Growing up as the firstborn daughter, I was taught that my siblings were my responsibility. Whenever something good came my way, I was expected to share it. Whenever my parents needed help, I was the first person they called.

I paid school fees, bought groceries, and helped my younger siblings whenever I could. I postponed my dreams because I wanted them to have a better life.

Whenever I complained about being tired, I was reminded that I was the firstborn. Apparently, being the firstborn meant I had to be strong, even when I was falling apart inside.

Years passed, and my siblings gradually became independent. One got a good job, another got married, and the youngest started building a life of his own.

I was happy for them. Truly, I was.

Then one day, I lost my job.

For the first time in years, I needed someone to help me. I called my siblings, hoping that the people I had sacrificed so much for would stand by me.

One said money was tight. Another promised to call back but never did. The youngest simply told me he had his own responsibilities to handle.

That night, I sat alone in my room and cried.

I wasn't crying because they couldn't give me money. I was crying because I had spent years making sure nobody in my family felt alone, yet when loneliness finally found me, there was nobody to hold my hand.

The following week, my mother called.

I thought she was calling to ask how I was coping.

Instead, she asked if I could send money for my younger brother's needs.

I stared at my phone for a long time before answering.

"Mummy, I don't have anything right now. I'm struggling too."

There was silence on the other end.

Then she said something that broke my heart.

"You're the firstborn. You should always find a way."

I ended the call and wept.

For the first time, I asked myself a question I had been too afraid to ask before.

When does a firstborn finally get to be human?

When do we get to rest, make mistakes, pursue our dreams, and receive the same love we give so freely?

I still love my family. But I'm learning that loving people doesn't mean abandoning myself to keep them comfortable.

Being the firstborn is not a life sentence to endless sacrifice.

We deserve care, too. We deserve support, too. And we deserve to be remembered, even when we have nothing left to give.

If you're a firstborn, I want you to know this: your life matters beyond what you can do for your family. You deserve to be loved, not just needed.