Who holds Her?

Who takes care of the person everyone goes to when they need to be taken care of?

I have spent a lot of my life being that person.

Hi, I am Harleen. Eldest daughter.

But that is only one of the many hats I wear.

I am a student.

I am a sister.

I am an aunt.

I am a friend.

I am a future doctor.

I am the chair my mother comes to sit on when she needs to empty her heart because there is no one else who could possibly understand—or, more importantly, no one else “strong” enough to carry it.

But beneath the chair my mom is sitting on is just a little girl who was forced to grow up too quickly.

A little girl who had to say goodbye to pieces of her childhood before she even realized they were gone.

A little girl who should have been worried about what to wear or how to do her hair, but instead was burdened with making sure the emotional turmoil around her never left a scar on anyone else.

I am the room my brother walks into to talk about what is going on, or simply to find a little peace within the four walls of our home.

But while trying to be his peace, I was still searching for peace within myself. Searching for my own four walls where I could finally lay my head down and rest. A place where, for once, I did not have to be strong.

I am the shoulder my sister lays her head on to vent about what is going on in her life, to explain her wounds, and to find comfort in knowing that I will always have her back.

But while holding up a shoulder for her, my own slowly began to fall beneath the weight of the wounds in my heart, all while trying to figure out how to have my own back too.

I am the family manager my dad comes to for anything and everything, whether it is about work, my siblings, or whatever else needs to be handled.

But while managing him and his moods, he does not always realize the pain he has caused his little girl. Pain that travels deeper than even she realizes.

As the eldest daughter, I have had to play so many roles.

And maybe some of you reading this have too.

Maybe you became the therapist before you even understood your own emotions. The mediator before you knew how to stand up for yourself. The protector while secretly wishing someone would protect you.

Maybe everyone around you became so used to your strength that they forgot to ask if you were tired.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot about the most important role of all:

The one where I matter too.

Where my heart's needs matter too.

Where I deserve a space for my heart to rest. Where I deserve a shoulder to lay my head on. Where I deserve a chair to sit in and share the stories my heart has been carrying for years.

I deserve to have someone to go to, too.

The roles I play are not something I complain about. They have taught me a lot and given me strength in more ways than I can explain. I love deeply, and I will always be there for the people I love.

But sometimes, people do not understand how exhausting it can be to always be the strong one.

How much harder we are on ourselves than the outside world could ever be.

How we convince ourselves we do not deserve rest until every little thing on our to-do list is complete.

How, even when we finally do rest, guilt finds its way into the room and whispers that we should be doing more.

That somehow, simply existing is not enough.

But I am slowly unlearning that.

My name is Harleen, and I am the eldest daughter.

I am learning that my needs matter too.

I am learning that the love I give so freely is the same love I deserve to receive.

I am learning that I do not need to earn rest.

I am learning that I am enough just as I am.

I am learning that I am not too much for the right people.

I am learning that my sensitive heart—the one that might start crying at the most random things—is not something I need to toughen. It is a superpower.

I am learning that there is only one of me. That what I bring into the lives of the people I love cannot simply be replaced.

But most importantly, I am learning that I can be there for everyone else without abandoning myself.

And maybe that is something you need to learn too.

So, whether you are the eldest daughter, the youngest, the middle child, or simply the person everyone has always expected to be strong, this is your reminder:

You deserve to be held, too.

You deserve the same love you so effortlessly pour into everyone else.

You deserve happiness without waiting for something to go wrong.

You deserve rest without earning it.

You deserve to chase the dreams that belong to you, not just spend your life helping everyone else chase theirs.

And maybe the strongest thing you will ever do is finally put down all the hats you have been asked to wear, sit in that empty chair, and realize that you were always worthy of being cared for too.

My name is Harleen.

I am the eldest daughter.

But I am also me.

And I am finally learning to make room for her, too.