Breaking Free from the “Shoulds”: What Being the Eldest Daughter Taught Me (and Almost Cost Me)
In this week’s episode of Normalize The Conversation, I had the honor of speaking with Kathryn Lee, LMFT—a licensed psychotherapist and passionate advocate for generational healing. Together, we explored the unspoken realities of what it means to grow up as the eldest daughter, including the emotional labor, invisible expectations, and deeply ingrained “shoulds” that often shape our sense of identity. Kathryn brought incredible insight and compassion to a conversation that so many of us have lived but rarely put into words.
I grew up as the eldest daughter—the strong one, the responsible one, the one who “should” have it all together.
If you're an eldest daughter, maybe you've felt it too:
The pressure to always get it right.
The fear of letting others down.
The belief that love is something you earn by being useful, by showing up, by never breaking.
From elementary school to college, I was a perfectionist, measuring my value by straight A’s and academic awards. I was so determined to be good enough that I took 15-17 credit hours a semester to graduate from undergrad in 2.5 years. And it never felt like enough for me.
I still think about the 99.5% I got on a Spanish test freshman year. And the time I argued with a professor over a 99% on my Human Resource Management exam (which I did end up being right and earning my point back – probably not a good reinforcement looking back at it). I wasn’t upset because I failed—it just felt like a failure. To my brain, anything short of perfect made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.
That same pressure followed me home. As my parents divorced, I took care of my younger brother. I helped him with his homework, and I made our dinners. I did fun activities with him, like sitting in the driveway blasting music in the car to sing and be silly, or making milkshakes at night before bed.
I was also the cousin who babysat for days at a time. I was the teen who tried to hold the family together by being “the good one.” I always showed up with a smile on my face and so much energy that no one could tell how broken I felt inside. I hosted cousin sleepovers and parties, making everyone’s childhood full of laughter, while mine became full of responsibility. I never realized I was trading pieces of myself for the illusion of control and approval.
In my twenties, as I entered adulthood, the obligations only grew heavier. I took on every responsibility I could and put the weight of the world, of my family, on my shoulders.
When my grandparents got into a fatal car accident, I didn’t grieve at the loss of my grandfather. I stepped in and stepped up. I slept in a hospital chair next to my grandmother for two weeks. I sat through every physical therapy appointment and cheered her on as she learned to walk again. I would lie next to her and watch movies and read her stories. When she got home from the hospital, I slept on a twin mattress on the floor next to her bed and took her to every doctor appointment. I made sure she took her medication, helped her bathe, and got her dressed. I did it all as much as I possibly could until it all became too much, and I attempted to end my own life on Christmas Eve.
And 27 days later, when my uncle died by suicide, I moved in with my aunt and younger cousins. I’d take my cousins to school; I’d sit through all their Friday summer camp shows and help them learn the capitals of the 50 states for their history test. And I spent the evenings holding my aunt while she cried and grieved.
When my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I became her caretaker while still going to school full-time in California, running a nonprofit, writing workbooks, hosting a podcast, and flying back and forth between coasts to manage it all. I lived half my life on planes and in airport hotels for an entire year, and at one point spent 8 weeks straight in hotels between Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and Phoenix.
I was everything to everyone except myself.
Here’s what no one tells you:
Chronic self-sacrifice will destroy your body and your mind.
I developed migraines so severely, I needed IVs multiple times a month just to function. I tore a ligament in my jaw from clenching due to stress. I was living in constant physical pain, while emotionally I felt completely disconnected from who I was.
Weekly breakdowns became normal, Saturdays at 1 pm. My identity dissolved into roles: student, speaker, caretaker, businesswoman. I couldn’t remember who Francesca was anymore.
What Kathryn Lee, LMFT, helped me realize in this week’s episode is something I wish I had heard years ago: “The ‘shoulds’ are not your truth. They are expectations passed down, and you have permission to question them.”
So, that’s what I’ve been doing.
I’ve started questioning everything I thought I had to be:
The daughter who never says no.
The woman who does it all without breaking.
The achiever who never rests.
Instead, I’ve begun asking:
Is this coming from guilt or purpose?
Who am I when I’m not performing or taking care of someone else?
What do I want, not what do I owe?
And most importantly: What is the cost of continuing to abandon myself?
If you’re in this too, here are reminders I hold close:
You are not selfish for needing rest.
Your value does not decrease when you set boundaries.
You are not “too much” for wanting more.
You deserve care too, not just to give it, but to receive it.
You are allowed to fall apart.
You’re allowed to stop proving and start being.
This week’s episode isn’t just validation, it’s a permission slip.
To release the role.
To rewrite your story.
To remember the version of you that existed before the weight of “should.”
Listen now: The Eldest Daughter Syndrome: Breaking Free From “Should Be” with Kathryn Lee, LMFT
Because healing starts the moment you stop asking who you “should” be—and start becoming who you are.
