- I’m nearly 10 years older than my younger siblings, and have always helped take care of them.
- I’ve given them baths, fed them, advocated for them at school, and hosted them in my apartment.
- Having this kind of relationship has made me more confident I can be a good parent.
When I was little, I begged my mom for a younger sibling, but she swore she was done having kids. I dreamt of feeling her belly kick, going on stroller walks, and helping hush the sound of loud cries.
Roughly five years later, my dream came true — not just once, but twice. My younger sister arrived first, followed by my younger brother just 13 months later. I was so excited that my fourth-grade teacher let me count down the days until my mom’s first round of labor on the classroom whiteboard.
By then, my parents had been divorced for a few years. My older brother and I lived with our dad, and we didn’t have much contact with our mom. But when she told us she was having a baby, everything changed.
I felt destined to be a big sister
I had always known I was meant to be a big sister. Every chance I got, I was at my mom’s house, giving baths, feeding bottles, and waiting impatiently for the babies to wake from their naps so we could play outside. My mom never asked me to help; these were things I insisted on doing.
As I got older, I understood just how vital my role as a big sister was. My siblings’ father was either incarcerated or absent in their early years, and my mom had little help. It wasn’t until they were five and six years old that he started seeing them consistently. By then, my older brother and I had stepped into the roles their father hadn’t, becoming more like parents than siblings.
When I left for college, my responsibilities didn’t fade. My siblings spent weekends in my dorm room and, later, in my tiny apartments. I took them to the beach, museums, theater productions, and the zoo. Once, I even organized a monthlong trip for them to give my mom a break when my mom was overwhelmed by being a single parent over the summer.
A few years earlier, she had moved away from where most of our family lived for a fresh start and to be closer to her parents. Since I was still near most of our extended family, I saw a way to help. I reached out to family members who I knew would be delighted to host my siblings and put together a calendar, including a week staying with me, full of activities. That summer was one I don’t think they’ll ever forget, one filled with swimming pools, time with their cousins, and endless love.
All I asked of my mom was that she drive five hours to drop them off at my apartment at the start of the trip. From there, I handled the rest and returned them home safely after their summer adventure was over.
Taking care of my siblings was normal for me
I never questioned whether this kind of sibling-parenting was normal because, for me, it just was. It was second nature to always pack snacks, keep sunscreen handy, and hold hands while crossing the street.
I protected my siblings like they were my own children because, on some days, it felt like they were.
Now, my younger siblings are in high school, but my role in their lives hasn’t changed. They know they can call me if they need a ride, advice, or someone to vent to. I’m the person they reach out to when they have big news to share, need photos before a school dance, or want me in the crowd at their extracurricular activities.
When I briefly worked as a substitute teacher after moving to the same city as them, I even taught in their classes. Instead of being embarrassed, they seemed proud to have me there.
Being a big sister has meant celebrating their wins, showing up when it counts, and stepping in when they need me most. Last year, my sister was harassed and cyberbullied by a group of girls. When the cruel behavior wouldn’t stop, I marched into her school and demanded action from the principal.
When I get nervous about becoming a parent, I realize I already have experience
I will never stop advocating for my younger siblings — not because they need me to, but because I want to.
I’m almost 30 now, standing on the edge of motherhood. And some days, the thought of being a mom scares me. That is, until I remember: I’ve already been a parent figure to two of the most incredible people I know.
I’ve never doubted my mom’s strength, but I’m grateful I could step in and share the load of caregiving with her.
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