03/10/2025
Just like Taylor, when I said I don’t believe in marriage, I lied.
Because I’ve said it too. I’ve said it like armor, like a shield, like a way to protect myself from a future that terrifies me. Not because I truly don’t believe in love, or in building a family of my own, but because I’ve seen how fragile it all can be.
I am the eldest daughter. The provider. The fixer. The one who had to grow up too fast and learn to parent the very people who were supposed to be my parents. I’ve watched love get swallowed by survival. I’ve seen marriage bend under the weight of bills, sacrifices, and unspoken resentments. I’ve witnessed how hard it is to keep a family alive, how exhausting it is to give until there’s nothing left.
And the truth is, I’m afraid.
Afraid that the fears I’ve carried since childhood, the sacrifices, the responsibilities, the wounds, might bleed into the family I try to build for myself one day. Afraid I’ll repeat cycles I never asked to inherit. Afraid of pouring myself out again until I am nothing but tired.
So I told myself I don’t believe in marriage. But that was never true. What’s true is that I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone who can hold all of this with me. Someone who won’t see my independence as unbreakable, who won’t mistake my strength as proof that I don’t need gentleness. Someone who will understand that beneath the eldest daughter who holds everything together is still a little girl who just wants to be held.
That’s the part no one tells you about being the eldest daughter. You grow up learning how to carry it all, but deep down, all you’ve ever wanted was someone to finally carry you.