An Open Letter to My Siblings (And Other Kids Like Us): Summer’s Thoughts

siblings

HA note: Summer shared this open letter with us and said, “I wrote this open letter to my siblings, and other kids like us, months ago but when I saw your posting for your series on siblings, I felt it was applicable. I hope to write more on the subject, as my siblings are a place of great hope for me.”

To my siblings and the kids like us:

Well done, you brave soul.

You have warred your entire life and you’re still here. No one could have blamed you for giving up, I know I have thought about it many times. We have warred against our parents, against each other, and against ourselves.

You were ignored at an early point. Disappointed at every corner and torn down whenever things looked positive. Lord knows high school was hell as you realized that this isn’t how home is supposed to feel. And the day you realized there was nothing in childhood to feel nostalgic for burned.

Where did we find the courage to keep looking forward?

We are the bravest people I know. As adults we’ve all become different people, not the same kids I argued with for years. We may not see eye-to-eye on much but we are all successful in our own ways. And we are here. And we’re still moving forward.

That is something to be acknowledged.

So. To the only people who share my demons and understand my scars, well done. 

You don’t need friends, you have your siblings: Eleanor Skelton’s Story

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Eleanor Skelton blogs at eleanorskelton.com, is the news editor of the UCCS student newspaper, and is majoring in English and Chemistry.

“Dad, can I please have two friends from church over for a tea party sometime this month? Pretty please?”

No. No I could not, because:

– I hadn’t been doing enough housework or schoolwork.

– The house is Dad’s castle, and he doesn’t like having people over.

– I shouldn’t need friends, because my parents gave me two siblings.

Sometime in first or second grade, my A Beka penmanship book had a writing assignment called “My Best Friend.” I wrote about Abby, a girl a few months older than me whose dad was one of my dad’s colleagues. Someone I’d played with about four or five times, once or twice a year.

My cousin Bethany, five months younger, was another “best friend.” We only saw each other one afternoon out of the year at my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving.

I formed deep attachments in an hour timespan. I once told the neighbor’s granddaughter we would be best friends forever after a summer evening in the front yard. She said, “Until I move to Houston.”

I was an only child until I was nearly seven years old. Then my little sister was born. My dad bought me lemonade in the hospital cafeteria and cried, telling me he was so happy I wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him and my mom.

She was cute, but she cried a lot and I couldn’t do much more than soothe and bottlefeed her until she was two.

My little brother was born when I was about eleven, so I also helped mother him.

You don’t need friends, you have your little brother and sister. 

You should care more about your family than friends. Friends are temporary, family will always be here. 

My parents have barely allowed communication with my siblings since I moved out two years ago. I’m told this is their choice, out of their own free will.

My sister left home for Bob Jones University this fall, but she barely speaks to me. She says she can’t associate with me, because my life choices demonstrate that I’ve turned my back on God.

She says I don’t keep in touch, so I call once a week or so and leave a voicemail so she knows I’m here when she’s ready.

You and your sister will always have each other. 

Until I go to college and decide Dad is overprotective, until I decide to move out and be independent.

Until I believed that the church was outside these walls.

If my family is always there, where are they now?

After moving out, I called two roommates my sisters, because they escaped the fundamentalist box, too. Our souls know one another, and I love them.

But my heart still has two holes. My brother and my sister.

They were the only close friends I knew over my first 23 years. I found friendship among my peers beyond acquaintance after leaving.

And for now, I’ve lost my first two friends.

Dreams

CC image courtesy of Flickr, shira gal. Image links to source.
CC image courtesy of Flickr, shira gal. Image links to source.

HA note: The following is reprinted with permission from Kierstyn King’s blog Bridging the Gap.  It was originally published on November 18, 2014.

I had a dream last night, and in that dream I spent a lot of time with my closest-in-age sister doing chores.

She’d taken up the slack for me since I was gone and had figured out how to do all the dishes and things required for keeping a house full of 8 people clean. We talked, and I realized she wasn’t the little kid I used to know anymore. She was growing into her own, and it was beautiful…..

But also painful. Because I wasn’t there. Because I abandoned her. Because my role was forced upon her when I left and she was angry, as she had every right to be. As I watched in awe and horror as she did my job, and was surprised and sad at how good she was being the next surrogate mom. I saw her anger and depression and exhaustion and I was powerless to fix it. She had every right to be angry with me, every right to be tired. Every right to grow and become her own person and enjoy her teenage years and yet that was brutally taken away from her – like it was with me. Through no fault of our own.

My mom was in the background, hovering and dictating as she does. Neither of us dared address the actual issue or the people who were actually at fault and made the decisions we were forced to live with. I bore the blame and the anger, because it was all I could do – and I told her as much as I could that she was perfect and capable and amazing.

*****

It was only a dream, I tell myself.

