Eldest daughter syndrome and trashy Netflix reality— a revelation.

Also, why joyful motherhood matters so much to me.

I had a revelation recently about being an eldest daughter, and why occasionally even as a smart woman, I turn to dumb shows when things feel burdensome and heavy. I also share about how important it is to me that my kids experience me as a joyful mother— somethings I’ll get into more in future entries. Enjoy. X

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My husband loathes dumb reality shows. 

I don’t blame him— they’re cringe. 

We’re not in our season of ‘watch something after the kids go to bed’. We go to bed when the kids go to bed, or read, or he will need to do a little work. We need to bank that early-part-of-the-night sleep while our kids are still waking up during the night. 

So, if we were to cuddle up onto the couch and forego that precious early bedtime, then he definitely wouldn’t be wasting it on trash. Watching early-twenty somethings with their undeveloped brains have superficial conversations in a beach front mansion in Tulum is not his ideal of a good time. 

To be honest, it’s not my idea of a good time either. 

But it is my idea of a numbing time. 

A distraction time. 

A ‘I can hang my brain up for an hour and not think’ time. 

I don’t watch this stuff a lot because, well, I have three children and a lot going on. But mostly, I don’t watch this stuff a lot because it’s total trash, and I’ve been working on my awareness long enough to know that we must be mindful with what we consume— body, mind and soul. 

In saying that, sometimes I just want the trash. You know? Give it to me. It is my medicine. I want it. I don’t want the clever period drama or the true crime doco or my novel from the library or yet another one of the 18 books I’m reading concurrently beside my bed about life, God, wellbeing— just for this moment, I want the trash that won’t feed my hyper-creativity, my list of things I want to accomplish, or have me thinking too hard about too many things. 

The other day, I realised why. 

It’s not so much the numbing, or even the enjoyment of watching something so, ridiculously stupid. 

It’s the weightlessness I feel when I choose something dumb. Unimportant. Unserious. 

I figured this out because the other day, I had a little disagreement with one of my sisters. It triggered some deep, sensitive hurts of mine. Hello, life. Hello, family!

I am the eldest daughter. The second eldest of four siblings.

I’ve only recently learned how connected ‘eldest daughters’ feel with each other and that eldest daughter syndrome is a thing.

One quick search on google and the top lines say this:

Eldest daughter syndrome encompasses a range of behaviours and feelings stemming from the unique pressures and responsibilities often placed on the firstborn daughter in a family. Jones and King say signs that may indicate someone is experiencing eldest daughter syndrome include: Having a strong sense of responsibility.

^ That’s from Charliehealth.com.

I was 5 when my parents separated. I adapted by doing many things. Becoming a high achiever was one (hey, when there are four of you, you need to get your attention somehow). My siblings always teased me for how many university graduations they had to attend of mine. I became very over developed in my ‘masculine’ for lack of a better explanation. I took it upon myself to orchestrate the household chores, getting frustrated when my siblings couldn’t see, and were not absorbing my mums stress and emotions like I was. I felt so finely attuned to my mums stress (of which there was a lot- single mum, 4 kids, more than full time work at an intense high school, endless elite sports for all of us, struggling financially etc etc) and so deeply affected by the fact I felt she was not happy.

I must ensure to say here— my Mum HATES that I felt this way. She did nothing to ever try and burden me, and was the most loving, generous mum who worked around the clock to provide for us. Eldest daughter things just happen by nature of the dynamic. 

Recently, I found letters that I wrote to my mum and my nanna, when my nanna died in 2004. I was 15. The letter I wrote to my nanna was me promising her that I would always look after my mum, and requesting that she always looked out for her too. I told her that I felt so bad that mum was stressed, and wished there was more I could do. I told her that I prayed every night for her and wish I could make mum happy. 

I was even surprised to read them back. I knew I was a worry wort, but hooly dooly.

When we found the letters earlier this year, I read them to mum. She was in tears and could barely listen. She felt terrible and you know what, I totally get it. Here she was, doing her absolute best to give us a better childhood than she had— one full of friends and birthday parties and sports and opportunities only to find out that I felt constantly worried, and chronically overly responsible. She told me after reading them that she was happy— that we were the light of her life and that yes, she was stressed but that never took away from the joy we gave her. 

I can totally get that— being both so very grateful for your children yet battling stressful life things that have you a little melancholic— all mums can understand this. 

