its head toward unexpected sounds. It is the child at the edge of a forest, gazing at the unmarked trails. When I follow “could,” I am not guaranteed success, but I am offered wonder. What could happen if I write, if I step aside, if I turn my attention to the overlooked rather than the obligatory? “Could” unfurls a map of uncharted territory; “should” enforces a preordained script.
The interplay of these two forces shapes the texture of a life. Perhaps “should” is not without its merits. It tempers the wildness of “could,” anchors it against whimsy. But “should” is a jealous god, insistent and unyielding. If allowed dominion, it chokes out the delicate shoots of “could.” I have found, though, that “could” is persistent. It roots itself in cracks, in the unguarded moments when the heart softens. It flowers in the shade, patiently awaiting its moment in the sun.
This morning, the air is crisp, the light golden. A bird—a warbler, I think—calls from a bare branch. It does not sing because it should; it sings because it can. The song is unrepeatable, not because it is perfect, but because it exists at all. In its melody, I hear the whisper of “could.” Today, I will follow it—not to any particular end, but simply to see where it leads.
Chat GPT in the style of Barbara Kingsolver on “Should” vs. “Could”
The difference between “should” and “could” comes down to the story you’re willing to tell yourself about the world and your place in it. “Should” is the stern voice of practicality, with no room for detours or wonder. It measures your choices by what is expected, as if life were a series of ladders, each rung leading predictably to the next. “Could,” on the other hand, is the story of possibility. It starts with curiosity, not obligation. It asks: What if? And sometimes, Why not?
I’ve spent years navigating the pull of “should” versus “could,” sometimes without even realizing it. In my twenties, I worked a job that checked all the “should” boxes—decent pay, benefits, a path to stability. I commuted an hour each way, sat in meetings where no one seemed to care much about what we were doing, and spent evenings too drained to imagine an alternative. I stayed because I thought I should: because my parents would be proud, because it looked good on paper, because it’s what people do. The story of “should” is easy to slip into. It’s a well-worn trail with plenty of signposts.
But then, one day, a friend asked, “What could you do instead?” The question startled me. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about “could.” It seemed frivolous, even dangerous. But once I let the idea in, it grew. I could move closer to home. I could take a job that didn’t drain me. I could learn to trust that life might not fall apart if I stopped doing what I thought I was supposed to. None of these ideas were guaranteed to succeed, but they all felt alive in a way that “should” never had.
For some people, “should” is a necessary scaffold, keeping things upright when life feels unsteady. It’s not all bad. There are days when you have to pay the bills, feed the kids, show up for work because the alternative is chaos. But “should” has a way of creeping beyond its usefulness, turning into a cage rather than a guide.
“Could,” though, is a quieter thing, less forceful but no less powerful. It shows up in moments of stillness—when you pause to notice the sun slanting through the trees or hear a child’s laugh and think, I could make time for this. It’s the nudge to take the long way home, to try the new recipe even if it might flop, to imagine a life that doesn’t match the rungs on the ladder but feels right anyway.
Last summer, I watched my neighbor plant wildflowers in a patch of rocky, unused ground at the edge of her yard. “You could put in grass,” I said, knowing that’s what most people would do. “Oh, I should, probably,” she replied, smiling. “But this feels more interesting.” By August, the wildflowers were a riot of color, bees and butterflies humming through the blossoms. They weren’t neat or predictable, but they were exactly what the space needed. I think about those wildflowers often when I’m trying to choose between “should” and “could.”
Life isn’t always a meadow full of wildflowers, of course. There are days when “should” feels like the only option, and that’s okay. But I’ve learned to make space for “could,” to let it poke through the cracks like a dandelion in the pavement. It’s not about abandoning responsibility. It’s about allowing wonder to have a seat at the table. And sometimes, it’s about realizing that the story you thought you were supposed to live might not be the one you’re meant to.
Chat GPT in the style of “Margaret Atwood as a therapist” on “Should” vs. “Could”
The weight of the word “should” hangs heavy in the room. It is the quiet but unyielding presence, like a stubborn shadow that follows you no matter how many turns you make. Shoulds are the expectations we’ve inherited, the rules we’ve internalized, the lists of tasks, moral codes, and paths laid out by others. Shoulds are the maps others draw for us, always insisting that the way forward is clearly marked, clearly defined. But are they?
