Over the course of my wellness journey and my work as a coach in the personal growth field, I have had the incomparable honor of influencing women from all over the world through my writing, my guided journals and especially through my content on social media. For example, according to my Tiktok analytics from the past 60days, I have had 2million in video views yet again. And more than 10,000 comments from people across the globe.
I realized that while telling my story, I have spoken on behalf of myself, in defense of other firstborn daughters, and on the part of women who, however incorrectly, perceived that I have a voice greater than their own.
The truth is that my passion, and enthusiasm for sharing all the things I am learning from the journey of finding myself has taken me by surprise far more than it has anybody else. Sometimes, when I reflect on the bodaciousness of my mission, it embarrasses me. Most of the time, though, it merely makes me giggle.
The privilege of speaking to and for firstborn daughters has been both a blessing and a test; while the former is rather clear, the latter requires a bit of explanation. There is an awesome responsibility that comes with having a mouth as big as my heart. The test comes from having the courage to be vulnerable on the internet, staying true to myself, and not swaying because some people won’t like me, others may mislabel me as bitter or they may think I’m not enough of one thing and too much of another.
I am often asked how I can work with a subject as morbid as trauma without becoming burned out or depressed. My answer to this question is that witnessing the transformation that takes place in my clients when they master their traumas has proven to be a deeply sustaining and uplifting experience in my life.
At this point in my life, few stories still carry enough adrenaline to lift my eyebrows too far out of place. I am, nonetheless, still surprised by how many firstborn daughters relate to my story.
I have spent many hours listening to and reading comments of shocking tales—the ones that depict the travesties that are committed against children by their emotionally immature or narcissistic parents, between women in friendships, and, most sadly, on firstborn daughters by themselves. I have created safe spaces where firstborn daughters raised some of the rawest questions, ones that have gone unanswered for far too long.
“How could this have happened to me?”
“What did I do to deserve this?”
“How do I learn to love myself?”
Too many times I have been silenced by the shame and guilt they have carried. I have cried with many of these women as they shared and journaled their way to healing. I gripped them to my chest, their snot and tears dripping down the front of both of us, while they downloaded the emotional wreckage of their lives. I have bitten my tongue so that I wouldn’t gasp at some atrocity an adult survivor of trauma was sharing.
More than once, I have cried myself to sleep over the misery of another woman’s life. Curiously, the stories I have been privy to strengthen my resolve to assist and support firstborn daughters in their healing and self-discovery. Never once have I ever wanted to retreat from the job I consider to be my own: the job of listening and tending to the wounded heart, of rejuvenating the aching spirit, of igniting introspection, of celebrating the victories, of acknowledging childhood trauma and helping manage mental and personality disorders.
Never once have I been too disillusioned to continue, too angry to be quiet, or too frightened not to care. Although not in equal measure, I have also laughed with firstborn daughters during coaching sessions until the tears of laughter streaked my face. I have giggled uncontrollably and shrieked with delight at both the silliness and fantasies they will share, given the safe and caring space I created for them to do so. Some of us firstborn daughters can exhibit childlike tendencies, both intentionally and not, given the right atmosphere and the perfect audience.
I’ll admit, right here, that I have participated equally in both. I have clung to my aching ribs when I couldn’t quite catch my breath between laughing fits. I have succumbed more often than I should have to breaching professional boundaries when comparing and sharing my own truth seemed the only genuine thing to do. I have never regretted doing so.
We women love to share and we love to commiserate: We bond over trouble, over love, over food, and over sex. We seal these connections with hope, with prayers, with tears, and with cocktails. These things make many of us, most of the time, very content, if not happy and joyous. I can honestly report that I have never met one single woman without a dream, a hope, a vision, or a prayer. I have never met one woman who, in private, denied having an intuition, one who didn’t seek permission to be who she already is, or one who had never chosen failure over regret. I have never met a woman who didn’t, at least once, apologize for being outstanding, one who didn’t ache to fit in and belong, or one who wasn’t willing to self-deprecate in order to comfort a crowd. I have never met a woman who didn’t censure her own achievements, nor have I met one who didn’t, on occasion, pretend to be a refrigerator bulb when she was, in truth, a stadium light.
That said, I can't wait to meet many more firstborn daughters, listen to them tell their stories because if we are lucky enough to wake up to the immense power we have to create our lives, we have a responsibility to share our stories and insights with others. Otherwise, the true power of our realizations is lost. Sharing allows others to see themselves in the words of others, we gain witnesses to our personal journey, and broaden the possibilities that lie before us. Through sharing, we as women can provide the emotional inspiration that others can use to eliminate the “shoulds,” the “musts,” and the “cannots” that bar their way to creating the kinds of lives and relationships they truly desire. I, too, relied on the wisdom and support of many women and men, most of them total strangers, to progress through my own termoil. Watching others and listening, was a major source of inspiration in my healing and self-discovery journey, so I am honored to be same for others.
See you in the next post.
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