Loaves, Limits, and Letting Go: What Sourdough Is Teaching Me About Expectations
When Expectations Crowd the Counter
There are days when my biggest obstacle isn’t the dough in front of me—it’s the voice in my head.
It sounds like this:
You should be baking more.
You should be posting more.
You should be at that level by now.
Look at what they are doing.
Expectations pile up the way flour does: lightly, then all at once. What starts as a simple hope, “I’d love to grow this little bakery,” subtly turns into pressure: “If I don’t hit this number, this event, this look, I’m behind.” Before I realize it, my joy has been quietly swapped for anxiety. The craft I love becomes something I’m trying to “keep up” with, instead of something I’m receiving as a gift.
I’ve learned this the hard way: when I let expectations run the show, my baking, and my spirit, both suffer.
The Trap of Measuring Myself Against Other Bakers
Social media is a blessing and a snare. I can watch an incredible baker across the country shape perfect bâtards, score like an artist, fill tables with pastries I’ve never even attempted. I can learn so much: and I do. But if I’m not careful, admiration turns into comparison, and comparison turns into shame.
Suddenly my mind is full of “not enough”:
My crust isn’t as dark.
My scoring isn’t as intricate.
My menu isn’t as big.
My business isn’t as polished.
And yet, the people who come to my porch, a community table, or the New York Butcher Shoppe aren’t asking for perfection. They’re asking for bread that is honest, nourishing, and made with care. They’re not scrolling my mental list of failures; they’re slicing into a loaf that came from this kitchen, these hands, this life story.
When I compare my path to another baker’s, I’m measuring something God never asked me to measure. He didn’t call me to be the best baker on the internet. He called me to be faithful with what’s right in front of me.
Expectations as a Kind of Future-Tripping
In sobriety, I learned about “future tripping”…racing ahead in my mind to every possible disaster and then living as if it’s all already true. Expectations can be a cousin to that. Instead of catastrophes, they fill my head with invisible scorecards:
By now, you should be here.
Real bakers do this.
Real businesses look like that.
When I’m lost in expectation, I’m not in the room with the dough. I’m not with the starter, the scale, the gentle folds. I’m somewhere else entirely; living in an imaginary future where I’ve already been judged and found lacking.
But sourdough only lives in the present. It doesn’t care about where I “should” be. It responds to temperature, time, and touch right now. If my mind is ten steps ahead, I miss the quiet cues of the dough and, more importantly, the quiet presence of God in the moment.
What the Dough Knows: Returning to the Work in Front of Me
Bread has a way of humbling expectations.
You can follow the same formula and get a different result. One day the loaf springs high with a singing crust; the next it spreads a little, stubborn and low. Each bake reminds me: I am not fully in control. My job is to show up, pay attention, and do the next right thing, feed, mix, fold, bake.
When I feel overwhelmed by expectations or comparison, I’ve started asking myself three questions:
What is actually in front of me right now?
Not the imaginary audience, not the other baker’s feed. Just the dough, the oven, the person I’m baking for today.What is mine to do, and what belongs to God?
My part: honesty, effort, craftsmanship, care.
God’s part: outcomes, timing, who sees, who is moved.Does this expectation help me love people better, or just prove something?
If it helps me serve more gently, listen more deeply, give more freely,that’s worth holding. If it’s just about appearing impressive, it needs to go.
Loaves, Not Ladders
Expectations often feel like ladders: always another rung, always higher to climb. But my life has not been a climb; it’s been more like a series of loaves: one at a time, shaped by seasons, faith, and a lot of starting over.
I think about:
Six years of continuous sobriety.
A life rebuilt in my sixties.
A small home kitchen now baking for neighbors, a farmers market, a local butcher, and Manna Café.
None of that came from perfectly managed expectations. It came from a thousand small choices to keep going when I felt unsure, to show up when I felt behind, and to trust that my worth is not tied to anyone else’s pace or production.
God has never asked me for bigger numbers. He has asked me for a willing heart.
If You’re Suffocating Under Expectations
If you find yourself weighed down by all the “shoulds,” as a baker, as a parent, in your work, in your faith, here are a few gentle practices that help me:
Name the expectation honestly.
Write it down: “I think I should be ___ by now.” Seeing it on paper softens its power; you can question where it came from and whether it’s true.Shrink the circle.
Instead of comparing yourself to “everyone,” think of the one person you’re serving today. What do they actually need? It’s rarely perfection.Return to a simple, physical task.
Feed the starter. Shape one loaf. Stir a batter. Walk outside. Doing something small and embodied pulls you back from the fog of comparison.Let God hold the scoreboard.
Pray something like: “You know my heart. Help me be faithful, not frantic. Show me what’s mine to carry, and what I can lay down.”
Each time I release an expectation that isn’t mine, I make a little more room for joy, for creativity, for genuine connection. The bread gets better when the pressure lightens: not because the technique is suddenly perfect, but because my heart is present again.
I am still learning this. Some days I get lost in the scroll and forget who I am. But then I come back to the dough, to the quiet work, to the God who has carried me this far, and I remember:
I wasn’t called to impress the world.
I was called to feed the people in front of me, as honestly as I can.
One loaf. One table. One small, faithful step at a time.
Warmly,
Kathy
Art of The Crum