Why I'm calling Bullsh*t on Eldest daughter syndrome
As soon as I agreed to write this piece, I metaphorically began to rub my hands together with glee. Finally! My chance to catalogue all the injustices that have befallen me as an eldest daughter. The sacrifices I’ve made! The burden I carry! How put-upon I have been! Some might even call me heroic, I thought.
‘Eldest daughter syndrome’ is the latest pseudo therapy talk to get the internet’s pants in a twist. The post on X that went viral, reads: ‘are u happy or are u the oldest sibling and also a girl?’ It refers to the weight and pressure eldest daughters are often bestowed with by their family — real or imagined. The pressure to succeed, to achieve, to guide the other siblings in the right direction: we’re supposed to set an example. It’s all really very burdensome.
At first it was fun, remembering all the times my little sister, Clara, has acted the fool. The time she drunkenly fell off a pier in Thailand, landing spine-first on a rock and I thought she was paralysed; when she erupted in angry hives on a 17-hour flight to Peru and was rushed to hospital on arrival; when she was caught in a compromising situation in Vietnam and her phone was stolen; how she falls over when she’s wearing heels and makes bad decisions when it comes to men.
And then I realised this is also very normal behaviour for many young women (at least the ones I know). At worst, she’s a bit clumsy, prone to a medical emergency and an unco-ordinated drunk. On further reflection, it dawned on me with blinding clarity that actually, to quote a dated Taylor Swift reference: I’m the problem, it’s me.
In all of life’s metrics, Clara is more sensible and generally better than me. According to ‘eldest daughter syndrome’ lore, we’re supposed to have higher educational attainment (she got a first class degree in maths and I can barely count) and have considerably higher salaries (I’m a journalist so this is depressingly untrue). My sister remains happily unmarried and willingly child-free: both sensible decisions from where I’m standing. She bought property before me and over the years has had to explain to me that both overdrafts and credit cards are not free money. She even planned my wedding.
My lil’ sis is also braver than me. She makes awkward phone calls on my behalf, like the time I was too scared to complain to my hairdresser about a particularly bad dye job and Clara phoned up pretending to be me, securing me a free haircut. In any situation that I find remotely confronting, she will wade in, including arguments with our parents. She happily fights my corner. I rarely do the same — she doesn’t need me to. She thinks nothing of going for a glass of wine or to the cinema on her own. She lovingly (I think) rolls her eyes when I’m an idiot. She buys me thoughtful gifts and gives my husband fashion advice to spare me the delicate situation.
At four years younger than me, she has had the benefit of witnessing my cock-ups and taking a better course of action. She thinks, ‘What would Suzannah do?’ and does the opposite. Eldest daughter syndrome? Not in our house.