As a therapist, one of the most common phrases I hear in the room is, “I should…” It rolls off the tongue like a confession, a claim to some higher moral law, something that must be done to reach some promised land of perfection, or peace, or approval. “I should be kinder.” “I should work harder.” “I should love more.” These shoulds are demanding. They command us to change, to be better versions of ourselves, to live up to an ideal that has been shaped by a world too busy to let us stop and ask: “Why?”
But before we dismiss the notion of “should” entirely, it’s worth considering its origins. The word itself is old, rooted in moral philosophy, tied to duty, to right and wrong, to a relentless pull toward “doing it right.” It’s not the word itself that’s the problem, but the force with which we wield it. The burden it carries. Because in the realm of therapy, “should” is often a quiet assassin of self-compassion.
Then there’s the word “could.”
“Could” is the softer counterpart. It carries no obligation, only possibility. It’s a word that opens doors, that gently invites us to look around, to explore different options, to imagine what might be without the threat of failure. “Could” suggests potential, not perfection. “Could” allows for choice, for freedom from the tyranny of should. But “could” is not as neat or as tidy as “should.” It doesn’t give us the certainty we often crave. And that, in itself, can feel unsettling.
When we shift from “should” to “could,” we enter into a realm of possibility, not a demand. “Could” implies that what we choose to do next, or not do, is within our agency, within our control. It doesn’t force us to fulfill an ideal; it simply asks, “What might be?” And in that question, we are allowed to breathe. We are allowed to stumble. We are allowed to be human.
So what happens when we stop living by shoulds and embrace coulds?
The first thing that happens is that we open up space to ask questions: “What do I really want?” “What would make me happy?” “How can I grow, not because I have to, but because I choose to?” The second thing that happens is that we begin to realize that we have been living under a kind of tyranny—a tyranny of our own making. The relentless striving for ideals that do not serve us. The internalized voices that tell us that we are never enough.
Imagine a life where the word “could” takes the lead. Where we approach our goals with curiosity instead of obligation, with tenderness instead of pressure. Could we make different choices? Could we forgive ourselves for past mistakes? Could we let go of the old stories that no longer serve us? Could we listen to the quiet voice that says, “It’s okay to be where you are right now”?
Here’s the catch, though: moving from “should” to “could” is not always a smooth transition. It requires us to step back and reassess, to become aware of the ingrained beliefs that have shaped us. It requires, at times, a letting go of the need for approval, of the need to be seen as “good” or “successful” in the eyes of others. It’s a reimagining of what it means to be enough. To simply be.
But here’s the truth: you are enough. Even without the shoulds. Even without the endless striving. You could do so much, but you don’t have to. And sometimes, in the stillness of accepting that you don’t have to do anything but simply be, you will find yourself more connected to the world, and to yourself, than ever before.
So I ask you: What would it look like if you gave yourself permission to stop living by shoulds?
What would it feel like to start living by coulds? The answer is yours to find. And in that search, I hope you find a little more peace and a little more room to breathe.
Words from a Human (me, Joanna)
This was a fun exercise, and I admit I like most of what the AI came up with. I even agree with most it, but I would add a couple points.
When we switch to “could,” even for things like paying bills or feeding kids (see the Barbara Kingsolver version), it gives us a chance to tap into our deeper values. There is a fear that switching to “could” will lead us to abandon responsibility entirely. But most humans won’t. Most of us will have the ability to tap into our values. Here is what the process could look like:
“I should pay that bill. (pause, recognize should, switch to could) I could pay that bill right now, or I could put it off. (pause) What do I want? What is going to be most effective in the long-term at building the life I want? What do I want to choose right now?”
Should is like a bully, kicking us around our lives, getting us to do things out of force. Could highlights possibility and choice. Imagine what this could do for your life–if nothing were forced, and you acted out of desire and choice.
This is what I believe is the most important thing I do as a therapist: enhance my clients’ freedom and ability to choose. Working through trauma, relationship patterns, behavioral habits, and removing shoulds all help to increase a client’s ability to choose.
If you want to talk to someone about how this process might look for you, please reach out. We have several compassionate, insightful therapists ready to help you in your journey.
