an open letter to youngest daughters
Dear Youngest Daughter,
Though our experiences may not be identical, I feel like we know each other.
What does it mean — to you, to me — to be the youngest daughter?
On the outside, the opinion seems to be that we're the lucky ones; we don't know how easy we've had it.
In some ways, that's true. Our siblings paved the way, received adult pushback, led and cared for us (regardless of whether they wanted to). They took many bullets, leaving us with a clearer path. Those are sacrifices we may never be able to fully understand or reciprocate.
But being a youngest daughter has come with its own challenges, too. To me, the role can mean an existence defined by others. Growing up, many of us had hand-me-downs or matching outfits, school teachers who developed preconceived notions about us (sometimes in our favor, sometimes not), and parents and guardians who — no matter how well-intentioned — had their comparisons.
It was easy (and sometimes necessary) for our voices to get lost in all the noise. We learned to go with the flow and default to others' directions. As the youngest, we weren't credited for knowing much, but we certainly knew one thing: not to complicate things further.
To be the youngest daughter sometimes meant disconnecting from ourselves and prioritizing — deferring to — others' feelings and beliefs. We didn't want to be a nuisance; we just wanted to fit in. We wanted to be part of the family. We wanted to belong.
As a result, we often doubted and undermined ourselves. We felt we had to prove our place and our worth. But oh, dear one, we were always worthy. Our feelings, our opinions, our experiences — they all mattered.
We spent years mastering the arts of garnering external validation, choosing the path of least resistance, and staying small. Now, though, it's time we learn to look within for answers, trust ourselves, and take up space in our own lives.
It's time we define and fully embody who we are.
With love,
Steph, a fellow youngest daughter ❤
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