Beyond Struggles and Expectations: The Reflections of an Eldest Daughter Overachiever on Perfectionism and Girlhood

The tragedy of being a woman: nurture and care for everyone, hold their hand while they cry and always conceal your wounds. The tragedy of being a daughter: witnessing the sacrifices of your mother, who gave up on her youth for your wellbeing. The tragedy of being the eldest daughter: exhaust yourself by taking care of everyone around you and seek perfection even when you know it’s impossible because you were raised to be a realist but also an idealist. You were raised to bestow, pursue, nurture and aspire but never to take or receive.

It is often said that parents are more strict and pretentious when it comes to raising their first child. I was no exception to this rule, my family was loving but maintained a firm stance leading me to adopt the same attitude towards myself and others. It made me set up standards too high to reach, often resulting in disappointment, more from my side than my parents. Without realizing i started linking my self worth to the amount of achievements i had. It is a bad habit that i still haven't let go of and sadly i don't think i will ever be able to.

Because of my parents’ rigorous attitude towards my education and my natural intelligence i was always on the top of my class, gaining praise from my teachers and envy from the kids of my age. I thrived when i would get the highest mark in class or when i would be called “naturally gifted”, also the praise from my mom continued to made me more ambitious, to want more, to get more. Praise from my emotionally reserved parents was the only source of comfort i could pretend i had whenever i felt sad or alone.

In my teenage years my mom stopped having high expectations, she was happy with every achievement i would have. I didn't like that, it made me anxious. Did she realize i was not as smart she thought? Did she think i was not someone that could make her proud? Was i not good enough?. This change of attitude made me work 2 times harder then before. But every “gifted kid” is prone to burn out.

I encountered struggles in understanding easy concepts, concentrating was extremely hard and i began feeling helpless and disappointed. This disappointment turned into a sour, cold, ugly anger towards myself and i directed it to everyone in my life. Every time i felt vulnerable, i bit and left claw marks on everyone, in hopes they wouldn't get too close to see mine.

Perfectionism got the best of me. It was a venomous flower, and i was stupid enough to pick it up and never let it go. Seeking flaws in myself and dissecting and overanalyzing every single person i met was my hobby. Negative thoughts were rotting into my brain, and i wasn't able to let go of them. I finally understood what was girlhood all about: killing the best version of yourself while trying to reach it. A beautiful yet deadly paradox.

I keep betraying myself. I keep self sabotaging until i restrict myself from the pleasures of life, until i just lay in a dark room, decaying in shame and suffocating on the words that i never dare to speak. I am a little too little for this world.

I am rotten but i still wait and i still try and sometimes i do succeed. And so that sometimes represents my faith. Instead of thinking “i will never be perfect”, i try to think “maybe i can be enough”. Maybe is the perfect word; its sweet yet it doesn't sugarcoat the persistent presence of failure as a potential result. Maybe one day i won’t have the uncomfortable need to be more.

The fate of girlhood is to suffer, but suffering can be poetic if you don't show your sharp teeth or your open wounds. We, girls, are conditioned to fight and to ache for a gentle reminder that we are enough, that we don't have to destroy ourselves in order to save others, that we don't have to be the heroes that nobody writes stories about. We don't need to repent just for our mere existence. We don't have to carry the world’s entire weight on our shoulders when in need of a shoulder to cry on.

Maybe one day mothers and daughters will stop punishing themselves after being punished by the world. Maybe one day they won’t have to step on their own shattered pieces and move on with a broken smile. Maybe one day we will be taken care of with the gentle strength that we had when we took care of our loved ones. Maybe one day we will take care of ourselves