Is it just me or you too?

 To the Elder Daughters: This One’s For You

Hey, elder daughter.

Yes, you—the unsung hero, the silent multitasker, the one who seems to carry the weight of the world without complaint. This is for you, because you deserve to be heard, acknowledged, and appreciated.

Let’s start with a question: Are you okay? Seriously, are you?

Because sometimes, I wonder.

No matter how much we grow up, we’re still treated like kids. At least, I know I am.

I’m always asked where I’m going, what I’m doing, and why. I have to ask permission to buy things that are personal to me, things that should only concern me. And God forbid I make a decision without asking—rebellious is the nicest label they’ll slap on me.

And you know what? I get it. Some of it comes from a place of care and concern. But when does concern stop being love and start being control?

Are all the elder daughters getting the same treatment, or am I the odd one out?

You know what I’ve realized? We’re not rebellious. We’re just trying to grow up.

I remember being younger and asking my mom’s advice—“Which dress should I buy, this one or that one?” But somewhere along the way, asking for an opinion became asking for approval. Now, every step we take seems like it needs validation, like we aren’t capable of making decisions on our own.

To the elder daughters, let me stop you right here.

Let’s clear the air. You’re not alone. This one’s for you—the unspoken warriors, the ones who carry it all without complaint, and the ones who rarely get the appreciation they deserve.

You’ve been carrying responsibilities like a pro.

Whether it’s for people older than you, younger siblings, or anyone in between, you’ve taken it all on. Homework? Projects? Household tasks? Emotional support? You’re the go-to person. You’re the dependable one. But being dependable comes at a cost, doesn’t it?

They call you “the elder one” and expect you to step up, but then they turn around and treat you like a child.

“You’re older, you should help us,” they say. Sure, because being the eldest apparently means you’ve signed up for a lifetime of unpaid emotional labor.

You cook for them, you care for them, and you love them because that’s who you are. You don’t always do it because you’re forced to—you do it because it’s in your nature. But when it’s your turn to ask for help? Silence. Or worse—criticism.

And let’s talk about the judgment.

Your clothes? Your friends? Your opinions? Everything is picked apart. You’re expected to be perfect, while they get away with things that would earn you a lecture or worse. Double standards, much?

It doesn’t stop there.

You’ve probably noticed it too—the endless comparisons.

“Why can’t you be like your sibling?”

“Look at what so-and-so’s daughter is doing.”

But being the eldest means you’re navigating uncharted waters. Your parents are still figuring things out, and you’ve got no roadmap, no elder sibling to lean on. It’s trial and error—for you, and for them.

Yet, no matter how old you get, you’re still “the kid.”

They don’t trust you to travel alone, make decisions, or even go grocery shopping without supervision. God forbid you express your independence—you’ll be labeled “disrespectful” or “out of control.”

But let’s talk about your siblings for a second.

It seems like none of these rules apply to them. They can fail at school, be rude, or hang out with friends whenever they want, and it’s brushed off with a laugh. “They’re young; they’ll learn.” But you? You weren’t “young” even when you were 8.

While they’re lounging around, you’re running the house. Filling water bottles, cleaning up messes, being everyone’s go-to person. And yet, your struggles often go unnoticed.

It takes a toll, doesn’t it?

You end up becoming a people pleaser, constantly seeking validation. You question your worth. You lose confidence. You crave love and support but rarely get it. You start to believe that no matter what you do, it’ll never be enough.

But let me tell you something, girl: You’re enough.

You’re strong. You’re resilient. And you’re perfectly imperfect.

You’re amazing—not because of how much you’ve done for others, but simply because of who you are.

If you can handle all this chaos, you can handle anything life throws your way.

I know the doubts creep in. I’ve felt them too.

Why was it okay for them but not for me? Why is so much expected of me and not them?