Firstborn
By k
Sometimes, I catch myself smiling when I see my parents being soft with my younger siblings.
The little things.
The way they talk to them.
The way they worry.
The way they listen.
The way they laugh together over something so small.
And somehow, watching all of it makes my heart feel warm. Not because I think I missed something. But because I know they are getting it. My siblings are getting to know what it feels like to be loved gently by their parents. To be spoken to with warmth. To have someone worry about whether they have eaten, whether they are tired, whether something is bothering them.
And God, I am so happy for them.
I think there is a certain kind of love that only the firstborn understands. The kind that quietly says, if I cannot change everything that happened before, then at least let me make sure the ones after me are okay.
I have always wanted my younger siblings to have good things.
Not because I want them to live a life without hardship. I know I cannot promise them that. But I want them to know softness.
I want them to grow up knowing that home can be a safe place to return to. That being tired does not make them a burden. That making mistakes does not make them less worthy of love. That they can be held, heard, and cared for without having to earn it first.
Maybe that is why seeing my parents being sweet to them moves me so deeply.
Because somewhere inside me, the little girl who once had to figure things out as the first child is watching her younger siblings receive the tenderness she once had to learn to give herself.
And strangely, I don't feel jealous.
I feel relieved.
So this is what it looks like.
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This is what it means to grow older and realize that your parents were also learning as they went.
They were not born knowing how to be parents.
And I was not born knowing how to be their daughter.
We were all someone's first attempt.
They were learning how to raise their first child. And I was learning how to become one. Maybe that is why I can make peace with some things now. Not because everything was perfect. Not because the things that hurt me suddenly stopped mattering.
But because I have learned that people can love us deeply and still be imperfect at loving us.
And perhaps, as their children, one of the gentlest things we can do is acknowledge both truths at once.
I can remember what hurt me. And still be happy when I see them love my siblings well. I can wish some things had been different for me. And still be grateful that my siblings get to experience something softer.
I can carry my own story without making theirs carry it too.
So yes, I will always be the eldest.
The first daughter.
The first child.
The one who watched them become parents for the first time.
And maybe, in some quiet way, I will always feel responsible for making sure the little ones after me get to experience the good things.
Not because I am their second parent. But because I love them enough to want their childhood to be kind to them.
And if one day they look back and remember their home as a place filled with warmth, laughter, and gentle love.. then maybe that will be enough for me. Maybe that is one of the beautiful things about being the firstborn:
sometimes, you don't get to choose the beginning.
But you can still spend your life making sure the people who come after you inherit something softer.
