A self-help guide for eldest daughters

After reading the Refinery29 article entitled "6 Women On The Pressure Of Being The Eldest Kid Of Immigrants," I couldn't help but see the parallels to my own experience. The women discussed serving as the guinea pig for their parents, taking over familial responsibilities that are typically reserved for adults, and becoming the designated third parent.

As the eldest daughter in my family, I've had similar experiences: I consistently provide significant emotional support to each of my family members when they navigate intrafamily turmoil, serve as a role model for my brother in every aspect, and ensure that peace is kept within my home.

The best way I can describe myself is that I am the designated Family Manager. 

Those who experience "eldest daughter syndrome" typically feel a strong sense of responsibility; they are considered type A, overachievers, or perfectionists; they struggle with people-pleasing behaviors; and they have a hard time setting boundaries. This list isn't all-encompassing, but these are some of the most common traits that eldest daughters share. 

After reading through this blog, it appears I am not the only one who navigates the dynamics that come with being the oldest child in their family. As such, I decided to compile a "self-help" guide for those of us suffering from eldest daughter syndrome. Implementing the recommendations below is easier said than done, but it is a first step in prioritizing our well-being.

Develop Boundaries

One of the most important ways to combat eldest daughter syndrome is to create boundaries with your family members. This can be especially difficult when our families consistently rely on us, but establishing your limits and learning to delegate responsibility is one of the most important ways to avoid emotional burnout. 

Learning to set boundaries involves recognizing that saying "no" is not only acceptable but necessary for maintaining our well-being. This can start with small steps, such as limiting our availability to others, avoiding phone calls after a certain time, or declining requests that drain our energy. 

Differentiating between independence and excessive self-reliance is also key. Becoming independent can be seen as a strength and is commonly associated with being the eldest daughter. However, when that independence morphs into an unhealthy inability to depend on others, it can become a serious impediment to our health. If you find yourself slipping into the habit of refusing to ask for help, it is best to pause and remember to reach out when a situation become overwhelming.

Find a Community and Share your Experience

Finding a community of like-minded individuals is a powerful tool for eldest daughters navigating the challenges of our role. Connecting with others who have experienced similar pressures and responsibilities can provide us with a sense of validation.

For example, after reading a satirical article detailing the LinkedIn profile of an eldest daughter, I forwarded the piece to one of my childhood friends who--like me--is also the oldest daughter in her family. We shared jokes about which portions of the fictitious profile page was most applicable to us and we found it amusing, relevant, and almost too accurate. Reminiscing over our shared experience as eldest daughters reminded me that my experiences are not singular and that other people share the same struggles that I do. 

Practice Self-Love and Self-Appreciation

Practicing self-love is essential for eldest daughters seeking to overcome the pressures of our role. Growing up as a caretaker often means putting others first, which can lead to neglecting one's own emotional and physical needs. Self-love involves prioritizing personal care and recognizing that take care of ourselves is not selfish but necessary. This can include activities like spending time alone, engaging in hobbies, or simply taking moments to reflect on our own needs. 

In an effort to practice more self-appreciation, I created a list of traits I developed which can be attributed to being the oldest child in my family. For example, I love that I prioritize family time and I am extremely proud of my ability to be a problem-solver while also being empathetic; I attribute each of these qualities to my experience as an eldest daughter.

By implementing these strategies, eldest daughters can begin to break free from the pressures of our role, prioritize well-being, and cultivate a healthier balance between family responsibilities and personal fulfillment. As eldest daughters, we have to remember that we cannot pour from an empty cup. 

Bringing your whole self to work when you are not standard issue?

When I was kindergarten age, I got a teacher fired.

Based on parental retellings, I pieced together that I was enrolled in a summer course intended to strengthen students’ reading ability. On the first day of class, the teacher laid out piles of books in the middle of each cluster of desks…and that was all.

I noticed several of the kids did not know how to read, but time was left to pass. So, one day I showed myself right to the principal’s office—and I tattled. I told the principal about how the kids who did not know how to read were not being helped and that it was wrong for them not to be assisted. The principal observed the class, and let the teacher go.

