I Too, Am The Eldest Black Daughter
I almost declined an invitation to a birthday dinner last weekend. Sundays are my days to reset for the upcoming week. I’m also a caregiver and I take care of my mom. Sundays are my days to grocery shop, meal prep, clean, do laundry, and go check on my mom. But because I said no to so many family invitations over the summer, I said yes to this one.
Thank God I said yes because my mother would have ended up driving alone. And as I’m leaving the restaurant a family member turns to me and says “You don’t never call or come see me or nothing!” I respond with, “I need to”. I’m not mad at this family member for saying that, they miss me and they’ve said it in many ways. But I wish people would consider what I’m dealing with a bit more.
I am not my mothers only child but I feel like it all the time. I have communicated to others, ways we can come together for better communication for her care. No one gets on board. I have put together documents and plans for us to work better as a unit. And then an emergency occurs and I ask ‘Did you read the document I sent you?’ and the response is, “I glanced at it but I didn’t read it.”
The tools that I placed in your hands to protect my mother, you didn’t use them? People have no idea what I’ve gone through this year. I will never forget how debilitating 2026 was for me. I’m one year away from my mid 30’s. I’m turning 34 next Tuesday and my therapist has sent me this article titled, ‘Caregiving And The Sandwich Generation’.
Which means I have approached the part of my life where my parents are my children — due to them aging and being more vulnerable to sickness — and I am the new parent. This is a new chapter of my life, that I didn’t expect to arrive at so soon. I am constantly in communication with my mother about her medical and personal care. Do you know how many different POA’s (Power of Attorneys) there are? I’m researching them all. Now ask me how many people in my family have checked in as I’ve drowned taking care of my mother and myself this year? Not many, I fear.
Now I’ll be fair and say I had one family member telling me to use their number, and they have checked in a few times. Another family member told me to call if I need anything. And I think when people say “call me if you need anything” they mean well. But the person in a crisis can’t be expected to make the first call. I know people love me but there hasn’t been enough support through this.
A family member saying “Call me if you need me” isn’t enough. I’m tracking the medicine, i’m at work calling doctors, i’m doing the research on everything, i’m doing all the heavy lifting. And I want to reiterate that i’m not mad — resentment however, is brewing. I think people can only show up with certain capacities. Maybe saying “call me if you need me” is the only way people were taught to show up.
But to me it’s like a person is drowning and being told ‘Well you didn’t ask for a lifeguard. How was I supposed to know you needed help?’ But the lifeguard is looking right at you. The lifeguard is watching you drown right in front of their face. Now imagine being surrounded by at least 20 or 30 lifeguards who are also a mere audience to your suffering.
Perhaps I’m just outstanding at appearing unphased. I’ve watched my mother pass out and I didn’t cry, scream, my anxiety didn’t even shoot through the roof, I remained calm. I called the ambulance and afterwards I went to work. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared though I just felt I didn’t have time to be scared. Solutions had to be prioritized over my fear.
I am not only focused on surviving, but I am also helping my mother survive. I am a mother to my mother. I rarely feel like a daughter anymore, but I know my mother still sees me as her child. And she’ll always be my mother no matter what. This isn’t something I’m writing as a ‘woe is me’ it truly ‘is what it is.’
But I’m the ‘strong friend’ who appears to have everything together who folks don’t think need check ins. Who can sometimes be mistaken for not caring. I care about this family member mentioned in the first paragraph. I care alot actually. But let me paint a picture for you for a second.
You have this woman approaching her mid 30’s — me — who isn’t happy. She’s been trying to move to a new place for the past three years, accumulate more income for financial freedom, maintain her mental health, maintain her physical health, maintain her home, work a full time job, work on her dreams, take care of her mom, etc. And guess what? If she — me again — decides not to do these things they don’t get done. This is such an exhausting economy to be trying to survive in. And you’re often being ‘checked’ on why you haven’t seen someone from the person who doesn’t do all of this.
The person asking you for more time is retired or not worrying about money. The person asking you for more time isn’t a creator. They had the option of picking a stable job during a better economy and just stayed there, they didn’t pursue anything else. Millineals are working full time while pursuing their dreams. I spent so many years pouring into the wrong people, pouring too much into people, and neglecting myself. I am 6 years away from 40.
I don’t think anyone who doesn’t have a goal of entrepreneurship, understands how different your life looks. You have to put alot of time and effort into your craft. Some people don’t have a craft — respectfully . They just have work and family. Family is their number one core value. I love my family but its not my top core value.
Prioritizing family over my hobbies, goals, or my general free time has never gotten me anything. It’s too one sided with no appreciation for me to be more selfless. I’m currently typing this paragraph before work, my downtime is crucial. I have an hour before I have to leave. I’m constantly on the go and have little time for myself. Have you ever had to schedule time to cry? I do that sometimes.
‘Ah shit im sad’ *checks the time* ‘It’s 9:30. I got 30 minutes to cry and then I gotta go.’ But what if I need an hour to cry? When my Aunty Kim died in June, I needed elongated sessions of crying. But I barely had — or have — the time to properly fill those intervals.
I’m surviving everything. I’m overwhelmed by everything. I also have panic attacks now. My mother also has panic attacks. I can’t be her caregiver having panic attacks too.
Get Where The Love Is <3’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I need that down time to pray. I need to stay consistent with my high protein meals. I need to stay consistent with my gym routine. I need to constantly attend kickboxing. I know theres people out here who say they want to lose weight or be healthy and don’t do it.
