Oldest daughter

When I first read Divi Maggo's poem, 'The Oldest Daughter,' it was like someone had peeked into my soul and perfectly articulated feelings I didn't even realize I was carrying. My mom always says I'm strong-willed, and I often pride myself on that, but this poem made me realize that strength can also be a heavy cloak. It's not just about being the firstborn; it's about the unspoken responsibilities, the path-forging, and often, the silent carrying of burdens that come with that title. As the oldest, there's this inherent drive to be the role model, the responsible one, the one who doesn't mess up. I remember constantly feeling like I had to set the example for my younger siblings, to be the 'good' child, and to always have things together. This pressure, while often self-imposed, shaped a lot of my early life. It’s a common thread among oldest daughters – this feeling of being a mini-adult, even when you're still just a child yourself. We learn to anticipate needs, to problem-solve, and to put others first, sometimes at the expense of our own needs and feelings. One of the lines in the poem, or perhaps the sentiment it evokes, really hits on the question of 'but who takes care of the eldest daughter?' It’s a profound thought because often, we're so busy caring for everyone else, we forget to care for ourselves. We're expected to be resilient, to bounce back, to be the rock. But even rocks can erode. This isn't about blaming parents or family; it's just an observation of the unique burdens and roles often associated with being the eldest child. We often become the confidantes, the mediators, and sometimes, even a second parent figure. This can lead to a sense of emotional exhaustion, or what some might even refer to as a subtle 'eldest daughter trauma,' where past experiences of feeling overlooked or overly responsible continue to impact us. For me, acknowledging these feelings has been crucial. It's about giving myself permission to not always be strong, to ask for help, and to put my own well-being first sometimes. It’s a journey of unlearning some of those deep-seated instincts. Have you ever felt that way? Like you always have to be the one holding everything together? It can be isolating, and that's why finding communities or even just a poem like Divi Maggo's that truly sees and validates that experience is so powerful. I've learned that it's okay to have moments of vulnerability, to not have all the answers, and to lean on others. It's not a sign of weakness; it's a sign of being human. If you're an oldest daughter reading this, know that your feelings are valid. It's a challenging, yet often rewarding, role. But remember to advocate for yourself, set boundaries, and ensure you're getting the care and support you deserve. Because truly, who takes care of the eldest daughter? We do, by taking care of ourselves first.