Today my social psychology professor asked us what roles we are playing in the current moment and with my brothers’ own online classes echoing in the background. I proceeded to answer with “student.” “But aren’t you a daughter or a sister?” He asked me. Aren’t I? It’s all I’ve ever known. Being the eldest daughter, the eldest sister, the responsible, the wise, the supposedly caring figure is all I have ever known. It used to be as easy as breathing, but my lungs seem to need a little help these days. The words weigh on me, drowning me in the sea of expectations and responsibilities they hold. Or have they always done so? “You sound mature for your age.” An adult would usually comment. Impressed with the way I held myself, or the way I expressed my thoughts. I used to bask in these words, offer shy smiles, a little proud of myself. Today, I’m 21. These words feel like a slap to the face. They ring in my ears long after they’ve been said. Maturing too early comes with a cost. Somet...