the strongest soldier with the softest heart
In this ever-changing world full of adversities, what would be one’s greatest strength? Most would probably associate strength with masculine, alpha-like values — the loudest, bossiest, most outspoken people in the room were often considered the strongest. They’re the ones sitting comfortably on the throne, possessing power one could only wish to have.
On the other hand, kindness and vulnerability are often associated with weakness. More often than not, the sweetest people on earth are taken advantage of by the very people the world deems as “strong”. People who wear their hearts on their sleeves were deemed as weak and pitiful. But that’s not necessarily true. It takes strength to be such an altruistic person. To quote Kahlil Gibran, tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution.
There’s a certain point in life where I realized that as the eldest daughter, it’s my responsibility to stay strong, even when things are tough. That we have to be the most powerful, most successful human being ever to exist. Ironically, despite being the eldest daughter, I’ve been mostly weak and vulnerable my whole life. Contrary to most eldest daughters with A-type personalities, I was quiet, tender, and emotional. My close friends would often joke about how “angelic” I was in middle school, a term that I never really liked because I thought it made me seem “weak”. Those who knew me very well in middle and high school would describe me as being “soft inside and out”, another description which I didn’t appreciate enough.
So, what is it like? Living as the eldest daughter with a tender heart?
Growing up, I’ve always heard how being the oldest child means you’re naturally an excellent leader. I vaguely remember a theory I learnt in one of my psych classes about how birth orders affect your personality. That first-borns are naturally protective yet stubborn and often anxious. That they are harsh critics and centered on gaining power and validation. Most families I know with first-born daughters were often the brightest and most successful of their siblings.
Now and then, I think about how I’m not the perfect daughter because I lack qualities that eldest daughters are supposed to possess (strong-willed, dominant, overachieving, etc). Sure, I can be stubborn and perfectionistic at times. But I don’t have any great achievements under my belt. I’m not a naturally good leader. I’m not a dominant person — quite the opposite, actually. I feel like I’m never enough, like I’m not mature enough to go through life on my own, that I still let other people control me because I’m afraid of upsetting them, that I’m not the overachieving daughter that my parents would rather have. Most people doubt me because I’m so visibly soft, that I don’t seem like the strong and reliable type.
Most of the time, I try to be dependable. I try to lend a helping hand whenever I can, whether it be opening doors for other people and being the last one to enter the room or giving advice and emotional support. If I can’t be strong, I can at least be helpful, so I thought.
My mother would often lecture me on how altruism and honesty are the two values I should hold dearly the most. That every single act of kindness will be met with good things in return, and that life will get easier if we were kind to others.
On the contrary, my life hasn’t been the easiest. There were times where I wished I was strong enough to stand up to the people taking advantage of me. Often times, I let people hurt me just for the sake of being ‘kind’, because I didn’t want to upset anyone. I couldn’t protect myself because I put others needs before my own. I used to cry very easily as a young child, a trait that most people have criticized me for, telling me that I seem childish for crying a lot. Thus, the older I get, the more I learn to suppress my emotions.
Growing up, I hated having to cry in front of my friends and family. I would resort to locking myself in my room — or any enclosed space — when I’m at my weakest state. With no one to talk to and no shoulder to cry on. But that’s okay, since I’m used to having my emotional needs thrown to the side anyway.
Ironically, because I grew up having to learn to put up a front, I ended up being terrible at tending for my own emotional needs. More often than not, I don’t realize when I feel upset about something until someone else notices the change in my expression. I’ve been told that I seem cold and mysterious at first glance, though that’s probably because I’ve learnt to repress my emotions until they eventually explode disastrously.
There were times where I acted selfishly, putting myself above others and hurting them. But every time I do, I’d feel guilty afterwards, wondering how far I’ve gone. I can’t help but worry about how my words and actions would affect others in the future, or whether I’ve hurt someone in the past, intentionally or not. How ironic, isn’t it? The fact that I wish to be strong, yet seemingly I care about others too much.
Perhaps it’s the way my mother raised me. That she’d never get tired of reminding me to always be kind, even in the midst of calamity. I didn’t grow up becoming the strong eldest daughter with an iron fist; instead, I grew up to be the eldest daughter who would toss her needs aside in favor of others.
The older I get, the more I understand that it’s not easy living as a soft-hearted person. When things are hard, I feel everything at once. All the overflowing emotions feel so burdening, yet I can’t let it all show on my face. The smallest change in mood or behavior from others can set me off, as I can easily notice when something is wrong. But I can’t let anyone know how much it bothers me.
For some people, apathy comes easy. But for some, it’s not. I can’t count the number of times I wanted to cry when I saw my loved ones cry, the times I held back tears while trying to comfort them, the times I felt their despair as I embrace them and tell them that everything will be okay.
Sometimes I wonder what life is like for stoic people. What it feels like not living their whole lives being labeled as ‘sensitive’ and ‘too much’.
Perhaps I should change my views on vulnerability. That it is ultimately a blessing, to be able to feel so much at once, yet still be able to live peacefully with it. That it’s not a weakness to be seen as kind and gentle. Rather, it is a strength, an ability that is not so easy to master.
Or perhaps, I should change the way I view strength. That it is, at its very core, a unique trait for each individual. That everyone — no matter who they are — has their own strengths, whether it being their strong and charismatic personality or their ability to empathize, or anything, really.
By now, I’ve come to the realization that everyone is strong in their own ways. That I can still fulfil my role and duty as the strong, eldest daughter, without having to compromise what I stand for. That I am both strong and vulnerable, for everything that I am. And perhaps, one day I’ll come to know that there are other eldest daughters out there whose greatest strength is their ability to love.
