The Eldest Guilt: The Curse of the First Daughter
“Always an angel, never a god.”
This lyric from Not Strong Enough by Boygenius perfectly encapsulates the silent burden carried by first daughters everywhere. In a family, she’s often cast in a paradoxical role—expected to be strong yet soft, a leader but never too commanding, a second mother who doesn’t overstep her bounds. It's a weight that’s felt, not seen, and it often shapes her relationships, her identity, and her ability to simply be.
1. Siblings’ Perception : A Second Mom in Disguise
For younger siblings, the eldest daughter is often the go-to for comfort, advice, and answers. She’s the safety net when parents aren’t available, a mix of sister and second mother.
“She’s so good at everything,” they might say, oblivious to the cracks in her carefully curated façade. What they don’t know is that she wasn’t born responsible—responsibility was thrust upon her. While they are free to make mistakes and rebel, she has to stay composed. After all, how can the second mom afford to fall apart?
They don’t see the exhaustion behind her patience or the battles she fights in silence.
2. Parents’ Perception : The Gold Standard
For parents, the first daughter often becomes a partner in parenting. Whether it’s helping with chores, mediating sibling disputes, or setting an example, she’s expected to lead. She’s the one who ‘should know better,’ who ‘sets the tone’ for everyone else.
They might say, “We’re proud of you,” but it often comes with an asterisk: Proud, but there’s still room for improvement. She aces her tests, excels in extracurriculars, and still, it feels like her achievements are just expected, not celebrated. Her struggles are minimized—“You’re strong; you’ll get through it”—while the same struggles in others elicit comfort and care.
She learns early on that her worth is tied to her ability to perform, to hold things together, to be the angelic beacon of strength. But, as the song says, “Always an angel, never a god.” She’s expected to shine, but not so brightly that she overshadows anyone else.
3. The True Self : A Lonely Balancing Act
Inside, the first daughter often feels like she’s living two lives. Outwardly, she’s composed and capable, but inside, she wrestles with feelings of inadequacy and loneliness. She listens to everyone else’s problems but hides her own, fearing that showing vulnerability might shatter the image others rely on.
To everyone else, she seems unbreakable—a steady force who always knows what to do. But beneath the surface, she’s locked in a quiet battle with herself, questioning her worth and carrying scars no one sees. Her strength is a mask she wears so well that even she forgets it’s there sometimes. Deep down, she’s exhausted, longing to let her guard down but terrified of what might happen if she does. Her toughest fights aren’t with the world but with the doubts and fears she hides inside.
Her emotions become a secret language only she understands, locked away in the corners of her heart. “If I stumble, will they still believe in me? If I fail, who will pick up the pieces?” she wonders, knowing she rarely has the luxury of asking for help.
- Validation and Struggles
The hardest part is the invisibility of her struggles. While the youngest gets spoiled and the middle gets attention for their rebellion, the first daughter’s struggles are often dismissed. She’s the steady one, the rock. But even rocks crumble under too much pressure.
She craves validation not just for what she does but for who she is beneath the roles she plays. To hear, “It’s okay to not be okay” or “You don’t always have to be strong” would feel like water to a parched soul.
- A Curse or a Gift?
Being the eldest daughter is both a blessing and a curse. It forges resilience and empathy, but it also demands sacrifices that others might never understand. She learns to find joy in the little things and strength in the cracks.
To all the first daughters reading this: Your worth isn’t tied to how well you carry the weight. You’re more than the roles you play. And it’s okay to put the burden down, even if just for a moment.
Unfortunately, it hauntingly repeats in mind and souls:
“Always an angel, never a god.”
The first daughter is often misunderstood, her actions misread as perfectionism or control rather than the desperate attempt to meet impossible expectations. While she strives to understand everyone else’s needs, her own emotions are dismissed as overthinking or dramatics. Her silence is seen as strength, her sacrifices go unnoticed, and when she finally voices her pain, it’s met with confusion or disbelief: “But you seem so put together.” They see her as a pillar, not realizing she’s crumbling inside, yearning for someone to truly understand her instead of assuming she has it all figured out.
But maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll be able to finally stop being an angel for everyone else and start being human for myself. No one can ever break the curse.