I picked up an intuition for right and wrong at a young age. Instances of unfairness bothered me. So, despite being low on society’s hierarchical ladder, I developed a stern voice to wield against inequity. This is similar to Campoverdi’s description of herself as the protector of her family in Chapter 3 of First Gen, except I tried to be protector of all. As “M” states, I, too, believed “if I don’t do it, no one else will.” 

Until recently, I felt pride at having such a voice. But interactions with legal institutions have caused me to question whether this feature—one I believe is central to my identity—can be used freely in the workplace.

At the end of Chapter 3, Campoverdi considers that she may need to take steps to protect herself moving forward. I find myself in a similar position, but do not like how protecting myself might equate to burying a piece of my identity.

Before law school I was a paralegal at a highly ranked law firm where I worked hard. I was on-call around the clock and worked past midnight on numerous occasions. In a review a senior attorney noted, “…R is always a pleasure to work with, even when faced with difficult tasks or tight deadlines. I can also rely on her to flag issues before they arise or that are missed by junior attorneys….”

This acknowledgment that my feedback was sometimes more useful than that of people with advanced degrees bolstered my sense of utility and value, and was reinforced by overwhelmingly positive reviews from other surveyed attorneys.

So, when I was denied a summer associate position at my old firm, I was surprised. Was my advocacy a factor?

At my old firm the paralegal program is two-years, but paralegals are hired every year. I was part of the class of 2021. There were four of us: three women and one man. When I was hired, I asked if the salary was negotiable due to studies showing women are less likely to negotiate their first salaries, leading to income disparity. I was told it was not negotiable, because of a lockstep pay scale. A female colleague in my class, “Gideon,” was told the same.

The following year, a man hired with the 2022 paralegal class was able to negotiate his salary. He was accelerated onto the step of the pay scale my class was earning after our first-year promotion. Adding insult to injury, he started in June (I had started in August), so he was brought into the company making more money than I was—even with my year of in-company experience. The male paralegal who had started with my class left the firm early for a master’s program. This left three ivy-league educated women getting paid the same or less than a new, male paralegal with less relevant experience.

Perhaps there was more nuance to the situation, but the circumstances closely approximated gender discrimination. So, I approached my manager about negotiating a class-wide raise. I maintained a professional tone while advocating for my colleagues and me. Despite a response along the lines of “I wish you guys wouldn’t discuss your salaries,” I convinced management to award my class an additional bonus that year.

This was not the only time I was forthcoming with management about my perspective on fairness.

When our department was hiring the 2023 paralegal class, three internal referrals were handed down to our manager. My manager reviewed their resumes, conducted screener interviews, and then had us conduct secondary interviews. Our, paralegal, interviews were followed by attorney interviews. There was no public job posting for the duration of those events.

The candidates were fine, but not stellar. Despite this, my manager thought the referral candidates should receive offers to keep hiring simple. This did not sit right with me, because it exemplified the privilege of pursuing law in the footsteps of one’s family, or with the advantage of having family friends positioned to provide access to opportunity. “Lawyers have parents who are lawyers at a rate 18 times the rest of the population”—a strong indicator of inherited advantage.

We did end up making a job posting and interviewing additional candidates. But only because Gideon and I maintained that we should widen the pool of opportunity. Gideon and I came from similar backgrounds—and we were hired from the resume pile. We did not have someone to discreetly hand our resume directly to the person making the hiring decisions. There were no lawyers in our family tree nor a legacy of wealth for us to fall back on. Our families had made the crawl to middle class within our lifetimes.

Gideon and I wanted to serve as the bridge allowing access to law for others with first generation and low-income backgrounds.

To the extent I stood up for fairness in my first job, I was entirely myself. I argued against gender pay disparity and in favor of widening applicant pools to include candidates beyond those cultivated by nepotism. But, despite glowing reviews, I was not welcomed back.

Within our class we have read about how law school prepares students for the hierarchy and seemingly arbitrary decision making that occurs in a law practice. Was I rejected because I did not fall into place at the bottom of the hierarchy? Because I could not accept the firm’s decisions when they were not just seemingly arbitrary, but also wrong? Does thriving in a private firm mean being complacent to procedures that effectuate “closing the door” behind me?

