Why We Call It 'Standards' When It's Really Just Bare Minimum

People love to brag about their “standards.”

“He texts me every day.”

“She cooks for me.”

“He doesn’t cheat.”

“She doesn’t embarrass me in public.”

But here’s the truth: none of that is a standard. That’s the bare minimum.

Somewhere along the way, we started to dress up basic human decency as if it were a rare privilege. And once you start treating the bare minimum as a prize, you condition yourself to accept crumbs instead of building a table.

We’ve all seen it play out. A relationship goes left, and someone says:

“At least he didn’t…”

“At least she wasn’t as bad as…”

And suddenly you’re supposed to feel grateful that the damage wasn’t worse.

We even hear it with cheating:

“Well, at least he didn’t have a baby with her.”

“At least she didn’t give him head.”

So what’s the standard now—cheat, but no extras? That’s how low the bar has dropped.

Standards used to mean values, respect, emotional maturity, and a shared vision.

Now they’ve been twisted into measuring how far you’re willing to bend your wants and needs just to hold on to something mediocre.

When the bare minimum gets inflated into “high expectations,” people start clinging to mediocrity.

“At least he communicates sometimes.”

“At least he helps with the kids.”

“At least we have an understanding.”

But here’s the danger: that ‘at least’ will bury you.

All of those “at leasts” are just triggers to keep you in line. That’s not a standard—it’s conformity.

Calling the basics “standards,” and deliberately accepting them, only protects the people who never intended to give you more than the least they could get away with. It excuses laziness, neglect, and half-effort while convincing you to feel grateful for crumbs.

Stop confusing the bare minimum with standards. Stop clapping for crumbs.

Your standards should be the table, not the scraps. And standing on them means more than just naming them—it means refusing to bend them when desire or convenience tries to talk you out of yourself.

By all means, have preferences—but don’t compromise your belief system. As a collective, we find it easier to excuse “flaws” than to hold ourselves to the very standards we set. But the root is in the word: you have to STAND for it.

If your standard is that you don’t want another woman’s man, don’t lessen it because he’s “legally separated” but still married.

If your standard is you’d never date a woman without a job, don’t lessen it because she “just lost hers.”

What happens is people become infatuated with the idea of having someone or something—and that desire outweighs the respect you claim to have for yourself. You forgo your own boundaries just to obtain it.

And then, when the relationship or situation plays out exactly how it always looked from the beginning, you’re left empty. Because the real sacrifice wasn’t to them—it was to yourself.

Going against your own standard is a betrayal you commit against your own values, not the other person. That’s why the bitterness stings so deep.

Once you’ve made that choice, you have to live with it. You can’t realistically blame someone for being who they always were—you can only confront the fact that you agreed to step outside your own line.

That’s why the “I did all this for you” narrative rings hollow. No—you did it for yourself. You gambled on lowering your bar and didn’t expect to be bitten.

It’s my sole belief that this misguided teaching around standards has to be unlearned and relearned.

We give too much grace to those who rely on our willingness to accept things we never would’ve in the first place—and then call it a standard. It’s your God-given right for people to do right by you, not a privilege.

Your standards should reflect your value in yourself, not serve as shortcuts that make it easier for others to slide into alignment.

And here’s the bottom line: if you’re going to call it a standard, then stand on it. Because the moment you bend it for comfort, convenience, or company, it stops being a standard—and starts being a lie you told yourself.