For the middle children & the eldest daughters out there

Howdy! Back at it again with me, peeps.

Today I want to tell you a story, a fun one, about being the middle child and the eldest daughter at the same time. Ooohhh, I don’t know where to start. It’s been three days since I wrote because I’ve been feeling off and weird for no reason. But this morning, I felt very different, much better, when I woke up. I felt like I wanted to write something, so here we go.

Well, it was quite exhausting, growing up as the middle child and the eldest daughter in the family. When my family has a problem, I am always the shoulder to cry on, I am the listener, I am the mediator, I am the soft-spoken one among all the shouting and chaos, I am the one giving advice here and there, to the point where I questioned myself a lot—am I only here in this world for people to dump shit on me all the time? Am I here only as a complementary thing?

I felt the need to be in tune with everyone’s tones, gestures, and behaviors all the time—to make sure everyone’s okay and not to inflict conflict. Because of that, I became hyper-vigilant, that when I interact with other people, I would have these kind of inner monologues;

Is she mad at me?

Am I being too annoying right now?

Am I talking too much?

Am I being too quiet?

Shit, I should say something.

Am I being too rude to her?

Okay, stop, I should just listen to her.

How do I look like though?

Do I look weird right now?

Is she comfortable right now?

Did I say the wrong thing?

Welp, can’t help it. Over-analyzing shit has become my everyday thing. No, it has become my ‘every-second’ thing.

There was a point in my teenage life, where I painfully needed to be seen and heard too, like I’m not just a complementary thing, you know? Like I have my own shits that I wanted to share too. Like I matter too. So then, whenever I had the chance to discuss shits about me, I always, always overshared stuff. I reacted a bit too intensely sometimes, I cried and all that. It was embarrassing, but I felt relieved for the first time in forever. I finally had people to listen to me, for once. At that time, people reacted differently, some people didn’t know what to do when I cried, they were confused. Some people were pitying me. Some people were questioning me. Some people were listening kindly. Some people were telling me I couldn’t go a day without sharing things about myself. These reactions are… I guess normal and okay.

Regardless, during my young adult days, it has become disconcertingly unbearable for me to talk about myself and share things about myself to other people. Whenever people ask me shits about how I’ve been doing or what I’ve been up to, deep down I always felt incommodious and cramped. I felt genuinely uncomfortable sharing about myself now because I have made friends with solitude along the way, I even got addicted to it sometimes. It is definitely more comfortable to be a listener, then to be a talker now. There was a time or two, where I had talked about my feelings with some of my closest friends, yes, but then I felt sorry about it and I regret it. It felt like I was not supposed to do it.

Until one day, I found ways to cater to my own needs to be heard and seen. I do a lot of shadow work and journaling, I listen to her a lot, I hug and pat her gently when things go hard, I talk to her like how I would talk to my child, I look at myself in the mirror and smile at her sweetly, I compliment her sometimes, I also say kind things to her, I do not judge her for what and how she’s feeling on certain days, I provide a safe space for her to just be, not perform and put a mask on. She became a friend, a good friend. I like being around her. She’s fun to be with. Honestly, she is all I have in this whole world. I wish I could really see her in flesh and bones, in front of me because I badly needed to hug her.

There was also a time in my life where I just got shut down and emotionally detached due to feeling too overwhelmed with many aspects of my life at that time. I felt so much anger and rage inside me because why the heck were my family always fighting and why the heck was I always trying to fix it? Why the heck was I the only one responsible to be the glue of the family? Why the heck was I always getting caught up in the middle of the conflict? Like why?

My brother and sister were not the only children, I was a child too, you know? Didn’t I look like a child? Oh, I was too understanding, that’s why. I was too mature. I was the easy kid that never rebelled. I was the ‘yes man’ kid. I was always the ‘it’s okay’ kid and never the ‘I’m angry’ kid. Weren't I? Well, it was all my fault then, for being too good. I’m sorry for hiding myself too good. You should’ve seen me rebelling too. You should’ve seen me shouting at you too. You should’ve seen me fighting you too. Then, you’d finally see me as your child.

Anyways, moving on LOL

As it’s been years and I’ve been thinking a lot about it, my mindset has kind of shifted a bit. Now, I am actually grateful to be the kid that my mom trusts to listen to all of her problems and feelings. I am grateful to be the sibling my sister could go to when she’s having a problem. I am grateful to be the kid that got caught up in the middle of my parents’ conflict as I could truly see what is happening behind the scenes (imagine all the tea, guys, lol). I am grateful to be the mediator between my brother and my mom when they had issues. I am grateful to be a listener and a comforter for my family, my loved ones.

I realized that no one is truly perfect. Everyone must have flaws in one way or another, including me. My family did hurt me, but I must've hurt them too in some ways. I am not a perfect kid either. My parents did the best they could to raise their children and I appreciate them for it. My parents are no saints and superheroes, they are only human beings. And, human beings are dynamic and complicated. They have lived so much longer than me and my siblings. They have experienced a lot of beautiful things and a whole lot of bullshits as well. And I can see it now, clearer than ever.

If I were to be given a superpower, I would choose to be able to time-travel so I could go back to my parents’ childhood days and hug them gently. I would like to tell them that they are doing awesome and they will always be awesome. And if I could be reincarnated again in the next life, I would choose them again to be my parents or perhaps this time, I could be their parent instead, who knows?

For all the middle children and the eldest daughters out there, I hear you and I see you. If you experienced similar things to me, I'm telling you, you will eventually find your own way and everything will finally fall into place, pinky promise.

You are worthy and you matter too.

—Later, love!