being an only child is supposed to come with perks: no sibling rivalries, no hand-me-downs, no sharing. you’re the star, the main character in the family sitcom. but somewhere along the way, i ended up in the role of the eldest daughter. maybe it was the pressure of being the only one—someone had to be the responsible one, right? and it turns out, it was me.
growing up, i became the unofficial manager of the household, navigating everything from logistics to emotions like i was running a family business. the phrase “mature for your age” was less of a compliment and more of a foreshadowing for the emotional labor that would follow. when you’re the “good kid,” it means you’re expected to be the adult long before you’re ready for it. my childhood? more of a balancing act between being a kid and also being the one with all the answers.
it wasn’t just chores or grades. i was the designated listener, the person my parents turned to with their worries, their frustrations, their unspoken needs. it felt less like growing up and more like being in an unpaid internship for adulthood. hearing about “eldest daughter syndrome” made me realize this wasn’t just me. it was a thing. i didn’t have siblings, but the responsibilities stacked up all the same. it’s like life handed me that eldest daughter script and expected me to know the lines.
socially, i became that “mom friend.” the one always prepared for everything, always on alert, always making sure everyone was okay. it spilled over into every area of my life—always watching out for everyone else, always checking in, always planning ahead. it’s as if once you learn to carry the weight of your family’s well-being, you naturally start doing it everywhere else too. but here’s the catch: all that responsibility is heavy, and no one hands you an instruction manual for how to put it down.
so while other kids were navigating typical teenage things, i was basically mastering the art of emotional multitasking. while friends were daydreaming about their crushes or what to wear to the school dance, i was daydreaming about staying on top of everyone’s expectations. it was exhausting, but it was also my normal. i didn’t know any different.
as i got older, it wasn’t just the physical tasks or even the advice-giving that got to me—it was the constant mental weight of being the one who “had it together.” i became hyper-aware of any potential problems before they even arose. my brain was always running ten steps ahead, trying to predict what might go wrong and how i could fix it. it’s a skill, sure, but one that leaves little room for, well, just being.
relaxing wasn’t really in my vocabulary. i had trained myself to feel like downtime was some sort of failure. there was always something that could be done, something to fix or manage. letting go wasn’t even an option—it felt like if i stopped, everything would come crashing down. i wasn’t broken, i had just been conditioned to think that this was the only way to exist.
being responsible is great until it becomes your whole personality. eventually, it starts to feel like a trap. perfectionism sneaks in, making sure you don’t just get things done, but get them done flawlessly. you start keeping track of your “success” in terms of how well you manage everything, how you juggle everyone else’s needs alongside your own.
but the truth is, no one’s giving out trophies for being the emotional glue that holds everyone together. there’s no prize for taking care of everything without asking for help. you just keep going, carrying the silent burdens while secretly hoping someone will say, “hey, you don’t need to do this all the time.” but no one ever does, because they’ve become so used to you doing it.
there’s something kind of funny in all this—the more responsible i tried to be, the more i missed out on just being a kid. sure, i laughed and had fun, but there was always that voice in the back of my head reminding me of something that needed to be handled. it’s hard to let go when you’ve spent your whole life holding everything together.
as i grew up, i realized how much of my role was self-imposed. no one actually asked me to be the fixer, the problem-solver, the emotional anchor. but once you’ve stepped into that role, it’s hard to step back. it becomes second nature. you start thinking that if you’re not the one keeping it all together, everything will fall apart.
but here’s what i’m finally figuring out: i don’t have to be the one holding it all. i don’t have to be the fixer or the manager or the one who never makes a mistake. after years of playing the eldest daughter role, i’m learning to give myself permission to let go, to step back, to realize that maybe—just maybe—everything won’t collapse if i take a break.
so, here's my confession: after all these years of playing the part of the eldest daughter without a sibling in sight, i'm officially handing in my resignation. i mean, does anyone even like unpaid internships? i’ve spent enough time managing invisible to-do lists and perfecting the art of keeping it all together, so it’s about time i learn how to, you know, not. and let’s be honest, life’s too short to be the emotional project manager of everyone else's chaos. it’s time to embrace a little bit of mess, pour a glass of wine, and let someone else handle the next crisis. i’m done auditioning for a role i never wanted in the first place.
Coming from a youngest daughter, I became the oldest in mentality at a young age. My sister was constantly in trouble and even grounded for a whole year at one point, so I learned to be the “perfect” daughter. I learned how to sneak around and do the things that teenagers my age were doing. Granted it led to me being SA’ed twice and to this day I feel like I failed. I’m not in a huge university at the moment, but I feel as though I should be because I was the sibling that was supposed to get out unscathed and help the rest. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. But it helped me to realise that I need help with asking for what I need. I wish people talked about the parentified youngest daughter.
As an only child myself, I feel all this at a deeper level. Feeling mature for your age is for sure a feeling we all are well aware with. Somehow, having no siblings just makes us so much more different than the ones who do. But, what makes us responsible, is, a constant reminder that we are there for our parents at all times because who else will be. We are the only ones they have given birth to.
A great read!!✨