Maybe it’s because I’m the eldest daughter, but I have always felt some responsibility towards my friends. Whether it be to help them with some task, give them advice, or bake them cookies on a whim, I would never complain if I had to go out of my way for them. While this led to a lot of issues with me putting more energy into friendships than others, my mother was concerned for different reasons. She always warned me that as soon as people view me in a different manner, as the “responsible” one, they won’t be comfortable around me. However, I always disregarded this advice. If I helped someone out, then they would always like me, or find me to be a good friend, right?Â
As I grew older, I moved away from larger friend groups, choosing to be friends with specific individuals. This allowed me to slightly break free from that mold, no longer being the “responsible mom” of the group, but just another half of a friendship. However, when I came to college, the label seemed to return to me. While it wasn’t immediate, at some point in time, I became the responsible one. Even though I would always be available to cook or help friends out with something, I’m never the first person for them to confide in. For some reason, I would never be the first person for them to trust. While I have slowly learned that I cannot have any expectations on other people to confide in me, it still stings.Â
In that way, I feel the separation. While I am someone who is there to cook, bake, and host, I have little else substance. Due to this, I have to wonder what I offer as a person. The slight exploitation always leaves me feeling a certain way while everyone else is able to peacefully live their lives.Â
Even though I might be helping someone out, I wonder if they will truly appreciate my efforts. And even if I have a conversation with them about my feelings of inadequacy, I have to wonder if they will even come to understand my point of view. If I get angry at them for something, is it even valid? Am I allowed to be emotional about things? Or am I simply meant to be someone who is a constant helping and pleasant figure around them?Â
In a way, it’s exhausting. Sometimes, it feels as though I am not a real person, but a robot. For the first time, I am able to understand a small fraction of the sacrifice that any mother makes. Even though they try so hard to be understanding and involved, there is always a sense of separation between the mother and child. Even though the child does not realize it, they push the mother away, regardless of the fact that the mother only lives to serve them. I have even begun questioning if I want kids for this reason. If it means a lifetime of this feeling, I do not think I am ready for it. I do not think I can physically handle more years of essentially a part of me, disregarding me.Â