Dear Brother,
You probably never noticed. And I don’t think you meant to. But growing up, it always felt like life handed you things with both hands while I had to stretch and scramble for scraps.
You were the golden child. You didn’t ask to be. But you were.
They clapped louder for you. Gave you the benefit of the doubt. Your mistakes were “boys being boys.” Mine were character flaws. When you failed, they comforted you. When I failed, they asked what I did wrong.
You were never told to make yourself smaller. Or quieter. Or easier to love.
I was.
You got the room with more light, the better school, the newer shoes.
When I asked for things, they said, “We can’t afford that right now.”
But somehow, they could when you needed them.
It took me years to admit I was angry. Even longer to realize I wasn’t really angry at you.
I was hurt.
I felt forgotten.
And I hated how it made me feel like I was competing with someone I actually loved.
There were days I wanted to scream at you for not noticing the difference. For not sharing the spotlight even a little. For how easy everything looked on you.
But there were also nights I saw you trying to be perfect carrying expectations I never had to carry. I saw how they loved you for your achievements, not always for who you were. Maybe we both lost something in that house.
So no ,I don’t hate you.
I just needed someone to say it was okay to feel all of this. That even if we had the same parents, we didn’t get the same love.
And I hope, one day, we can talk about it. As two grown kids, who were both trying to be enough in our own ways.
I love you. I always have. I just needed space to say this.
—Your Sister