“Ikaw ang Panganay”: Gendered Labor and Invisible Expectations on Pinay Daughters

Photo credit: Maro B. Enriquez via CS Monitor

“Magpakabait ka, ikaw ang panganay.” (Be good, you’re the eldest.)

“Magbigay ka ng example, ikaw ang panganay.” (Set an example, you’re the eldest.)

“Mag-adjust ka na lang, ikaw ang panganay.” (Just be the one to adjust, you’re the eldest.)

These phrases are so common in Filipino households that we hardly question them anymore. But for many ate (older sisters), these words hold deeper meaning. Behind the praise and expectations lies a deeper truth: being the eldest daughter in a Filipino family often means carrying an invisible, unpaid, and gendered burden that society has long normalized.

The Eldest Daughter: Not Just a Title, But a Role

In Filipino culture, panganay (firstborn) comes with unspoken responsibilities, but for girls, the expectations are heavier and more complex. Unlike their male counterparts, panganay daughters are often cast as surrogate mothers, emotional anchors, family assistants, and silent sacrificial lambs. The household doesn’t just expect them to lead, it expects them to give everything.

Whether you're the one watching over younger siblings, mediating your parents’ arguments, helping with bills, or filling out forms for government aid, the expectation is simple: you’re the eldest, so you owe it to the family.

But why is this always asked of daughters, and rarely of sons?

The Gendered Face of Unpaid Labor

What we call “helping out at home” is often real labor: domestic, emotional, and logistical work that props up entire families. Pinay panganays are taught early on to:

• Care for younger siblings

• Cook, clean, and maintain the household

• Serve as second-in-command when the parents are away (or abroad)

• Support the family emotionally, especially during conflict or crisis

• Set aside their personal needs for the sake of the mas nakababata (younger ones)

This labor is often invisible because it’s framed as “natural” for women. It doesn’t appear in resumes or government records. There’s no SSS or PhilHealth for being an ate. Yet the labor is daily, draining, and quietly expected.

The Myth of “Selflessness” and the Reality of Burnout

Society loves to romanticize the eldest daughter. She’s praised for being mabait (kind), masipag (hardworking), and walang reklamo (not complaining). She becomes the example for her siblings, the pride of her parents, the rock of the household.

But at what cost?

This constant expectation to be “selfless” leads to real exhaustion. Many eldest daughters:

• Delay or give up dreams (education, travel, moving out)

• Send money home from meager jobs

• Feel guilty for resting or saying “no”

• Experience anxiety, perfectionism, and burnout from always needing to “hold it together”

All of this is framed as pagmamahal (love), which makes it even harder to recognize the exploitation. Because how can you complain about being overworked when it’s “for family”?

Class, Crisis, and Compounding Pressure

The burden is even heavier in working-class families or homes where parents are OFWs (Overseas Filipino Workers). In these cases, panganay daughters often take on full parental responsibilities. At 12, they're already caring for siblings. At 16, they're handling the household budget. At 20, they might be breadwinners already.

Calamities and crises like typhoons, pandemics, or economic downturns only expose how much we rely on eldest daughters as default caregivers. And when the system fails, it is the ate who steps up, even when she has nothing left to give.

When Being “Strong” Becomes a Trap

Filipino society has built a mythos around the strong Pinay. She is matatag (resilient), maalaga (nurturing), and endlessly giving. The eldest daughter becomes a symbol of this strength, but it’s strength built on silence.

We are not allowed to break down. We are not allowed to be tired. We are not allowed to say, “Ayoko na.” (I don’t want this anymore.)

Because the moment we do, we are labeled masama ang ugali (ill-tempered), walang utang na loob (ungrateful), or selfish.

But what if putting yourself first isn’t selfish? What if rest, boundaries, and dreams are just as valid for daughters as they are for sons?

Naming the Unseen

This is where class analysis becomes essential, not the kind that simply says “girl boss,” but the kind that sees and names unpaid care work as real labor. For generations, Filipino women have carried the weight of families and economies without recognition.

The eldest daughter syndrome is not an isolated experience. It’s part of a bigger system where patriarchy, poverty, and tradition intersect. It tells women that their value is in how much they can give, never in who they are.

But when we begin to see this as structural, not personal, we begin to free ourselves from shame.

Imagining a Different Kind of Family Love

Love doesn’t have to look like sacrifice.

What if families saw ate as a person, not just a fallback, provider, or helper? What if we taught younger siblings to contribute, parents to share emotional labor, and communities to support, not exploit, women's care work?

What if the phrase “ikaw ang panganay” became a statement of identity, not a sentence of servitude?

We are not asking for eldest daughters to stop caring. We’re asking for shared care, where love doesn’t mean one woman holds it all.

“Ate, You Deserve to Rest, Too”

To all the eldest daughters who were forced to grow up too fast, who swallowed their tears to keep peace at home, who carried responsibilities far beyond their years - you deserve to rest.

Being a panganay isn’t a flaw. But it should not be a burden you carry alone.

So next time someone tells you, “Ikaw ang panganay,” may you remember:
“Oo, ako nga. Pero hindi ako pagod na lang palagi. Hindi ako tagapagligtas. Ako rin ay anak.”
(“Yes, I am. But I am not meant to always be tired. I am not the family savior. I am also a child.”)

Let this be the generation where ate learns to say no, and means it without guilt.