Siblings as Parents…where I began
I still remember seeing my baby brother for the first time. I was three years old and, in the 1960’s, you couldn’t go into the hospital ward until you were twelve years old. At the age of three, I was allowed to stand at the bottom of the steps in the old hospital (a remodeled house) while the nurse held that precious little bundle up for me to see.
I started taking care of my brother at the age of 4. Here we are, me keeping him in line while carrying my doll. I was really into the mom role! The joy of that responsibility was short-lived.
In that day and age, it was very common for older children to babysit the younger children in the family. This was especially true on the farm, which was where I grew up. So, at the age of 4 or 5, I started taking care of my little brother for a few hours at a time while mom helped dad do chores outside.
As a young child, I relished my role as caregiver. I felt important. I felt responsible. Sometimes that adult-level role left me feeling alone and afraid, but I always tried to hide it if I could.
As my brother grew, it became apparent to my parents that he was not developing like other children. After a long, painful journey (I accompanied my family on the appointments) my parents got the word that my brother was disabled. Back in the day, they used the “R” word to diagnose my brother and the doctor advised my parents to institutionalize him.
My parents didn’t need to think long about their decision. They would keep their son at home, he would go to school, and he would live as normal a life as possible.
My typical sibling relationship quickly became atypical. Normal as possible was anything but “normal.”
Throughout life with my brother, my personal pain was great, and my desire to “fix” everything even greater. I was consumed with guilt, anger, and resentment, but those feelings were buried so deep, I wasn’t even aware of them.
For many years I defined myself by my past—as a sister to a brother with a disability. I didn’t give myself another identity. This prevented me from moving forward to my full potential. Even though I was an over-achiever (an effort to make my parents happy, I believe), staying stuck in the past has always held me back from what I really wanted in life.
Now I realize that I, and many other siblings like me, suffered developmental trauma as children which was related in some way to having a brother or sister with a disability. My life’s purpose is to help these siblings find healing from their suffering. Let me help you.
