Imagine having a job you couldn’t quit, one that demands constant pressure to be perfect, to overachieve, and to please everyone simultaneously, even when you’re drowning in overwhelm. Sound familiar? If so, you might share a common experience with many eldest daughters, including myself. Welcome to the ‘Eldest Daughter Syndrome,’ a term we’ve been searching for to encapsulate the expectations and pressures we felt growing up, and continue to grapple with.
Social media is filled with women comparing notes (of course we take them, it’s in our DNA) and lamenting about the lack of compensation for our constant efforts. ‘Being an eldest daughter is like an unpaid internship for the rest of your life,’ wrote one on X. Another woman poignantly captured it: ‘Are you okay or are you the eldest daughter?’
I have two younger sisters who are also twins, yet the diagnosis still applies. There’s a four-year gap between us, which seems inconsequential now but felt vast during our childhood. While I was experimenting with my first alcoholic beverages and navigating the world of dating, they were still playing with dolls. I didn’t feel like a second mother, as some eldest daughters describe, but a sense of responsibility permeated my existence. I felt compelled to set an example, blaze a trail, and be a role model.
The stricter parenting style I experienced was a stark contrast to my sisters’. My studies were paramount, distractions were discouraged, and part-time jobs were off-limits. My role was to excel academically, achieve impressive grades, and attend a prestigious university – not just for my own benefit, but to inspire my sisters to follow suit.
Simply put, as an eldest daughter, you’re held to a higher standard than your younger siblings. This ingrained sense of perfectionism bleeds into adulthood, leaving you perpetually striving, never satisfied. You crave control, often anticipating and attempting to manage situations before they even arise.
Of course, not every eldest daughter experiences this. But for those who do, science is starting to provide validation. A study has found that some eldest daughters, especially those born to mothers experiencing stress during pregnancy, mature faster and take on a more significant caregiving role within the family.
While it’s tempting to blame my parents, I don’t believe for a second that they intentionally burdened me. As their firstborn, I was their sole focus, the child into whom they poured their hopes and dreams. A pattern was set, one that proved difficult to break. My parents simply desired me to reach my potential and strive for excellence; I was the one who embraced this expectation with an unyielding grip.
Many eldest daughters feel robbed of their childhood, believing their birth order stole their chance to be carefree. I don’t share this sentiment, but I acknowledge that the constant expectation can hinder self-discovery. Spending years fulfilling the desires of your parents leaves little room for your own personality to blossom. I was probably in my late twenties, maybe even thirties, before I began to shed the chrysalis and truly understand who I wanted to be.
This isn’t a lament about resentment towards my sisters. Their lives, from my perspective, have been more relaxed. By the time they reached their teenage years, their actions were met with less scrutiny. I can’t recall them ever being grounded for coming home intoxicated, while I was once confined to the house for a month after an unfortunate incident involving my mother’s rose bushes (excellent fertilizer, I’m sure). I wouldn’t dare get a rebellious tattoo or belly-button piercing like they did, instead patiently waiting until I turned fifteen, when my mother agreed to take me for ear piercings – under supervision, at the local pharmacy, and only if I behaved. She now admits that acquiescing to my sisters’ requests was simply easier, leading to a more peaceful existence. Who wouldn’t choose that path?
I also wonder if our younger siblings feel overlooked, with us eldest sisters always assuming the roles of family mediator, organizer, and spokesperson. I must consciously make an effort to allow my sisters to make restaurant reservations or arrange joint birthday gifts. This doesn’t come naturally, conflicting with my ingrained eldest-sister instincts. Once responsibility lands on your shoulders, it’s challenging to relinquish it. Perhaps they feel our parents were less invested in them?
The uncomfortable truth is that a part of me, maybe even a significant part, reveled in this dynamic. Being labeled a ‘good girl,’ praised for being a ‘big help’ and ‘no trouble,’ these were things I enjoyed hearing, even with the accompanying pressure to maintain that image. My husband often jokes that I’m tenacious, bordering on obsessive, when it comes to securing tickets for concerts or plays we want to see. It’s my eldest-daughter syndrome at play. I find failure unbearable and hate giving up.
It’s no coincidence that many of my friends are eldest daughters too. We sufferers have to stick together. After all, who else truly understands the unique challenges we face?
