Entitled to Nothing

“You are not entitled to anything.”

At first, these words sound so harsh, almost cruel.

Yet, with a deeper understanding, they can become a source of courage and relief.

When we come into this world as little children, we deserve to be loved, cherished, and treated with care. That is our birthright. And when that love is absent, fractured, or narcissistically withheld, it creates wounds that feel as though they will stay forever.

Of course, we are allowed to feel anger for parents who abandoned us, bullies who tortured us, sadness over lost opportunities, and grief for the love that never came.

Whatever our souls demand to feel, we are allowed to feel it, for as long as our inner child needs.

But at some point, if we are to truly live, we ought to take on radical ownership over our lives.

For in the end, we may be the only ones who can truly save ourselves.

And perhaps, to spiritually grow up starts with finding the delicate balance between knowing we DESERVE to be treated well and realizing, in our bones, that we are ENTITLED to nothing.

Not one person — not even a higher power, nor our most intimate partner, nor our family — is obliged to love us in the precise way we demand to be loved.

Yes, we can, and we should, ask for what we need.

To request kindness, to seek respect, is not selfish — it is an act of self-love, a quiet affirmation of our worth as a sentient being.

But a request is not a guarantee.

And the moment a desire morphs into demand, or a hope hardens into entitlement, we lose our footing.

We regress. We become a child who wants to throw tantrums.

We become our own worst enemies, sabotaging the relationships we care about, the career we built and cherish.

The truth, however stark, is that we are not entitled to anything.

Not even this life we wake to each morning.

Not even tomorrow.

The higher power we may pray to, the people we may lean on — none are obliged to give us what we crave.

“You are not entitled to anything.”

At first, these words may feel like a stab.

But if we let it, it can become a liberation.

Perhaps this is the paradox of spiritual maturity: to stand tall in the world, to assertively express our needs and desires, while gracefully releasing expectations, all fantasies about what happens next.

We must also, in the process, avoid slipping into binary, black-or-white thinking. It is more like a subtle, nuanced understanding that we grasp in order to truly grow up spiritually, emotionally, and relationally.

Perhaps this is what self-ownership means.

It is the quiet but honourable work of growing into our best selves.

True independence is not cutting off people and connection; it is the ability to stand whole and steady on our own two feet, knowing that love, respect, and care, if they come, are gifts freely given, not debts to be collected.

And in this letting go, we may find the most unexpected freedom.

When we no longer cling to the illusion of what we are owed, we open ourselves to the beauty of what IS.

We see life not as a ledger to be balanced, but as a fleeting, fragile miracle. And from this place, we find a vast breathing space in which we roam free.

Phew, indeed.