Learning to carry what I never asked for.

I was never sure what my family expected of me. Some of it was unclear, and some was unsaid. It felt like I had to carry both everything and nothing. No one laid out a path, but I was still expected to stay on course.

Being the eldest daughter, I translated, planned, and adapted. I learn to be really good at figuring things out on my own. I was suppose to make all their sacrifices worthwhile. I was suppose to be brave in public, yet silent at home. Speak on behalf of others but swallow my own needs.

There was care, but it wasn’t soft. There was love, but not always safety. I learned that being strong meant not needing too much. I spent years chasing a version of myself that would feel right for them. But I’m not sure if they even knew what it is that they wanted.

Their expectations often sound like “be good”, “be strong”, “don’t make it harder”.

But, maybe underneath that was “we’re scared”, “we’re tired too”, “we don’t know how to help you”.

I don’t think I’ll ever meet their expectations. But I sometimes, still carry it in my body, in how I work, how I rest, and how I show up. I wonder if their expectations are a form of love I never asked for.

Their own version of “we want you to have a better life”, while not considering that better might look different to me. Better for me is having choice. A choice to choose a path that felt more like mine. To live a life that feels true to me.

I don’t think my family quite understands it, but they see that I’m happier, fuller, and I think for now that’s enough.