I hope to find that the answer to all the above questions is “no.” I want to be the kind of lawyer my younger self would be proud of—and she was never a fan of caving to intimidating forces out of fear.

Further, if the answers are “yes,” breaking into law will continue to be difficult for “First and Onlys.” I know that adopting behaviors such as “passing” and “dodging” are necessary for some to protect their peace. But I have tried to accept all aspects of myself growing up, including my proclivity for clashing with authority where I believe it necessary to stimulate positive change—and I do not want to give that up. 

Should I?

Defeating imposter syndrome with female empowerment

No matter what your identity is, every person has at some point felt the overwhelming sense that they don't belong. Whether that be at a social event, the classroom, a professional setting, or even in their own home, imposter syndrome affects us all. 

But what is imposter syndrome? Imposter syndrome is the psychological experience of feeling like a phony, like you do not deserve to be where you are because you are not qualified. Despite this, those that struggle with imposter syndrome...

do not look ill at ease or uncomfortable. They appear very self confident but really it's just a mask they wear. And they are absolutely sincere in being unable to accept praise. It has nothing to do with false modesty. They are perfectionists who need to perform flawlessly and equate making a mistake with shame and humiliation. They often feel very guilty about the credit they receive for their achievements. 

This quote is from In Her Own Words (October 1985). 

Specifically in graduate students, imposter syndrome has shown to be extremely debilitating. 

In 2020, the Division of Cancer Epidemiology & Genetics conducted a systematic review of 62 studies which evaluated the prevalence of imposter syndrome. Showing prevalence rates as high as 56% to 82% in graduate students, college students, nurses, medical students, and other professions. Symptoms can include distress, anxiety, depression, burnout, exhaustion, avoidance of high-level tasks, rigid thinking, and dismissal of positive feedback.

National Cancer Institute, Division of Cancer Epidemiology & Genetics (2023).

I know for myself imposter syndrome is something I struggle with daily. It is one of the main reasons I am so eager to graduate law school––to get out of this setting that triggers feelings of inadequacy.

Constant exposure to environments where I am made to feel like I am not good enough has become exhausting for me. The mental gymnastics I go through to prove to myself that I am good enough is a routine that I am hoping comes to an end when I finally have a law degree. 

However pervasive imposter syndrome may be in the law school setting, I am even more concerned about it in the work force. This past semester I have been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to extern at a public defender's office in the felony intake department. Unfortunately, I have found this experience to be one that has had a detrimental effect on my self-confidence. The reason? Working exclusively with male attorneys.

 

After this semester, I feel as though I have a gaping hole in my self-worth that I will have to fill before I begin my post bar position. What troubles me more is that other female interns (who are also women of color) have had the same experience in this office, which is a stark contrast to the male interns that seem to be content with their intern experience. 

Everyday after work I would have to remind myself that I have spent well over half of my law school career in public defender offices. I know the ins and outs of how a PD office works and I know I have the capability to learn how to do my job right and go above and beyond if given the opportunity.

The main takeaway from this intern experience for me has been that as an attorney, I will make it my mission to pay it forward and empower female interns around me. Without the mentorship of female attorneys, I would not be zealously pursuing public defense work like I am today. Female mentors have taught me how to write, research, and speak in court. I owe them everything. 

I suppose it was unlucky that I got to know what NOT to do as an attorney working with interns, on such a personal level.

My opinion is not an unpopular one. Mentorship has been shown to be a valuable development resource for women. Dr. Candace Steele Flippin, a scholar and researcher who focuses on women in the workforce, conducted a study in 2017 titled Gen X Women and Career Advancement. This study found that women who lack mentorship experiences have careers associated with unfavorable outcomes such as restricted careers and diminished job performance. 

Comparatively women who did have mentorship experiences reported to have skills in career planning, leadership, and self efficacy. Fifty-three percent of females in the study reported that their most helpful mentor was female.

As evidenced by the study, women need women to look up to and support each other. In a male dominated career field, I know for a fact that without the female attorneys that guided me, I would not have faith in my own ability to be a successful public defender. I am able to have some sense of self assurance because of those who came before me––those who have shown me that I can do it, too.