A recent conversation made me write this piece because expectation is definitely far larger than we admit. Most of the time, we recognize it only when it hurts. But it does not begin there, in fact it’s quietly a part of our everyday life, and so seamlessly that it feels both normal and necessary.

From the moment the day starts, expectation is already at work. In households, it moves through chores, roles, and unspoken understandings of who will do what, who will remember, who will notice, who will listen. In friendships and sibling bonds, it appears as assumptions of availability, loyalty, and emotional presence. In workplaces, expectations become formalized: deadlines, performance, meetings, and salaries. In fact, much of material life runs on expectation. Without it, coordination would collapse.

See, expectation is not wrong or bad. It is functional. It belongs to Sansar. If one chooses to remain fully invested in the material field, expectation will continue to operate. That fluctuation is not a failure; it is simply how the world moves.

The trouble begins only when an expectation is asked to deliver something it cannot.

Expectation is not painful by nature. It becomes unbearable when it is placed without noticing, or in simpler words, when it assumes more than what is actually present. At times, it expects change where there is only repetition, reassurance where there is only silence, commitment where there is only curiosity, appreciation where there is only acknowledgement, surrender where there is only resignation. These assumptions are rarely conscious. They form silently, and by the time they surface, the heart is already invested.

When such an expectation is not met, the pain will feel personal. The mind will translate mismatch into rejection, rejection into insult, absence into neglect, and limitation into loss. Even when nothing objectively wrong occurred, even when no promise was made or broken… the hurt will still feel real, because the expectation was real. This is a failure of clarity, nothing else.

Expectation is more binding than desire. Desire may rise and fall, but expectation waits. It measures, negotiates, and carries an unspoken demand. “Because I did this, some gain should happen in return.” “Because there is closeness, there should be reassurance.” “Because there is a connection, there should be understanding.” These demands are rarely voiced, yet they quietly shape the mind.

If you inspect closely, expectation is a movement away from the present and towards the future orientation. And in that subtle shift itself, tension begins.

This does not mean you must reject relationships or withdraw from life. Nor does it mean becoming emotionally indifferent in the name of spirituality. Expectation will arise as long as one is human. The question is not whether expectation exists, but whether one knows where it belongs.

In material life, expectation has utility. It keeps things moving. Whereas the moment one turns towards Atman, expectation becomes an obstruction. Peace does not negotiate. It’s not here on conditions. Your waiting or bargaining is not getting you peace. By its very nature, expectation keeps attention on seeking a response. In this sense, it becomes a form of bondage, a veil that keeps consciousness engaged with outcome rather than presence.

At this point, a familiar fear often arises. If expectation is dropped, won’t one be taken for granted? Won’t the world misuse such openness? This fear deserves to be looked at, honestly… because who is this ‘one’ that can be taken for granted? And what identity must be in place for that fear to exist?

Being taken for granted is not something that happens to the Self. It happens to images and identities. When selfhood is constructed from recognition, usefulness, emotional relevance, or moral positioning, it constantly seeks confirmation from outside. In that state, expectation feels necessary for survival. Without it, the constructed self fears collapse.

This is why conversations rarely move beyond the surface. It is easier to say, “I am detached,” “I am an empath,” “I am deeply connected,” “I am successful,” or “I have achieved much.” These statements form protective identities. They offer structure and safety. To question them feels destabilizing. Because if the identity cracks, what remains? This question is quietly avoided. Not because it is irrelevant, but because it demands courage. To risk appearing empty, even to oneself. To allow the possibility that what one has been defending may have been a facade or a defense mechanism.

This is why expectation, identity, surrender, peace, and maya cannot be treated as separate topics. They are entangled movements of the same process. Expectation clings to identity. Identity resists dissolution. Resistance sustains bondage. And bondage keeps attention circling the surface of life.

The adhyatma does not demand withdrawal from the world. It asks for precision. Distinction between expectation serving sansar, and obstructing atman. Between identity being used as a tool, and being a prison.

When expectation loosens, what remains is clarity. And when identity softens, what appears is space.

That space is what has always been referred to as Atman. Everything else is either preparation to recognize it or resistance to letting it be seen.

So, enough of that bondage?

Yours,
Brahmamayee