Existing Between Expectations

“You have to be thin, but not too thin.”

As Gloria continued speaking in Barbie, the theater became unusually quiet. Her monologue was funny because it was exaggerated, but it was uncomfortable because almost none of it felt unfamiliar. Be successful, but never intimidating. Be confident, but not arrogant. Be attractive, but do not appear to care too much about your appearance. Speak up, but remain agreeable. Work hard, but make it look effortless.

Before watching the film, I assumed Barbie represented an impossible physical standard. After watching it, I understood that the greater impossibility was not her appearance. It was the expectation that women must become everything at once.

I have felt those contradictions in ways that are both large and ordinary.

As a young woman, I am often expected to be ambitious but never overwhelming. I should have strong opinions, but express them gently. I should be confident, but never appear self-centered. I should care deeply about my future, while still making every responsibility look effortless.

As an athlete, I am expected to be powerful but still graceful. I must be competitive without seeming aggressive and confident without appearing intimidating. Even leadership creates contradictions. A leader should be decisive, but a girl who gives direct instructions can quickly be described as controlling. She should express her ideas, but never so firmly that others become uncomfortable.

For a long time, I tried to solve these contradictions by becoming adaptable. I learned to read a room before I entered it fully. I adjusted my volume, opinions, and personality according to what I thought others expected. This made me easy to accept, but increasingly difficult for me to recognize.

The problem with constantly becoming the person a situation demands is that eventually, you forget which version is yours.

In Barbie, the characters initially inhabit a world that appears perfect. Everyone has an assigned identity: President Barbie, Doctor Barbie, Writer Barbie, and Stereotypical Barbie. Their titles make them easy to understand. Real people are harder to categorize. We can be ambitious and insecure, compassionate and impatient, independent and still in need of support. We are not consistent enough to fit inside labeled boxes.

Through leadership, athletics, volunteering, and community service, I became increasingly aware of that complexity. I wanted to be dependable, capable, kind, confident, and composed in every setting. I believed that admitting I felt overwhelmed would disappoint the people who relied on me.

So I continued saying that I was fine.

Sometimes, I was not.

Eventually, I had to admit that strength did not mean functioning without emotion. I could be ambitious and still feel uncertain. I could help others and still need support. I could be confident while continuing to grow.

Those truths did not cancel one another.

That realization is why Gloria’s speech stayed with me. The impossible expectations she describes are powerful because women often internalize them before anyone says them aloud. We begin correcting ourselves automatically. We apologize before offering opinions. We call our ambitions unrealistic before anyone else has the opportunity. We interpret exhaustion as weakness instead of evidence that we have been carrying too much.

The solution is not to satisfy every expectation more successfully. It is to question why we accepted them as requirements in the first place.

I still care deeply about succeeding. I want to become a physician, lead community initiatives, advocate for preventive healthcare, and make my family proud. But I am learning that ambition does not require me to become flawless. Confidence does not require constant certainty. Strength does not require silence.

At the end of Barbie, Barbie chooses to become human. She exchanges perfection for uncertainty, permanence for change, and an assigned identity for the freedom to construct one herself.

I once believed growing up meant discovering the perfect version of myself and maintaining her.

Now, I believe it means allowing myself to become someone real.

“You have to be thin, but not too thin.”

As Gloria continued speaking in Barbie, the theater became unusually quiet. Her monologue was funny because it was exaggerated, but it was uncomfortable because almost none of it felt unfamiliar. Be successful, but never intimidating. Be confident, but not arrogant. Be attractive, but do not appear to care too much about your appearance. Speak up, but remain agreeable. Work hard, but make it look effortless.

Before watching the film, I assumed Barbie represented an impossible physical standard. After watching it, I understood that the greater impossibility was not her appearance. It was the expectation that women must become everything at once.

I have felt those contradictions in ways that are both large and ordinary.

As a young woman, I am often expected to be ambitious but never overwhelming. I should have strong opinions, but express them gently. I should be confident, but never appear self-centered. I should care deeply about my future, while still making every responsibility look effortless.

As an athlete, I am expected to be powerful but still graceful. I must be competitive without seeming aggressive and confident without appearing intimidating. Even leadership creates contradictions. A leader should be decisive, but a girl who gives direct instructions can quickly be described as controlling. She should express her ideas, but never so firmly that others become uncomfortable.

For a long time, I tried to solve these contradictions by becoming adaptable. I learned to read a room before I entered it fully. I adjusted my volume, opinions, and personality according to what I thought others expected. This made me easy to accept, but increasingly difficult for me to recognize.

The problem with constantly becoming the person a situation demands is that eventually, you forget which version is yours.

In Barbie, the characters initially inhabit a world that appears perfect. Everyone has an assigned identity: President Barbie, Doctor Barbie, Writer Barbie, and Stereotypical Barbie. Their titles make them easy to understand. Real people are harder to categorize. We can be ambitious and insecure, compassionate and impatient, independent and still in need of support. We are not consistent enough to fit inside labeled boxes.

Through leadership, athletics, volunteering, and community service, I became increasingly aware of that complexity. I wanted to be dependable, capable, kind, confident, and composed in every setting. I believed that admitting I felt overwhelmed would disappoint the people who relied on me.

So I continued saying that I was fine.

Sometimes, I was not.

Eventually, I had to admit that strength did not mean functioning without emotion. I could be ambitious and still feel uncertain. I could help others and still need support. I could be confident while continuing to grow.

Those truths did not cancel one another.

That realization is why Gloria’s speech stayed with me. The impossible expectations she describes are powerful because women often internalize them before anyone says them aloud. We begin correcting ourselves automatically. We apologize before offering opinions. We call our ambitions unrealistic before anyone else has the opportunity. We interpret exhaustion as weakness instead of evidence that we have been carrying too much.

The solution is not to satisfy every expectation more successfully. It is to question why we accepted them as requirements in the first place.

I still care deeply about succeeding. I want to become a physician, lead community initiatives, advocate for preventive healthcare, and make my family proud. But I am learning that ambition does not require me to become flawless. Confidence does not require constant certainty. Strength does not require silence.

At the end of Barbie, Barbie chooses to become human. She exchanges perfection for uncertainty, permanence for change, and an assigned identity for the freedom to construct one herself.

I once believed growing up meant discovering the perfect version of myself and maintaining her.

Now, I believe it means allowing myself to become someone real.