you might have noticed me writing a lot about this already… about what it feels like to be the eldest. i try not to, but sometimes the feelings get so heavy in my chest that i have to let them out. this blog has become my little corner of comfort, a place where it feels safe to share what i’m really feeling. i’m a little hesitant because these thoughts are private, but i also want this space to witness my growth. and maybe, if someone else reading this resonates even a little, they might find some comfort too. i hope you won’t mind me talking about these things over and over again because it’s my reality right now, and writing it down helps me understand it better.
tonight, i’m writing because i feel this heaviness sitting in my chest, and i don’t want to pretend it’s not there anymore.
last night, i found myself crying unexpectedly. no trigger, no fight, no dramatic moment. just me, alone, and the heaviness of everything i’ve been holding for so long. it came from years of holding things in. it felt like something inside me finally broke open in a way that demanded to be felt.
maybe that’s what happens when you’re the eldest. maybe that’s what happens when you’re the breadwinner. the person who somehow ends up carrying everything, even when no one explicitly asked. you get used to being strong until one night, your own heart taps you on the shoulder and says, “hey, you need to feel this too.”
i’m 29, and sometimes i wonder how i got here… to this life that feels both meaningful and heavy at the same time. i imagined a different version of myself by this age. i thought i would be building my own dreams freely, exploring life without the constant pressure of responsibility. i thought i’d be choosing for myself, discovering who i am outside of the roles i’ve been expected to fill. but reality had other plans. family had other plans. and being the eldest kind of meant i didn’t get to choose as freely as i wanted.
so my life became a series of responsibilities. a series of choices i made for the sake of the people i love. and i don’t regret loving them, but i can feel the way it shaped me. i can feel the weight of it now.
and i want to be clear… i’m not ungrateful. i love my family more than anything. i’m thankful that god gave me the ability to provide. i’m grateful that i can carry them through difficult seasons. but loving them doesn’t mean i don’t get tired. being grateful doesn’t cancel out my exhaustion.
tonight, i just want to say it plainly: i’m tired. and i’m human. and i need to feel this.
there are days when i feel so unappreciated. not because anyone is intentionally ignoring me, but because i’ve always been the “strong one,” the reliable one, the responsible one. and when you play that role for so long, people start to believe you don’t need comfort, or softness, or help. they start to believe you’ll always be okay, even when you’re not.
sometimes, late at night, i feel this quiet loneliness. the kind that doesn’t look dramatic from the outside but feels heavy on the inside. and sometimes i feel a sting of envy, not the bitter kind, but the quiet, aching kind, when i see my siblings living their own lives, making their own choices, moving through the world freely.
i don’t hate them for it. i don’t want to. but there’s a part of me that whispers, “why not me? why didn’t i get that kind of freedom?”
it’s not jealousy out of anger. it’s jealousy out of longing. longing for the chance to choose. longing for the chance to live freely. longing for a life where my timeline belongs to me.
and that’s the part i hate admitting. i don’t want envy in my heart. i don’t want comparison. but it just… happens. because i see them moving, choosing, living. and here i am, still carrying most of the responsibilities so they can live the lives they want.
i try so hard not to feel this way because i don’t want resentment in my heart. i don’t want to hold grudges. but i’m human, and sometimes these emotions come up simply because they’ve been ignored for so long.
it hurts because… i also had dreams. i also had a timeline. i also wanted to choose freely. but i paused my own life because i wanted to make things easier for my family. i took the heavier load because i thought that was my role. and in doing that, i don’t know if anyone noticed. or if they ever realized how much i actually carry.
i think about my mom sometimes… about her decisions, her habits, the financial choices she made. i don’t blame her. she did the best she could. but i can’t deny how much of my adult life has been spent carrying the consequences of those choices. and acknowledging the truth isn’t blame. it’s simply admitting that her choices shaped my life in ways i’m still processing.
it’s strange how people talk about me “almost being 30” and not having my own family yet. they say it like a joke. they don’t understand how it feels to carry the pressure behind those words. and my mom always saying “indi danay...” it feels so unfair. it makes me wonder if my life is still on hold and my timeline needs to wait a little longer because there’s still more i need to carry first.. i’m not even rushing to have my own family. that’s not the point. the point is: why does everyone else get to move freely while i have to wait? sometimes i feel like my life has always been waiting.. waiting for the right time, the right moment, the right situation… waiting for things to stabilize at home. but when will that be? and how long do i have to wait?
i feel like i’ve spent so many years putting myself last without even noticing it. and now that i’m almost 30, there’s this quiet sadness in me (a kind of grief, maybe) for the life i didn’t get to live. or at least, not yet.
i don’t want pity. i don’t want anyone to feel bad for me. i don’t want to blame anyone or point fingers. i don’t want to be the victim in my own story.
i just want to acknowledge what i feel. i want to allow myself to be honest. i want to admit that i’m hurting. and that i’m exhausted. and that i’m human. i just want to stop minimizing what i feel. because for so long, i’ve been the one who absorbs everything. and tonight, i want to be the one who releases something.
i’m writing this because i think i owe myself the honesty. i owe myself the space to say, “this hurts,” without feeling guilty about it.
next year, i hope things change (even just a little). i hope life feels lighter. i hope i can still support my family without losing myself in the process. i hope i can love them without carrying everything on my own shoulders. i hope i find balance, a way to be there for them while also letting myself grow, explore, rest, and become the person i want to be.
i want a year where my dreams matter too. where my wants aren’t always last. where my timeline isn’t always paused. a year where i can start living freely in ways i’ve never allowed myself to before.
through everything, i’m grateful to God. He has never left me. even in the moments when i cry quietly, when i feel unseen, when i feel like everything is too much. He sees every tear. He knows every burden i don’t speak out loud. He has never left me, and he never will. He’s the reason i can keep going, even when i feel empty.
but tonight, i’m choosing to sit with my truth.
to acknowledge the pain without running from it.
to let myself be soft.
to let myself be human.
to let myself feel.
and maybe this is where healing begins.
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