The Oldest Sibling

If you’re the oldest sibling, this might resonate with you… especially if you can relate.

People are quick to say,

“It’s only one mother you have.”

“It’s only one father you have.”

“That’s still your family.”

“You need to make it right.”

Right?

What they don’t ask is,

How many times did you already try?

How many conversations

did you have that went nowhere?

How many times

did you forgive what was never acknowledged?

How many responsibilities

were placed on your shoulders

simply because you were born first?

Nobody asks those questions.

As the oldest sibling,

you’re expected to understand more.

To carry more

Sacrifice more.

Fix more.

Somewhere along the way,

people stop seeing you as a son or daughter.

They start seeing you as the one

who’s supposed to hold everything together.

And after hearing, “Figure it out,” enough times,

you stop questioning whether

the weight ever belonged to you.

You carry it.

Until one day…

You can’t anymore.

Then the people who watched

you carry everyone else’s burdens

have plenty to say.

Now you’re the problem.

Now you’re selfish.

Make it make sense.

I’ve realized something.

People who tell you to “make it right”

usually weren’t the ones carrying

what you carried.

They weren’t expected to fix

what they didn’t break.

They weren’t expected to sacrifice their peace

so everyone else could stay comfortable.

It’s easy to have an opinion

when you never had the assignment.

I don’t spend my time

defending my decision anymore.

I know what I lived.

I know what it cost.

Choosing peace wasn’t giving up on my family.

It was choosing not to lose myself

trying to save relationships that only survived

because one person kept sacrificing.

I refuse to participate in manipulation.

I refuse to entertain dysfunction.

I refuse to become the behavior

I walked away from.

My responsibility now is the family

my husband and I built together.

Protecting my peace isn’t selfish.

Protecting my home isn’t selfish.

Breaking unhealthy cycles isn’t selfish.

You might already know this but….

just because someone calls you

doesn’t mean they miss you.

These type of people don’t miss you.

They miss having access to you.

They miss knowing that no matter what happened,

you’d show up.

No matter how they treated you.

If someone got sick…

You’d be there.

Not because they earned it.

Because that’s how your heart is built.

And regardless what people say,

they know your heart.

They know exactly who

will put their own life on hold.

Yup!

You.

Me.

The sad part is…

Some people don’t love your heart.

They love what your heart does for them.

There’s a difference.

When I finally stopped carrying what never

belonged to me, I saw people differently.

Not because they changed.

Because I stopped making excuses for them.

It’s amazing how quickly the rumors start once

people realize they can’t reach you anymore.

Now you’re a bad daughter.

The bad son.

The bad sister.

The bad brother.

The bad person.

Funny…

None of those stories were being

told while you were showing up.

While you were giving.

While you were sacrificing your own home,

your own time, your own peace.

That part never seems to make the conversation.

Then something else happens.

You start hearing the same words

from different mouths.

The same accusations.

Stop explaining yourself.

Stop trying to make people

see a heart they had already decided to ignore.

Protect whatever you have left.

Because the older you get,

the more you realize something…

Pease isn’t just about who you invite into your life.

And once you’ve spent years

being loved only when you’re useful…

You’ll never confuse access with love again.

Flowers are for people

who valued your heart while they had it.

Don’t tell me to give flowers

to people who spent years

treating my heart like it was an

expectation instead of a gift.

Don’t tell me to go back because they’re family.

Family had years to be family.

They had years to protect my name.

Years to appreciate my heart.

Years to acknowledge what I carried.

Years to tell the truth.

They chose not to.

If you’re the oldest sibling

and this resonates with you,

I hope you remember this:

Being the first born was never

your responsibility to carry everyone else.

And choosing peace

doesn’t make you the villain

in someone else’s story.

This is your safe place.

You’re always welcomed here.

— Abi Brooklyn