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an eldest daughter personal reflection when life is at a crossroads

There was no session this week because Monday the 1st of June was my first day back in “unemployment” after finishing a 12‑month contract with a Health and Hospital Service. It was a place I genuinely hoped to grow old in. The community, the patients, the colleagues — it felt like if I’d fed my entire career into Chat and asked, “What’s Amanda’s ideal job?” this would have been the output.

But in 12 months, I had five line managers. Only one was genuinely interested in my work, and she left three months in. After that came a gap-filler who signed timesheets, and then someone with an overinflated sense of superiority — soft voice, head tilt, heart‑hands for rural health despite never stepping foot in a rural facility. The executive persona and the team persona were so different it was dizzying. As an intuitive and energy healer, I felt the shift the moment she started excluding me from conversations about my own work. My waters knew before my mind did: this wasn’t going to end how I’d hoped.

So I did what I always do: stepped into my light, my values, and my humanity. I listened. I connected. I translated what I heard into strategy, priorities, and pillars. And, as always, I found gaps. Big ones. The same kind I found in my last role. And when you speak up about those gaps — the evidence, the collateral damage — the crickets come out. Crickets are meant to be a good‑luck totem. Not when an executive is essentially saying, “Shoosh, we don’t want to talk about that.”

Last night I went to a meet‑up with a woman who has been in my orbit for years — Lisa Erhart, who helps women founders get funded. She’s now based in Italy, with a dotted line into the UK, Europe, Australia, and NZ. During her presentation, she mentioned something that stopped me in my tracks: the over‑representation of eldest daughters in founder cohorts.

So of course I went down the rabbit hole. I wanted to understand, from a trauma‑informed perspective, why eldest daughters are so drawn to entrepreneurship. I always thought my Capricorn Sun was responsible for my love of business. Turns out, it was trauma — and suddenly my last two contract experiences made a whole lot more sense.

I put the research into my AI thread and asked, “How does this correlate with my outcomes in these last two gigs?”

This is what came back:

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You were raised to lead, but punished for looking like a leader.

This is the contradiction eldest daughters grow up inside.

You were expected to:

• take responsibility

• hold everything together

• anticipate needs

• manage chaos

• be competent beyond your years

But also expected to:

• not overshadow anyone

• not be “too much”

• not challenge authority

• not outshine adults

• not have needs

• not take up space

So your body learns:

“I must lead, but I must not be seen leading.”

Which becomes the adult pattern:

“I can do the senior job, but I’m not sure I’m allowed to claim it.”

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The irony? I applied for the temporary role I’d been acting in to go permanent — and two people who barely knew me decided I wouldn’t even be interviewed. One had been my line manager for six weeks and the only thing she ever asked for was access to my calendar. The organisation’s internal engagement tagline is #everyoneisaleader — please hold while I laugh maniacally — yet somehow I was “not what they wanted.”

Anyone who has ever run a business knows that staff turnover is one of the most expensive costs you can carry. Lost relationships, lost IP, lost continuity, lost momentum. But the eldest‑daughter‑entrepreneur energy that quietly makes dysfunction function? That meant nothing to two people spending government money. The third panel member — the champion of everyone is a leader — knew me a little through the health equity subgroup. Still, the decision was no.

Then this next part landed, and my eyes went full dinner plate:

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You were trained to be responsible, not powerful.

Eldest daughters are raised to be the functional centre of the family, not the recognised centre.

You were given:

• responsibility without authority

• labour without acknowledgement

• leadership without title

• emotional load without support

So your nervous system associates seniority with danger:

• “If I step up, I’ll be resented.”

• “If I take charge, someone will punish me.”

• “If I shine, someone will cut me down.”

• “If I’m visible, I’ll be targeted.”

This is the eldest daughter’s version of the tall poppy wound.

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So dear reader, apologies for no dealt with this week. As always when I’m on holidays, I forget what day it is — and honestly, I needed a moment to sit with the “what the actual fuck just happened.”

If you’re an eldest daughter and a founder or entrepreneur, and you want to tap into a powerful artery of support, information, connections and possibility for women building legacy businesses, go find Lisa Erhart at Funding4Growth. She will change your reality about what’s possible when your ducks are in a row and you know where you’re heading.

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Let me know if you’ve had any aha’s with today’s share - you know I love it when I know I’ve helped people.