Kalpana recalls the emotional abuse her mother endured and how she and her brother absorbed the fallout. These early experiences shaped her sense of safety and belonging in ways that lingered in her adulthood.
There are nights when we lie in your bed, fairy lights glowing above us, the city humming softly outside, and you tell me what has been sitting with you all day. Side by side under your pink quilt, you know I am all yours. It was during one of those nights when you asked me a question I couldn't answer right away.
She looked at me like I'd lost my mind. 'Because I said I'd clean their house, so I clean their house. What's so hard to understand about that?' I thought she was missing the point. Turns out, she was the only one who got it.
We'd been working together for years to make my medication regimen-treatment for schizoaffective disorder-safe for potential pregnancy. Under her care, I was tapering off an antidepressant known to cause respiratory distress and hypertension in a newborn. I'd been experiencing wild mood swings, even suicidal thoughts. My beloved doctor's eyes were sad. "I'm saying no to a pregnancy, Meg." Even in the moment, I understood her priority as a physician was to keep me safe. Still, part of me hated her.
Firstborn daughters in immigrant families often grow up faster than they expect to. From a young age, they are entrusted with responsibilities that extend far beyond typical childhood expectations. These daughters take on multiple duties, including supporting their parents with language barriers, caring for their younger siblings, and serving as a bridge between their home culture and the broader society. Their experiences shape their understanding of responsibility, which in turn influences their self-worth and their pursuit of success.
Growing up, Melissa Shultz sometimes felt like she had two fathers. One version of her dad, she told me, was playful and quick to laugh. He was a compelling storyteller who helped shape her career as a writer, and he gave great bear hugs. He often bought her small gifts: a pink "princess" phone when she was a teen, toys for her sons when she became a mom.
For thirty years, I watched this woman explain every decision she made. Why she worked part-time when the kids were young. Why she went back full-time when they were older. Why she didn't want to join the PTA. Why she did want to take that art class. Always explaining, always justifying, always making sure everyone understood her reasons. Then she turned fifty, and it all stopped.
When women actively support one another by sharing information, recommending colleagues for opportunities, and amplifying achievements, they help counterbalance these structural disadvantages. These behaviours reflect what psychologists often describe as prosocial leadership—using one's position or influence to help others succeed.
Putting on makeup. Like, we're supposed to disguise ourselves; otherwise, people think we didn't take this outing seriously, didn't care enough, or didn't act professionally. In some ways, beauty standards are social obligations. Keeping up with nails, clothes, hair, etc., that's almost an expectation in some relationships.
Many parents believe they are being supportive when they say things like, "I'm just worried about you," or "We only want what's best for you." However, adult daughters can experience these same phrases not as care, but as criticism, control, or quiet disappointment. And it's brutal for a child to feel that from their parent. This disconnect was recently highlighted in an article by Avery White, who identified common phrases parents use with adult children that sound supportive but subtly communicate judgment.
This didn't come as a surprise, because as a teenager, I remember it exactly this way. Living parallel lives together as sisters. It was only ever the two of us, and with our ages so close together - I'm not even two years older - you might think we were inseparable. It just wasn't how it was. We were so different We were night and day different then.
My mom died when I was young, so I grew up spending summers with her mom in South Dakota. I loved that time with her, but I often only saw her that one time of year. I lived back in Florida with my dad for the rest of the year. When my grandma was older, she embraced the snowbird lifestyle and spent half the year in Florida to escape the Midwest winters.