I share this just so that it’s clear that two truths exist at once:

1. My mum was such a solid, wonderful, devoted mother (and still is for us and our kids). There was no one more committed or generous than her. 

2. As the eldest daughter in a home where mum was a single mum of four, struggling financially, I experienced childhood very differently than my siblings did.
   

My own children pick up on my emotions, as do all children, but I am especially aware of it with my eldest daughter. Recently she said to me, “Urgh, I hate being the oldest. I hate having to always set an example.” 

She’s the eldest cousin, as well as the eldest child and daughter. While I know God positions us perfectly in the family tree, and that yes, someone has to set the example (It’s life!!), I am mindful to make sure I take her on dates, where she relax from eldest kid duties— she’s not passing me a nappy, entertaining the baby in the back seat, or giving the toy to her brother because she’s older and she has the capacity to be the bigger person. Yes, I know that being a big sibling is part of life. We need to help our parents. We need to help around the house. I don’t believe we need to molly coddle or baby our kids beyond what is age appropriate. I just don’t want her to feel any unnecessary responsibility before her time— because I know how that feels. The difference is that my husband and I are financially comfortable (we were not as children) and my kids experience a loving father in our home every single day. My Dad loved and still loves us, and we saw him throughout the year at sports events, birthdays, Christmas, etc— but we didn’t live with him.

I care so much that my children see my happiness and joy. My humanness, honesty, fallenness too, yes… but I want them to know the safety of a mother who is sturdy, upright, well, vibrant, alive, vital. The wellbeing of our kids is intrinsically connected with ours. It serves their health— physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, to know that we are WELL. 

My mum was always so active in communities— volunteering for everything, coaching all the sports teams, staying back after work with troubled kids (she was a high school English teacher). She never took a sick day. She would always say that it wasn’t worth it because the relief teachers were useless and she’d have to play catch up afterwards. She didn’t want her students to get behind. That was and still is my mum— she was the ‘I’ll do it’ lady.

When we were young, we’d have looooong days in the heat at athletics in the summer, where mum was the chairperson. Then, we’d always host a bbq with several families from athletics. She was so good like that— always the host of sleepovers, birthday parties— she never missed a beat. She still doesn’t now as nanna!! Anyway, after these looooong summer Saturdays, Mum would have some drinks in the backyard, with our blue heeler dog beside her, listening to Cold Chisel. We’d peek out the window and check on her, and each would take turns going out and making sure she was ok. When she’d come into the house and go to sleep, my siblings and I would put our finger under her nose or give her a nipple cripple (yes we were little shits) to make sure she was ok.

We reminisce about this now  and mum says ‘For shit sake, I was just relaxing after a hectic day!! You were all fed, bathed, ready for bed!! I was just winding down!’. Obviously as an adult, I can get that. As a child, I was worried!! Is mum depressed? Is she sad? Will she be ok?

When we got a bit older as children, Mum started to run around the local oval at 5am everyday (even in our rough neighbourhood when it was pitch black). She did this religiously every morning. Knowing that mum was fit and healthy, meant so much to me. I loved knowing my mum was fit and healthy. Despite the fact she had a lot on her plate, it buoyed me to know she was healthy and well. Still to this day, mum has never lost her fitness. The four of us have solidly engrained exercise habits because of this too.

I see my kids light up when I am visibly joyful— their smiles are so big when I am dancing, or when I am telling them about something I am very passionate about. I see their concern when I am upset, or stressed. I am so aware of how much our happiness means to our children.

But life is not perfect. Life gets hard. I fully acknowledge that we are all dealt different cards and sometimes, motherhood is PURELY about survival. But with our generation, some of us are more privileged than our parents and yet we are more distracted, more worried, more anxious— constantly comparing our lives to others, and worrying about stupid shit we see in conscious mother forums. We have the means to be more carefree but we are not.

I know it’s not always possible to be ‘happy’. I know this all too well. Perhaps it’s that deep joy instead that I’m talking about— the one that Jesus gives. I won’t pretend I have it all the time because I don’t. Not even most of the time. I’m an excitable, driven, loving, devoted mum but I am not without my peculiarities and challenges.  I’m learning how to be more joyful and less ‘in my head’. A lot of it starts with gratitude, but it is not as simple as that. 

It does start there though—  living the joy of our gratitude amidst all else that is happening. Sometimes I find this easy, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes my anxiety is eating me up, my thoughts seemingly always speed towards catastrophic ideas and worry. Sometimes, I breathe, I move, and I can bring my mind and body back to reality. 

