'As the eldest daughter, I felt the most pressure.'

There are many things we can define ourselves by in this current cultural climate: Who do we vote for? Where do we live? How much do we earn? Do we want children? What is our astrological sign? And so on. 

However, an overlooked element of what makes us who we are is our place in our family's birth order. 

As the eldest of three girls, I feel defined by my place in my family tree: the sense of constant responsibility, the inherent bossiness and controlling nature, the determination to achieve, the constant desire to please my parents (and the constant feeling that I’m failing them). I possess these stereotypical eldest child qualities (I believe) because of my place amongst my siblings.

Watch: The Loose Women panel discuss the eldest child syndrome. Post continues below.

Have you ever deeply contemplated birth order as being an integral element of who you are? Until recently, even though I was totally aware of all the above, and even though I spent my teen years having my annoying younger sisters stealing my clothes/books/booze all the time, I hadn’t truly contemplated how much my being the eldest had sculpted me until I read The Eldest Daughter Effect by Wies Enthoven and Lisette Schuitemaker, a few months ago. 

This book begins by citing various famous female firstborns: Beyoncé, Oprah Winfrey and Brené Brown and dissecting their similar qualities. This of course hooked me into reading the rest as I thought, 'Oh My God, maybe I am just like Beyoncé?!' 

Yet as the book continued, it showcased a much deeper message, one which I’ve been pondering ever since. 

The message is that as eldest children (especially as eldest daughters) we feel much more responsibility for our families than our siblings do. We are also privy to more adult woes from a younger age, for example, that marriage isn’t always bliss, or that certain things equate to stress, as we have a closer viewpoint of what our parents and their peers are up to. 

This message resonated with me immediately and I’ve since recommended the book it to every eldest daughter I know.

The first thing I’ve opted to demystify since framing birth order this way is the notion that we, the eldest, must do things first. In our childhoods we went to battle for our siblings, acting as the group representative on breakthroughs such as getting our ears pierced or establishing a curfew. Our role was all about taking one for the team. But now, in adulthood, this is no longer relevant.  

The older we get, the more level the playing field (and the more different the lifestyle choices between us and our siblings). We can do things whenever we’re ready, and only if we want to. 

My middle sister, two years younger than me, was recently wed. Around the time of her engagement and then wedding there were a few sly comments about this towards me, less so from my city-slicker contemporaries, but more from my old friends from my conservative hometown. “How do you feel about her going first?” they asked. Thanks to this book I couldn’t have cared less (more so because my boyfriend at the time of their engagement was not the answer). Plus, as a result of her paving the way for once, she actually empathised with me!

Since reading the book I have also acknowledged that not everything is my fault. My fellow eldest siblings in the audience might recall times when they took the blame for a collective crime committed by all the children, or moments when they were the ones to get in trouble after an equal argument with a younger sibling. 

In adulthood, this is a dangerous cross to bear, even if it’s rooted in the desire to protect others. I know that in my life I’ve had moments where I’ve blamed myself for things I shouldn’t have. 

Charlotte (centre) with family in eldest daughter mode. Image: Supplied.

I’ve also opted to forgo perfectionism; giving myself permission to f**k up and not feel as ashamed of my mistakes. As adults, we know no one is perfect, not even eldest daughters. Yet this is a burdensome eldest child thought pattern that has absolutely held me back in the past. As a freelance creative my mistakes are sometimes more public than most, therefore recognising that I can give myself a break now and then is crucial to cultivating my chosen career. 

What about the non-eldest kids in the mix, how do they feel? On reflection, I always felt envious of my younger siblings’ longer leashes, but it wasn’t always smooth sailing for them either. Generally speaking, middle children are the ones with the supposed syndrome, right? It’s my understanding that this middle-child stereotype can often feel forgotten, eclipsed by the bold eldest and the bonnie baby youngest. The stereotype says they’re quiet fitter-inners, sly and operating from behind the scenes. 

In chatting to friends I understand that youngest kids can feel neglected too. 

By the time they appear their parents are exhausted by looking after the others and are ready for their next adult chapter, leaving the youngest behind to be wild, free but possibly forgotten. The youngest are the cheeky cherubs in the mix who belong more to the whole family (especially the eldest), but not to any adult figure in particular. 

As for only children, this is the position I can speak to least (though perhaps the eldest child is merely a recovering only child). All I know is that many of them long for siblings, and there were many moments during my childhood when I would have happily given them a sister or two of mine so they could get off my back (and out of my wardrobe). 

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The book also cites the “acting eldest”. A case of when the literal eldest child goes rogue and the next in line steps in. This is a common role for the first girl in a large, mixed family. It may also be a role that is dictated purely by logistics, say a parent is ill and only one of the younger children lives in the same city as them and can help.

My ultimate observation with birth order is that the pressure eldest children often face leads them to more success or more failure. It’s the place in the family that seems to equate to extremes. In my life, and in the zeitgeist there are countless examples of both outcomes. Sometimes being groomed for success is a surefire way of ensuring achievement or is a recipe for failure. 

The coronation, and recent royal family drama, is the ultimate example of this. As the eldest of his four siblings, Charles is now King of England, a title that comes with all the pressure, all the eyes and all the responsibility in the world. He has spent his whole (very long) life being readied for this moment. Yet do we actually envy him? Really is it better being the heir or the spare?

Regardless, with birth order, we get what we’re given, and in it is solidarity. 

I was at my mother's book club recently (on that note I’ve been staying with my parents in between adventures, and perhaps being home has truly stirred this up). I told two of my mum's friends about the idea for this article, to which they both went white, stating in unison they were each older sisters too. An immediate bond was formed because only we know what it’s like. 

Now this all might read amusingly eldest child to all of you middle, youngest and only children out there. So let me dispel a lot of what I’ve said and ask this: is birth order as relevant as it used to be? Much like the coronation, is this just an antiquated system that hasn’t really been relevant for a good century? Or is the role birth order plays inevitable? 

It’s really hard to break ingrained patterns, but perhaps the real lesson we eldest face is that in order to truly grow up we need to remember to approach life as though we’re in a one-horse race, no longer take responsibility for everything and everyone nor blaming ourselves when things go wrong. 

All of us should strive to appreciate our family members for who they are, ridding ourselves of resentments.

We should also enjoy that unique bond between siblings, connected by trauma or otherwise, it’s a special type of relationship that can’t be replicated. So, dear eldest, give yourself and your siblings a break, and remember that it’s OK to pass on the reins now and then. 

Middle children, I await your DMs.

Charlotte Dallison is a writer, podcaster and vintage aficionado. 

Feature Image: Supplied.

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