I am however not one of those people. I take my health very seriously. Any gym rat or health nut knows its a 24/7 job. Kickboxing every weekend? Non negotiable. A few lifting sessions a week to supplement that cardio? Also a big non negotiable.
I am truly prioritizing myself and my needs for the first time in my life because nobody else is going to do it. I am surviving working through emotional abandonment. I am surviving coming out of a period of isolation for self protection. My therapist is on my ass about not reaching out. But you learn to not ask for help or assistance when so many people have failed you.
I am surviving being treated as a burden. I’m surviving heart break — so much heart break. I’m surviving a very unfamiliar — yet very sharp — heartbreak. I’m surving accepting the fact that maybe, just maybe my peace and happiness can only be achieved while single and unavailable. I’m surviving at least 15 years worth of heartbreak and abuse from men.
I’m surviving possibly throwing my dream away of being married with children because no man loves me right. I’m surviving realizing that maybe I’m only collateral damage on a mans journey of growth. You know how men say don’t be a womans first good man? Well I’m a mans first good woman and I always pay the price in the end.
I’m surviving my own brain that tells me I’m not good enough. Depression is a constant fight and it’s a silent battle I’ve fought for years. I’ve been fighting depression since I was 16 years old. The thing about mental health is you can have a period of time where everything feels peachy, but all it takes is one bad day. For me, it took one bad year to feel like 2017 me was coming back.
It can take one dark week for my ideations — that I thought were gone — to creep back up. Wanting to remain alive is a fight some days. It’s not a physical fight though — I have no urge to act on anything. But sometimes I venture to a place in my mind, wondering if death is more peaceful. But I’m also an aborisha — lukumi is my religion and we work with our ancestors — so I know it doesn’t go that way.
You don’t just off yourself and see light, floating through a realm like a feather. You carry that trauma with you and have to work through it in death. You can become a lost soul, you can struggle transitioning— im getting dark here. The point is, don’t worry, I’m actually afraid to die. I also refuse to voluntarily leave my mother on this earth — cause who the fuck gonna take care of her?
I don’t want to die. I just want siblings who help me, family members I don’t need to go get a CPL for, to have at least one craft bring me success, more friends, more support, a place I like to live, a lover who can treat me right for once! I’ve been wanting to move down south for three years. I put a plan into place and it always falls through. And at this point it’s even harder to move with my mom being sick.
Yes, I understand that moving won’t cure my depression. But I don’t want to move in hopes of being the happiest person in the world. I want to move for a fresh start. There is so much pain and trauma in my home state. All of my support systems have moved or are planning to move. And the midwest just feels like a box I can’t escape.
Even one of my sisters told me that she always saw me as this person with big wings who hasn’t been able to fly. That’s exactly how I feel. Michigan makes me feel like an owl in the rain. Michigan is the representation of the tower Rapunzel was trapped in. My hair is long, Rapunzel was my nickname as a kid, but ain’t no Detroit nigga coming to save me.
I have to save myself, and as the ‘strong friend’ I have no problem with it. I’m used to saving myself, everyone else, then having my heroism dismissed. Then taking all of the punches later followed with tears about how I don’t show my face enough. It’s just another Tuesday for me. “Saving the world before bedtime” type shit — shout out to the Power Puff Girls.
One thing I am working through in therapy right now is relationship building. I do hold myself accountable for not reaching out like I should. I hold myself accountable for not being as present as I should. Everytime a family member passes, I kick myself for not spending time with them. So it’s not that I don’t want to spend time with them.
It’s all of the above discussed. But imagine how giddy I’d be to clear my schedule or make things shake if I was met with more softness? When I touch base with my friends we don’t have this sense of entitlement about why someone hasn’t called. Even though I will apologize if its been a while since I reached out. My friends will also apologize but we’re always on the same side with “girl it is ok I could have reached out too.”
I am learning though that some people express their feelings differently. You’ll be amazed how many people can’t just say ‘you did this thing and it hurt my feelings’ its annoying — this is why therapy exists. So I know what the underlying foundation was, I just want some grace.
I have provided grace to people for not checking in while I dealt with a family predator alone. I have provided grace while my phone hasn’t rang as I sit in the hospital dressing my mother. I have provided grace to the fact that people just may not know what to do in certain situations. My therapist says some people run away from the fire, others call someone to put it out, but I jump in and put out the fire. I’m obviously surrounded by people who run away from fires — very inconvenient but fine.
Being a black woman is being God’s strongest soldier. Being the eldest black daughter is being the chosen one to break black generational curses. It’s being the one who’s not letting family predators sit at the dinner table. It’s being the one who doesn’t say “Im good I don’t need therapy” It’s being the one who advocates for themself at the doctor. It’s being the one who keeps the family informed.
It’s being the one who does the job because someone has to do it. A few months ago a friend of mine told me, “You may never hear a thank you but just know God sees you” As appreciated as that is, I don’t do it for Gods blessings either. The way I show up in certain situations is just me.
I think being a black woman is being the power grid no one thinks about until there’s a black out. No one realizes all the energy you exude to make the city lit. When the power goes out everyone is upset, but they abused the voltage. If your electrons are losing charge because everyone is constantly flipping the light switch, I see you. And if no ones told you, I love you. You’re not alone and I thank you.
