The Hit List - The Eldest Daughter

I was indulging in a bit of doomscrolling the other day (don’t judge), when I came across a clip of young Italian schoolgirls from the 50s or 60s talking about their plans for the future. Most of them spoke of ending their education soon to help out with the family. Most of the girls who volunteered this information also stated they were the eldest daughters.

I’m the eldest daughter. The second born in a household of four children. While I was encouraged to continue my education (this was the 70s), I was also expected to be a helper.

That meant housework while the others got to play. This might be the subconscious reason I was a messy child – my own passive-aggressive form of rebellion. (Eldest daughters aren’t supposed to get mad, so we show our anger in sneaky ways.)

It also meant helping my siblings with their homework. (I sabotaged them by giving the wrong answers. Hey, if I study hard, they should too.)

Being an eldest daughter meant oppression. My virtue must be protected, and I wasn’t allowed to go out with boys. (I did it on the sly.) That oppression also showed up as my mother laughing with the guidance counselor about my goal of becoming an artist and then signing me up for secretarial classes because that was a “girl job.” (I became a tarot reader, which horrified her so much she would tell people I “worked for a corporation,” which is so not me.)

When I became an adult, I was the one who had to “look out for mom and dad,” which meant bailing them out constantly because they were not responsible people (ironically). I had to handle their money, funerals, and all the stupid dilemmas they got into because I was “the smart one.” (Why do eldest daughters get that label?)

You get the picture. Being an eldest daughter is a drag.

However, many gifts come with this role. I’m independent. Frighteningly so, according to an ex. Because I was a straight-A student (eldest daughters are overachievers), I got away with murder. My parents assumed I was a goody goody (I wasn’t), so they saved the punishment for the siblings, who were more overt in their rebellions. Meanwhile, I was the one they probably should have kept an eye on because I had plenty of bad ideas.

Although I had my own moments of foolishness, I’m extremely responsible. Like, pay my bills early and never bounce a check kind of responsible. I also remember what it was like to be a parentified kid, so I never foisted that on my own children. They were free to be who they needed to be – and they are never expected to “take care of me.” (Lucky ducks!)

Being an eldest daughter wasn’t fun, but it did give me a black belt in self-sufficiency, resilience, and sneakiness. My kids also get the benefits of freedom (buh-bye oppressive crap) while everyone else gets to shove their outdated expectations. Because at the end of the day, I may still be the unofficial Responsible Caregiver Family Person, but I’m also responsible for my happiness. And that’s a responsibility I’m more than happy – and qualified – to take on.

Theresa

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