“When you agree to others, ensure that you are not denying yourself.” ~Paulo Coelho
As the oldest daughter, I was always the one deemed responsible, staying out of trouble by being “good.” This involved being quiet, compliant, and unassuming. I didn’t realize the extent to which I was neglecting my own needs. School proved to be a challenge for me. I found reading, concentrating, and keeping pace particularly difficult, especially in comparison to my sister. Despite my diligent efforts, no one recognized dyslexia or ADHD in me; rather, I was labeled as sensitive or simply not trying hard enough.
I absorbed the notion that there was something inherently wrong with me. As the eldest, I avoided being a burden and kept my own needs to a minimum. This self-neglect didn’t arise in a dramatic fashion; it developed through countless small decisions that favored others’ comfort over my own. By the time I reached adulthood, this behavior was well ingrained.
Pregnancy introduced a tentative happiness. My first miscarriage was a profoundly isolating experience—no public announcements to retract, only private sorrow. Moving forward was challenging, and burying my grief only intensified its presence within me. Subsequent pregnancies compelled me to conceal my anxieties and remain functional, despite the pain.
After my first child, I concealed my feelings of being overwhelmed, then later terror when my second child needed care in the NICU. The stress accumulated, yet instead of reaching out for assistance, I persevered, serving as the backbone for my family without support. On the surface, my efforts seemed successful, but internally, I was falling apart. Trauma was not always sensational; it was often entangled in a relentless drive for control to prevent crumbling.
Disregarding my own needs ultimately resulted in burnout, resentment, and anger. True transformation did not stem from one singular incident but from many small instances where my body’s subtle signals escalated into deafening cries, culminating during my second pregnancy when I faced preeclampsia. Rather than prioritizing myself, I absorbed others’ stress, leading to an emergency delivery.
Listening to my body and my grief unveiled the realization that while self-neglect had once felt like a means of safety, it had also ensnared me. By confronting past sorrows, including my miscarriage and academic challenges, I greeted them with compassion. Embracing self-care practices unfolded gradually—declining requests, allowing rest, and asserting my space became signs of growth rather than failure.
One particular Saturday, amidst the chaos, I chose rest over maintaining control, breaking the routine but managing to navigate the disruption. Realizing that self-care didn’t have to be extravagant or selfish taught me that my peace was vital.
Over time, my usual patterns and adverse emotions began to fade. I discovered joy and appreciation with my children, rather than anxiety. I am still in the process of evolving, and I now celebrate this transformation. If you identify as the eldest child striving excessively or internalizing difficulties, remember that you are not broken. Surviving is not the same as living. You have the right to have needs, carve out your space, and seek rest without needing to justify it.
Rebuilding oneself occurs progressively, through moments of honesty and self-reflection, inquiring about your needs, and responding accordingly. Begin gently, establishing consistent and small boundaries, and reclaim yourself in fragments.
About Erin Vandermore
Erin Vandermore is a therapist, a mother, and the creator of Mind Circuit™, a mental hygiene app. After many years in survival mode, she provides tools for nervous system healing. Experience 60-second calming resets with her app Mind Circuit for moments when relief is needed more than advice. Follow @mindcircuitapp on Instagram and Facebook.
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