LINK: eldest daughter (rojie’s version)
Currently listening to: Eldest Daughter – Taylor Swift
Every eldest daughter
Was the first lamb to the slaughter
So we all dressed up as wolves and we looked fire
But I’m not a bad bitch, and this isn’t savage
But I’m never gonna let you down
I’m never gonna leave you out
So many traitors, smooth operators
But I’m never gonna break that vow
Eldest Daughter Syndrome (EDS) was something that was going viral on TikTok a while back but I found it to be true in my case.
Common characteristics of EDS:
- overwhelming responsibility. I wasn’t just a kid, growing up. I had to care for my brother and also be the translator for my parents. Every school form, phone call, and letters that were delivered. This forced me to become hyper-independent.
- caregiver role. I was the bonus parent for my brother. My brother got to have the childhood I dreamed of.
- perfectionism and high standards. I could never meet my parent’s expectations but that didn’t stop me from continuously trying. Overachiever? Check. When I became an upperclassman in high school, all that went out the window for me for a couple of years. I rebelled. Hard. I did a 180 so fast that I went feral. My brother and I ended up both getting in trouble and sent away to the Motherland because my parents couldn’t handle us. So much for being a role model.
- people-pleasing. Cause I never met my parent’s expectations, I chased validation from others. I would prioritize other people’s needs and wants before my own until I crashed and burned.
- difficulty with boundaries. For an Asian female, saying “no” to their parents is unheard of.
- anxiety and guilt. I felt that I wasn’t doing enough, that I wasn’t perfect enough.
- resentment. I felt a certain way towards my parents and brother. He had it much easier than I did and yet he was the golden child for doing the bare minimum.
These days, I’ve managed to let go of most of it. The resentment has faded. My brother and I have a healthy relationship. The guilt doesn’t bite me in the ass as hard anymore. But the perfectionism? That one is hard to kick, it’s still got its claws in me. Maybe one day, I’ll learn to live comfortably knowing that imperfect doesn’t mean being a failure. Until then, I’m a WIP (work in progress).
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