surface pressure

On Self Sabotage and Eldest Daughter Syndrome

I haven’t written here in a while. The pressure I feel—returning to college after more than a decade, stepping out on my own after leaving corporate America, planning a wedding, navigating a family full of complicated, angry, and disabled people—has been overwhelming. It’s the kind of pressure that makes words hard to find, leaving me brooding, as

Rose J. Percy

might say.

I sometimes cannot write because I get caught up in how I want to carve the words I write with precision. When I am caught in that place, I call it “brooding.”

I could care less, pt. 2

The first post I ever wrote on Substack was born from a similar place. I wrote about crying out to God and screaming into the void as a respite for the all the space brooding takes up. That is all writing has ever been for me, it seems. A way to make sense of what happened in that dark place inside myself. This is more of that.

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Y'all are going to laugh, but I cried like a baby when I watched Encanto. Some of it was because there was finally representation for the glasses-wearers amongst the Disney princesses, but most of it is because of the song Surface Pressure.

For the uninitiated, Encanto is a Disney movie that follows the magical Madrigal family. They’re a big, Latinx bunch, led by their matriarch, Alma—a refugee who escaped war with her triplet babies and found a new land where they were bestowed with magic and became the cornerstone of a prosperous town. The story centers on Mirabel, Alma’s granddaughter, who’s the only family member without magical powers. Yet, she’s the one who notices the literal cracks forming in their home, the Casita (which, of course, is sentient and magical). Grandma Alma is none too pleased with Mirabel—both for lacking powers and for daring to notice the flaws.

The entire movie is a commentary on generational trauma, mother wounds, and—let’s be real—a masterclass on how to be a himbo (we absolutely stan the Madrigal husbands. Big Antonio energy).

But what really unmoored me when I watched the film for the first time was Luisa’s character. Luisa is one of Mirabel’s sisters, a middle child (if that matters), and she possesses the power of super strength. About halfway through the movie, Mirabel notices that Luisa is even more anxious than usual, and upon asking her about it, Luisa says shes fine, and breaks into an eye twitchy rendition of a song called “Surface Pressure” that could honestly be the soundtrack to my life.

In the song, Luisa recounts how she feels like she has to carry everything—the weight of her family’s expectations, the unspoken demands of being the strong one, both literally and figuratively.

And I relate so much.

Give it to your sister, your sister's older
Give her all the heavy things we can't shoulder
Who am I if I can't run with the ball?
If I fall
to pressure that will drip, drip drip & it never stops. woah.

There’s a lot that Luisa does for her family that she doesn’t have to do—like carrying donkeys. Because Luisa has magical strength, her family relies on her to take on the heavy lifting. But according to the song, Luisa feels an internal pressure to perform these tasks, to never falter, to be the dependable one.

That pressure? It’s one I know all too well.

I am the Eldest Daughter. The first grand child on both sides. The first niece. I come from a family that always needs something. I live a life that feels like it’s always breaking down—something always in need of replacing or repairing. Someone always owed an apology or an explanation. Bills, illness, violence, regret, shame, and unspoken truths follow us into every room as a family unit. And sometimes, I feel like if I’m not there to vent to, to do the heavy lifting, the whole family is going to crash and burn.

In Encanto, Grandma Alma resents Mirabel not just for lacking magic, but also for daring to notice the cracks in their home. The Casita, with its magic, represents Alma’s sacrifice—she lost her husband and homeland fleeing the war, and the magic was the reward for her survival. To Alma, Mirabel’s lack of magic feels like a reflection of her own loss and a diminishment of her sacrifice. And when Mirabel points out the flaws in the Casita, it’s as if she’s questioning the very foundation of Alma’s survival.

I’ve felt this dynamic in my own life. Noticing problems or flaws in my loved ones often triggers them, much like Alma was triggered by Mirabel. I see their sacrifices and their struggles, and when I point out the cracks, it’s as if I’m questioning their worth or diminishing their efforts. Like Alma, they are wounded, carrying their own burdens and losses. And in their eyes, my observations can feel like a loss of their own power, a questioning of their sacrifices.

Just as Alma felt that Mirabel’s lack of magic and her ability to see the cracks were a threat to the family's stability, my loved ones sometimes see my honesty as a threat to the fragile balance they’ve created. But the truth is, we can’t ignore the cracks. Pretending they aren’t there doesn’t make them go away. In my own life, I’m still learning how to navigate the tension between seeing those cracks and not shattering the foundation altogether.

Under the surface, I hide my nerves and it worsens, I worry something is gonna hurt us
Under the surface, the ship doesn't swerve as it heard how big the iceberg is
Under the surface, I think about my purpose, can I somehow preserve this?
Line up the dominoes, a light wind blows
You try to stop it tumbling, but on and on, it goes

Nedra Glover Tawwab, author of Set Boundaries, Find Peace, asserts that anxiety has a large part to play in the way codependent people apply Surface Pressure. That crushing weight of expectation that Luisa sings about is often self-imposed.

“In an anxious state, people create scenarios that lead to adverse outcomes if they try to set a boundary… Even though the worst-case is the least likely outcome, when you’re anxious, it’s exactly what you work hard to avoid. But the true worst-case scenario is avoiding boundaries.”

This makes sense in my head—in theory. But I don’t wholly believe it. This philosophy presupposes that I am entitled to have expectations. And while that’s probably true, so few people act accordingly. So few people meet my expectations (myself included). I have been my parents literal marriage counselor. I once left a weekend getaway because my sister called me on the phone crying about a problem that my arrival wouldn’t solve. I know I’m codependent. You don’t have to drag me.

This philosophy also assumes that after I set limits, people will remain in relationship with me. I have not found this to be true—not consistently.

I think my biggest fear is that if I erect boundaries, I’ll end up alone. And I’m honestly not sure I like my own company enough for that.

In Encanto, everyone lives happily ever after. Luisa is taken off donkey duty. Mirabel saves the Casita (and Bruno... but we don’t talk about that) and manages to get Grandma to see the error of her ways. But reality is rarely so neat.

In my life, I know that setting boundaries and saying “no” might lead to disappointment or even estrangement. The fear of being left alone is paralyzing, but so is the constant pressure to be everything for everyone. I’m still learning what it means to navigate this tension—between holding space for others and making space for myself.

But wait, if I could shake the crushing weight of expectations
Would that free some room up for joy or relaxation, or simple pleasure?
Instead, we measure this growing pressure
Keeps growing, keep going
'Cause all we know is
Pressure

I’m still figuring out what it means to save my own Casita, even if it doesn't come with a neat, happy ending. But maybe, just maybe, it starts with acknowledging that I don’t have to carry all the donkeys—or the weight of everyone else’s expectations. Maybe it’s enough to just be, even if that means sitting with the fear and uncertainty. Maybe that’s where real strength lies.