"I'm the firstborn, and I've been holding my breath for years" 

At 23, I have just begun to scratch the surface of the weight I am carrying on my shoulders. It seems like this is self-inflicted most of the time, but is it really? I have been conditioned my whole life to take care of everyone around me and not to complain about it because it is my duty. Being a firstborn is not about going first, or the authority-its about never getting it wrong. There is very little room for error. I am, and have to be the "blueprint", the "role model" and the one who has it all together. Taking a break is not an option because if I don't hold down the fort, who will? I've spent my entire life trying to exhale, but the pressure never lets me.

My siblings are blessed. They get to learn from their mistakes but my mistakes are failures. I constantly wonder what it must be like to grow up without the pressure of aspiring for perfection....must be nice.i won't lie and say I'm responsible and I do everything I am meant to do, but when I give myself a break and make a decision for myself,the ugly, gut-wrenching feeling of guilt eats me alive. Rather than confronting the guilt head-on and letting it run its course,I choose to bury it by focusing on pleasing others, thinking if I do enough for others it will somehow erase or absolve my feelings of guilt 

When I first left for college, I cried before leaving, I sobbed at the airport and I bawled on the plane. The two-hour flight to my new life was the worst experience I've ever had on the plane because I felt guilty, I felt guilty for leaving my brother and sister alone, they'd never been alone without me their entire lives.

We went to boarding school together, and they were never more than 600 meters away from me at any given moment. Yet, despite the closeness, I felt this constant sense of guilt weighing me down. Whenever my siblings didn’t want to do the dishes, I took over. When they couldn’t bring themselves to clean, I stepped in without a second thought. On their tough days, I was the one who went to their rooms to hold them while they cried. I couldn’t help but wonder—who would fill my shoes as the sounding board, the comforter, and yes, even the maid? 

Who would quietly make my mom a cup of tea when she needed it but didn’t ask for it? I’m proud to say that my siblings eventually adapted, but it wasn’t easy for them. And honestly, it was even harder for me—stepping away from my role as the caretaker felt like something I had never done before. It was as if I had always been the one to fill that gap, and suddenly, I was being asked to let go of it.

I never fully stepped out of the role, I still constantly get calls and texts from my siblings who are at the height of their teenage years, telling me that their parents are monsters and oh-so horrible. Texts and calls from my parents asking me as the "deputy parent" to talk to my siblings because they're at the end of their rope. It brings me a secret sense of comfort to know that my family hasn’t completely forgotten me. The fact that they still need me and that I can still be there to help, gives me a feeling of connection, even from a distance. But is that really how I’m supposed to feel? As someone who is meant to be breaking free from the grip of my family and carving out my own path, shouldn’t I be embracing independence instead of clinging to the role I’ve always had? 

I’ve always been the one who tries to make everyone’s day just a little bit brighter, even if it’s in small ways. Birthdays? I pour my heart into making them feel special, so they know it’s their day to shine. I turn Mother’s Day into a celebration and Father’s Day into a grand gesture, not just because I want to, but because I need to make sure they feel loved. Every gesture, no matter how big or small, is my way of showing them they matter.

My experience is not unique. I know there are thousands of us who carry this invisible weight, who have spent our lives making sure everyone else is okay before thinking of ourselves. In fact, both of my parents are eldest siblings, and they have shouldered this responsibility for as long as they’ve lived. I’ve watched them give and give, always putting others first, always showing up with grace, patience, and love. I admire them endlessly for it. But sometimes, I wonder, beneath the strength, did they ever feel the same quiet exhaustion that I do? Did they ever crave a moment where they could simply exist, without the crushing weight of being everything to everyone? 

And if they did… did they ever get that moment?

As an elder sister, a firstborn daughter, an older cousin, and an older grandkid, this is the load I carry.  A responsibility I never asked for, yet one I have never dared to put down. Some of it, I took on willingly. Some of it was handed to me before I even knew who I was. And some of it, I carry because I don’t know how to exist without it.

I have been holding my breath for years, afraid that if I exhale,if I let go, even for a moment, everything will fall apart. But maybe the real weight isn’t just the responsibility. Maybe it’s the fear that if I stop being the caretaker, the fixer, the one who holds it all together… I won’t know who I am. 

I never knew how hard it was to just breathe......