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Being the Oldest Comes With Its Own Set of Rules
As the eldest daughter in a Black family, I learned to be do you responsible for everyone else, at the expense of myself
I often read online commentary about how the eldest daughter in a Black household is the most damaged. Whenever I encounter it, my first reaction is to chuckle, because I’ve seen it. I’ve been it. Though, in my case, “damaged” is too strong a word. I find “bruised” to be more accurate.
In my family, I’m the oldest. My sister is just shy of being exactly two years younger than me. My mom often reminded me that being the oldest meant having to look out for my sister. I suppose it was easier to hear that from a woman who’s also the oldest of her siblings, though it didn’t always take the edge off. That pressure was reinforced by my aunts, my uncles, my grandma: “She’s watching you,” they would say, and the microscope I was under would zoom in a little closer. I understood that being older meant shouldering more responsibility. But I, too, was trying to figure out where I fit in the world. I was trying to understand if “Black girls” and “soft” belonged in the same sentence.
Needless to say, I was trapped in a vacuum seal of strict expectations. You’re the oldest, you can’t fail, do better, be better. I shouldn’t have…
