Unfortunately, I’m the oldest daughter
“Kids are like pancakes, the first one’s always a little messed up.”
When I heard that saying, I realized that if they followed the instructions on the box and exercised patience, the first pancake would turn out just as good as the rest.
Unfortunately, they didn’t, and I ended up being the first pancake — the oldest daughter.
PSYCHOLOGY SAID THAT THE MOST DEPRESSED PERSON IN THE FAMILY IS NOT THE MOTHER NOR THE FATHER IT’S THE OLDEST CHILD.
In the quiet corners of family portraits, there exists a daughter…
Who dares to reach for the stars yet finds herself perpetually tethered to the earth. Who tries her very best but always a failure, always compared, and never been enough. Her heart is a battlefield where courage and vulnerability wage an eternal war.
The strongest among all, yet the weakest one.
The one who stands tall, spine unyielding, despite the weight of expectations. Whose armor is her determination, masking the cracks within. The world sees her stride, but not the hidden tremors that resonate through her bones. Who tries her best because she knows that no safety net awaits her fall. There are no outstretched arms, no soft landings… because she had no one.
The tightrope walker, balancing dreams and duty, her hidden heartache concealed behind a practiced smile. The one who carries the burdens of others, stitching together fractured souls with invisible threads. Her tears, swallowed by the night, become constellations of strength.
To be weak or tired is a luxury she cannot afford. Her heart currency is compassion, her soul creed is empathy. She listens, absorbs, and scatters solace like a hidden spring in a desolate desert. Her shoulders, reborn as Atlas, bear the weight of collective suffering.
Responsibility clings to her like ivy on ancient walls. She’s the cornerstone, the pillar that holds crumbling structures upright. The lighthouse, guiding ships through treacherous waters, even as her own vessel splinters against jagged rocks.
The one who dances on the edge of disappointment, tiptoeing between approval and disapproval. Whose victories are silent while her defeats swallowed whole. The one who cradles her own wounds. Because there are no hands to hold hers, no whispered assurances. She becomes her own sanctuary, whispering solace to her fractured soul.
AND UNFORTUNATELY, IT IS ME.
I’m the oldest daughter so I’m an overachiever, a people pleaser with an independent streak. I’m the one expected to be the pillar of the family. So, therefore my role in life means to be strong because falling apart isn’t very mature. Because I’m the one who’s expected to hold everything together.
I often disappear until I’m okay, sparing others from having to care for me. I was forced to mature beyond my years. Burdened with the role model status that shouldn’t have been mine to bear. The one everyone looks up to, clings to, and expects the world from. So, failure is not an option for me. Because everyone expects me to have all the answers… to know it all.
I’m struggling to show affection even when I desperately want to. And I feel guilty for moments of selfishness and burnout. Grappling with the guilt of being the firstborn who doesn’t know how to connect with my siblings. The one who often hears the phrase, “You’re hard to understand.”
I’m little miss scared of abandonment who believes it’s easier to leave than be left behind.
I’m the absorber of my parents’ rage and trauma. Their emotional punching bag, carrying burdens not meant for me. The one who was painted BAD for being the daughter that yelled back. The one who “never had to worry about” because I appeared hyper-independent. So, my rage is unmatched by anything on this planet. The oldest daughter who couldn’t control her anger because the anger inside me grew over the years.
I was shaped by an upbringing that wouldn’t be easy for anyone else to endure. So, growing up I was watching my siblings receive the attention I craved. The one who cries alone in her room from the hurtful words thrown her way. The one who constantly worry about the future. The mentally unstable girly who has trust issues. The overthinker who couldn’t communicate her feelings. The second option in everything.
So, I keep wondering how life might have been if I’d truly lived instead of healing from things beyond my control.
I’m the one who yearns for solitude and a quiet life. The one who’s striving to break free from toxic patterns she got used to.
That one… is a daughter who deserves better.
Dear oldest daughter,
It’s alright to feel vulnerable, to lose your grip, to falter, and to find yourself overwhelmed. Your strength is not measured in applause or accolades. It resides in the quiet moments when you mend your own fractures, when you paint galaxies with your tears. You are the strongest person for masking up all the pain and smiling even if the whole world is unaware that your constellation is fading. You are enough, even when the world forgets to see you. Because I see you, and one day I hope you’ll see yourself too.
We’re together in this battle, let’s break free from these toxic patterns together. It’s okay to stumble; it’s part of being human. Be kind to yourself during those vulnerable moments. You deserve your own compassion. Remember, progress is made one step at a time.
The sun will shine again, and your constellation will glow even brighter. Ate, Padayon.
With unwavering love,
Vina
