the eldest daughter’s burden: a quiet legacy

love, expectations, and the journey to becoming my own person

When was the first time you realized you had more responsibilities than your siblings? If someone asked me that, I wouldn’t know how to answer. It came so naturally.

I turn 20 this year. I am young. I know. And most people think that someone my age doesn’t even have life-questioning problems. But maybe we do. Have you ever considered that? I knew I had many responsibilities when I realized my mom relied on me. Not now, but maybe in the future. She wants the best for me. I know that. But do I have choices too? Do I?

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My mom didn’t even let me choose my own major. Psychology. I'm not saying it’s taboo in here, but maybe for my mom’s generation, it’s not something they really trust. She wanted me to choose accounting because it’s “easy money” and probably because it was her major too. The pressure to choose accounting started even before my senior year, and it made me hate the idea of it.

I argued with my mom and my grandma about it, and it even strained my relationship with my grandma. I feel like there’s a huge wall between us now. Where are the memories of baking cookies together? Where are the memories of gardening side by side? They faded as I grew up and started having my own opinions. My relationship with my mom isn’t great either. I can’t tell her everything. Yes, we laugh a lot, we talk a lot, but deeply? In a serious-long-hours-talk? I never look forward to those conversations.

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I always feel the need to be successful, but when my professor asks me what success means, I freeze. I don’t know. Is being rich considered success? Is being happy success? I. Don't. Fucking. Know. I just want my mom to be proud of who I was, who I am, and who I’m going to be. Not because she expects to be proud of me, but because being her daughter makes me realize that I want to put a smile on her face through something I do.

As the eldest daughter, there’s this unspoken rule that you have to pave the way, figure things out first, and make sure no one else struggles the way you did. It’s like carrying a torch, but instead of just lighting the path, you’re also making sure it’s safe for those who come after you. I saw on TikTok that sometimes achieving something doesn’t necessarily make me happy, it just feels like I’m checking off another task on my to-do list. I’m not sure of the exact wording, but that’s the gist of it. And I can relate to it. Well, either way, your success never feels like it’s just yours, it’s a way to ease their burdens, to make sure they don’t have to fight the same battles.

But I can’t imagine being an only child. I love my sisters dynamic, the chaos, the laughter, the unspoken understanding. Watching my sister brag about me as her sister feels like a dream, like proof that maybe I’m doing something right. Bringing her food after a long day out is something I want to do until I die, a small act of love that says, I’m here for you in ways words can’t. I giggle every time she chooses to steal my clothes, my things, even my tiniest habits, as if she’s collecting pieces of me to keep for herself. I’m not always the best at setting the right example for her, but I love it. We are broken together, figuring things out as we go, patching each other up in ways no one else can. She’s one of the reasons I look forward to being home, the familiar comfort in a world that constantly changes. Honestly, it’s a quiet kind of legacy, one that no one really acknowledges but is still there, woven into the small moments, the inside jokes, the way we carry each other without even thinking about it.

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Maybe that’s why independence feels like second nature to me. Being the eldest daughter means knowing that no one is going to figure things out for you. You don’t wait for instructions, you just fucking do it. I grew up learning how to handle things on my own, solving problems, making decisions, and holding it together when no one else could. It feels empowering sometimes, like I can take on anything, but it’s also exhausting. There are moments when I wish I could just sit back and let someone else take care of things, but the instinct to be responsible, to be the one who "has it together," is too deeply stuck.

And maybe that’s why breaking the cycle feels like my burden to bear too. The cycle of eldest daughters always being the caregivers, the ones who put themselves last. It’s hard to unlearn something that has shaped you for so long. I want to believe that I can choose a different path, that I don’t have to sacrifice my dreams for duty. But I also don’t want to let anyone down. It’s this constant push and pull between choosing myself and choosing the people I love.

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So, I’m trying to take care of myself, even if I don’t always know how. Some days, it’s as simple as stepping away when I feel overwhelmed, journaling my thoughts so they don’t eat me alive, or watching movies that makes me feel less alone. Other times, it’s reminding myself that I can ask for help, even if it feels unnatural. I have to believe that I deserve rest too, that I am more than just what I do for others.

And if I have a daughter one day, I don’t want her to feel like I did. I want her to know that love doesn’t have to come with sacrifice. That she can have her own dreams without guilt. That she can rely on me, not just as a mother but as someone who understands. I want her to have the childhood I didn’t always get to have, even when sometimes I find myself is a spoiled ass.

But at the same time, I don’t regret being the eldest. It has made me resilient, empathetic, and fiercely protective. I want my sister to always see me as her safe space, that I get to watch her grow, that I get to be part of her story. But I want to unlearn the idea that my worth is tied to how much I can endure. I want to stop feeling guilty for choosing myself. I want to stop thinking that I have to be perfect, that I have to carry it all.

I want to be more than just the role I was given.

I want to be me.

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Trust me, you’ll be fine.

See you in the next one.