Could Over Should

Power of gentler words over Advise, Blame, jabs…

There have been countless times when we rather mindlessly or sometimes even callously use the modal “should.” But the word should carries weight. It implies rules, assumptions, expectations. It often comes without considering the full story without acknowledging circumstances, emotions, capabilities, reflexes, or the unpredictable nature of life.

“You should have done this.” “You shouldn’t have gone there.”

“You should have known better.” We’ve all heard these. Some of us have said them. And every time I hear should used in an accusatory tone, there's a sharp, piercing sound that goes off in my head. It’s not that advice is unwelcome—sometimes it’s even necessary but should often arrives dressed in judgement. Not guidance, not kindness just blame.

Think about it: what’s the intent behind should? Does it solve the problem? Rarely. More often, it stings, presses your anxiety button or worse, ignites defensiveness or shame.

We have a sea of wise idioms in our language “Let bygones be bygones,” “No use crying over spilled milk,” “What's done is done” all urging us to move forward. Yet our go-to response remains should, as if reminding someone of what went wrong will somehow undo it.

The trouble with should is that it leaves no space. No room for alternatives, no grace for mistakes, no allowance for last-minute decisions or unknown pressures. It’s the linguistic equivalent of wagging a finger.

Now, compare that to must. Yes, must sounds authoritative, but it gives direction rather than judgment. Or could softer, more supportive, more collaborative. “I could help next time if you’d like,” sounds far more helpful than, “You should have asked me first.”

Here’s an incident that’s stayed with me.

I took a well-deserved day off, craving a visit to my favourite book café — the kind of place that cradles my soul in peace, caffeine, and stories. I imagined curling up in a quiet corner, sipping my signature brew, and letting the world fade into the pages.

Instead, I walked into chaos.

The café was brimming with people. Every chair was taken, every shelf crowded with browsers. It was a battleground of clinking cups and murmurs — the complete opposite of tranquility. Still, I stayed. My coffee took forever to arrive, the shelves were too full to browse peacefully, but eventually, I managed to find a corner and settle in. Just when the coffee began to warm my fingers and the book started pulling me into its world, I noticed something.

Dark clouds were gathering.

By the time I had paid for my books, packed up, and left the café, it had started to drizzle. Five minutes into my drive, the skies let loose a fury of thunder and lightning that could shake the bravest of hearts.

What followed was a five-hour epic of misery.

A jam-packed road with honking chaos, stalled cars, flooded intersections — and of course, my own car decided to join the rebellion by conking out mid-traffic. I had to push it to the side, plead with passing vehicles (none stopped, except for one knight), and got drenched to the bone in the process. By the time I reached home — tired, wet, sneezing, and done with the world, I was desperate for warmth, both literal and emotional.

Instead, I walked into a snide performance.

One of my roommates, comfortably parked in front of the TV with a bowl of chips, barely glanced up before launching into an unsolicited advice session.

“You shouldn’t have gone that far.” “You should have checked the weather.” “You should have stayed at the café.” “You should be smarter about these things...”

And between every ‘should’, came that irritating crackle of chips. I tried to respond, at first. But as the jabs continued, I found myself eyeing nearby sharp objects, my patience thinning with every smirk.

Then the second roommate walked in.

I braced myself, ready for Round 2.

But she looked at me and gasped. Without saying a word, she disappeared into her room and returned with fresh towels, ushering me to dry off. Then came hot water, an ear to listen, and zero judgment. While I changed into dry clothes, she put the kettle on for tea.

Once she’d heard the entire ordeal, she just said:

“That sounds horrible. I’m so glad you’re safe. Don’t worry about the car, I know someone who can look at it tomorrow.”

And then, with a smile, she added:

“For the next trip, I’m coming with you. But during the rains, how about we stick to Netflix and popcorn?”

Those few kind words, genuine, warm, and utterly free of “should” melted away the heaviness of the day. I may not have found my peace at the café, but in that moment, wrapped in a towel, sipping hot tea, I found something better.

Compassion.

Grammatically, should has its place. But in everyday speech, our loose and frequent use of it has made it harsh even volatile. Especially when directed at someone already going through a difficult moment, should can sound like “you were stupid to do that” whether or not that’s what we meant.

Let’s be honest yes, many missteps in life could be avoided. But when we look deeper, those “wrong” decisions often seemed like the best or only option at the time. When someone is already dealing with the consequences, they need support, not a lecture.

Of course, if a poor decision becomes a pattern, it’s fair and necessary to speak up. But even then, tone and timing matter. We can offer alternatives instead of blame. Instead of “You should have taken the other road,” try “Maybe next time, the other route might be a better option.”

Language is a tool. It’s meant to help us speak our thoughts, express care, correct gently, and inspire growth. But how we use it how we frame our words shapes not just the message, but the emotion behind it.

We have the power to use words that uplift rather than belittle. Words that guide, not scold. Words that leave people feeling seen, not shamed.

So maybe, let’s favour could, would, maybe, perhaps a little more. And use should with care only when it truly fits, and never as a sword.

Because how we speak, ultimately, shapes how we connect.