It is so important to me that my kids experience joy in me. I had a tearful moment the other week explaining to my husband that this is why I have been so passionate about ‘getting our life right’, about travelling, experiencing new cultures— because of the joy. As someone who can be overcome with anxious thoughts, these experiences put me back into my body. 

Anyway I am digressing. 

I decided at a young age that I’d become so successful that I’d eliminate my mum’s financial worries. From a little girl born to a working class family, who’s mum, and nanna both lived in government housing— I decided I would be free of financial stress. Let me tell you something about the eldest daughter— once she decides something— SHE DOES IT. 

I retired my mum and wiped out her multi 6 figure mortgage. 

(I should probably stop and celebrate here but eldest daughters don’t really do that— onto the next thing!)

Even after such a big achievement, the responsibility didn’t then magically disappear— it’s more emotional than anything else and it extends far beyond just my mum. There  are some funny memes doing the rounds about eldest daughters. There are some cold hard truths amongst them too like this one— The eldest daughter is often more strict than the parent. It’s true. We run a tight ship. We have eyes in the back of our heads and if we haven’t started 7 companies, done the grocery shopping, donated to three causes, listened to a friend vent, made sure that person is ok, replied to that person promptly and baked bread for the neighbour before 10am then are we really an eldest daughter?

In the last few years, Mum has written in all my of my birthday or Christmas cards something along the lines of— “I hope you can know that you are worthy of your blessings and the life you have, and that you can enjoy it.”

I think about those words a lot and I feel so seen in her writing them.

My mum is an extraordinary woman— selfless, humble, self effacing, generous, the most reliable human on planet earth. She deserves some weight lifted off her back. God blessed me so He could bless her, I am positive of that. God wanted to bless my mum, and I was not about to stand in the way. My gratitude for her is unending. 

I cared so much about my mum growing up because firstly, she’s my mum, but secondly, because from a survival standpoint her happiness and her wellbeing felt like mine. As an adult though, beyond just my mum, I still feel the hyper-responsibility I felt then. I still jump in to take things on (either financially or emotionally or both) beyond what is often healthy, because eldest daughter things aside… I genuinely believe that when God blesses you, it is for the purpose of blessing others. There are things far more tiring and far more hard.

Eldest daughters feel inherently responsible. We feel responsible when it is right to and we feel responsible when it’s probably not appropriate. Sometimes I wonder if our over activity and generosity is an attempt to lift the burden we just cannot seem to lose.

I love my siblings to death, but they won’t ever understand eldest daughter things. They take the piss out of me all the time about my peculiarities (I do the same to them, don’t worry). They have their own stuff though, and I’m sure I don’t understand theirs fully either. My youngest sister is the typical youngest— a comedian (although, all siblings are pretty hilarious).

The other day when my sore spots were prodded and I grew weery of this heavy cloud that just always seems to be there, all I wanted to do was isolate myself and turn on a dumb, trashy show. 

It was then I had a revelation.

I don’t do trashy tv often at all (Love Is Blind, you there?), but when I do, it’s for a reason.

This is my way of taking a moment without responsibility. 

This is my way of momentarily putting down what’s heavy to carry.

This is my moment of being reckless and irresponsible for a minute (I mean, there are worse ways to do it).

Maybe it’s a bandaid, maybe it’s true therapy. I don’t really care to be honest. 

Don’t worry, I am not without therapy. I have done a decade of work on this trust me fam. I have done so many forms of therapy and ‘healing’ it isn’t funny. I also go to God regularly and visualise laying it all at the foot of the cross. 

I pray for relief from what is not mine to carry so I can be even more free to be a more joyful, buoyant mum. I know I’m not alone in this. 

I pray for relief but I also pray that I never stop stewarding the blessings God has given me because I know the ways God uses me to bless His people and I am grateful for this. 

I’m a bonafide eldest daughter and despite its heaviness sometimes, God built me knowing exactly where He was placing me in my family tree. 

Being a joyful mum matters to me so much, even with the many wobbly, messy things that go on inside of me….. I’m doing it everyday.

Sometimes with prayer.

Sometimes with body work.

Sometimes with somatics.

Sometimes with breath.

Sometimes with a scroll through my camera roll after the kids go to bed, remembering how blessed I am.

Sometimes with a cheeky little watch of one of the dumbest trash reality shows to ever hit the screens. 

Eldest daughters, I see you. 

May your burden be light and may your trashy tv remain guilt free.

Pk XX