a firstborn daughter’s guilt 

i grew up thinking

the world would never spin for me.

not out of bitterness,

but out of quiet resignation.

when i needed help,

and my siblings did too,

i always knew—without anyone saying it—

that i’d be the last priority.

and maybe it wasn’t cruelty.

maybe it was just...

how things were.

i used to think i was simply strong.

that i was supposed to understand more,

carry more,

be more.

but now i wonder—

was i strong,

or was i just trained

not to ask for softness?

sometimes i forget

i was still a child, too.

a child growing up

alongside parents

who were still learning

how to be parents.

but i didn’t have the luxury

of growing gently.

i was raised

in the cracks between expectations

and responsibilities.

i was handed guilt

dressed as maturity.

and i wore it proudly—

because what else

was i supposed to do?

they say the firstborn daughter

becomes the third parent,

the second spine,

the unseen pillar.

and it’s true—

you become a version of yourself

you never chose,

but somehow grew into.

and yet,

what no one talks about

is the guilt that lingers.

the guilt of wanting rest.

the guilt of not always wanting to be needed.

the guilt of quietly craving to be held,

instead of doing the holding.

sometimes,

i look at my younger siblings

and wonder

how different their childhood felt

compared to mine.

i wonder if they noticed the difference,

or if it’s only me

who still carries it

in my bones.

and i don’t blame them—

but i ache

for the version of me

who didn’t get to be

as soft,

as carefree,

as light.

being the firstborn daughter

isn’t a role—

it’s a quiet sacrifice

no one sees

until it echoes

in your adult life.

still,

i’m learning to forgive myself.

for not knowing better.

for being tired.

for being human.

and maybe,

just maybe,

one day

i’ll stop measuring my worth

by how much i can carry

for everyone else.

because even pillars

need a place to lean.

and if no one has told you yet—

you were a child, too.

you deserved softness, too.

you were worthy,

even when no one spun the world

for you.

and that’s something

i hope we never forget.