The ‘Perks’ of Being the First Daughter
were my feelings never neither validate nor considered?
There’s a certain heaviness that comes with being the first daughter—a weight that doesn’t just rest on your shoulders but digs in, day after day. You never asked for it, never volunteered to be the one carrying everything, yet here you are. Somehow, it feels like your existence is tied to this invisible, inescapable contract to bear the burdens of others. Mistakes your parents made, decisions that weren’t yours, the broken pieces they handed down—you carry it all.
The words “paying the father’s karma and realizing that’s why I’m so unlovable” cut deep because they’re the truth you’ve been running from. You try not to think about it, but on those quiet nights when the world feels too big and your heart feels too small, it comes rushing back. Maybe this is who you are. Maybe this is all you’ll ever be: someone trying to fix things that can’t be fixed, someone trying to earn love that always seems just out of reach.
You try so hard to be enough, to be the perfect daughter.
- You stay strong when you’re breaking inside, you sacrifice when there’s nothing left to give, and yet—it’s never enough. You’ve spent your whole life trying to meet expectations that no one ever clearly defined. But the harder you try, the more you feel like a failure. Every small misstep feels monumental, every misunderstanding feels like proof that you’ll never be seen, never be understood. And then there’s the guilt. God, the guilt. You blame yourself for things you know aren’t your fault, but that doesn’t stop the voice in your head from whispering that maybe they are. Maybe if you were better, softer, quieter, more—everything—things would be different. Maybe you’d finally be good enough.
Maybe they’d finally love you the way you’ve been craving your whole life.
But the truth? You’re tired. Tired of being misunderstood, of being the one who always has to hold it together. Tired of bending yourself into shapes that still aren’t enough. You’re disappointed in yourself for not being able to let go of the bitterness, for resenting a role you didn’t choose. And deep down, you hate that part of yourself that still aches for approval, still craves validation from people who might never truly see you.
You’ve always been forced to be okay, even when you’re not.
- It’s like the world handed you a script you never rehearsed: “Born to cry when I need to but forced to be okay all the time ’cause I’m a first child and oldest daughter.” Those words ring with an exhausting truth. There’s never been much room for your tears, for your sadness.
Sure, you’re allowed to feel—but only briefly. Only in secret. Because you have to be “okay.” You have to keep it together for everyone else, even when you’re falling apart inside.
The expectations don’t just feel unfair—they feel impossible. As an eldest daughter, you’re the default problem solver, the emotional pillar, the one who others lean on. But who’s there for you? You’ve spent so much time suppressing your emotions that now, even when you feel the need to cry, it’s laced with guilt. How dare you let yourself break when there’s so much to be done, when so many people are counting on you?
It’s lonely. So lonely. You’ve built walls to protect yourself, but they’ve only made the isolation worse. And in the quiet moments, you can’t help but wonder if this is it—if this is all there is for you.
Maybe you were born to carry this, to pay debts you don’t owe, to be strong because no one else can be. Maybe that’s why love feels so far away, why it feels like something meant for everyone but you.
And yet, some small part of you still hopes. Still clings to the idea that maybe, just maybe, you deserve more. But most days, it’s hard to believe that. Most days, you can’t shake the feeling that this is the price of being the first daughter: to give and give, to carry and carry, and to always wonder if you’ll ever be enough.
It’s a cruel irony, isn’t it? To be the daughter who loves her family deeply but finds peace only in the spaces far away from them. To feel so much but never really have the chance to express it. Because you’ve learned—whether through silence or expectation—that your feelings take a back seat. You’ve become the one who “always acts like I don’t need anyone” because it’s easier to pretend than to risk being misunderstood. You’ve fought every single problem by yourself because you’ve internalized the belief that no one else will. And in doing so, you’ve built a world where your struggles, your pain, and your emotions are your burdens alone to carry.
It’s lonely and heartbreaking, but what other choice is there?
- Symphonia IX by Nick Rattigan
https://open.spotify.com/track/3FLY0t9loX5LBi4MMWxWrV?si=VODGK3-QQpePZZqtfdTNIA
The need to be the best before the need to rest.