And yet…..it’s probably not far from the reality.

I can’t ignore that running away, that choosing myself for the first time, didn’t leave scars on the siblings I helped raised. I wonder what it would have been like to just have siblings, instead of children – to have played and been more equal instead of responsibility for their needs foisted upon me as a child. I wish I’d been able to share childhood with them, instead of having to grow faster so I could meet their needs as a parent would. I wish I could have been real friends with my siblings, instead of nurse.

I wonder often what that’s like. What’s it like to have siblings as friends and playmates and obnoxious little sneaks, instead of people you need to raise, bathe, feed, and educate?

What’s it like to have siblings that your parents don’t cut you off from?

I wish so much didn’t happen the way it did – the way it had to.

I’m so sorry that it did, and I’m so sorry I hurt them.

Then She Stood By the Brave

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HA note: The following is reprinted with permission from Caleigh Royer’s blog, Profligate Truth. It was originally published on April 8, 2014.

******

**DISCLAIMER: the situation you are about to read about is in good hands and I ask that you not try to contact any of my siblings. They are safe and things are being taken care of.

About a month ago I got a phone call letting me know one of my siblings was being admitted to the mental health ward. All I could think was when it is going to be enough, how many more of my siblings are going to suffer.

Their story is theirs to tell, not mine, but I want to tell you about a story that has continued to unfold over the past few weeks.

Phil and I went to visit my sibling in the psych ward, and I saw my sibling relaxed, a little medicated, but they were relaxed, peaceful, and they were safe there and they knew it. We brought one of my other brothers in to visit our sibling and I found out that he had been faithfully visiting his sibling the whole time during their psych visit. This brother is the one I have had my spats with growing up, and in fact, thanks to him I have a nice numb spot on my hand from one of our fights. This brother is also the one I see holding one of the biggest, caring hearts I have ever seen. The fact that he would purposefully take time out of his day to go visit his sibling in the psych ward every day they were is a huge indicator of just how big his heart is.

*****

I am now barely 2 months away from having this child of mine.

I am becoming more and more aware of how important it is to stand firm with my boundaries when it comes to my mom and my dad. I somehow found myself in a position last week where I was asked by my mom to “draw out” my sibling who had been in the psych ward. My sibling had been asking to be admitted again that morning and wouldn’t talk to mom or anyone else about what was going on. Inwardly I knew my sibling was only going to talk to me and that’s why my mom was pushing me to talk with them. After spending awhile chatting, I knew what I needed to know and just let my sibling know that I was there whenever they needed me. The rest of my visit over there ended in me putting my foot down and being completely blunt with my mom. I told her my exact thoughts on how her staying with my dad was at the expense of the kids and how he wasn’t changing, how I didn’t believe her when she said he was, and just watched her shut down as I refused to let her screwed up logic change my stance.

In that moment I realized I have changed.

I am no longer blinded by the manipulative logic my dad uses to control those around him.

I could see right through everything my mom said and was able to see things I had known were there but had never been able to put words to. I am stronger, I am clear headed, I have changed, and yet, it became painfully obvious she hasn’t changed. She is still toxic to me, she is still clinging to some delusion that my dad is changing, and until she can let go of that and actually protect her children from that man, I have to be careful to keep boundaries in place.

It was encouraging to see how therapy has really worked and I have been able to break so many chains that had previously greatly bound me. I am also in a position now where when a sibling needs help, I’m one of the first people they call, and hell, I’m out the door before they can even coherently say anything other than to beg me to come get them. Which is what happened recently, and which included a visit to my siblings’ school counselor who after hearing our story immediately called Child Protective Services to make a report. I have proven to my siblings, the ones who need it most, that I am not the mean, evil older sister my dad makes me out to be. I am who I say I am and I will drop everything for them if they need me.

I sat in that office and watched my siblings find their strength as they stood up to the abuse they have personally suffered from our dad. My heart bursting with pride, I backed up their stories, and watched as they willingly gave information that will hopefully make a difference. I watched my siblings make very brave and bold decisions despite the possibility of facing retaliation. They are doing what I wish I could have done years ago, they are brave enough to stand up and say enough is enough and it hopefully will truly be enough.

The little girl inside of me wept as I proudly stood by my brave siblings.

I felt like I watched my childhood come full circle. The shame of not being “strong enough” to stand up to my dad was put to rest as I stood there being my siblings’ support. I went through what I had to so that I could be there for my siblings when they needed me. I am stronger now, I have the strength they needed to be able to be brave themselves. I can validate their fears and tell them they’re not crazy despite what the man at home will say. I don’t know about you, but that’s quite a good reason to have gone through what I have if only to be the support my siblings need.

I’m feeling hopeful, I am full of pride, and so relieved I can be there for the siblings who call for help and I can be there to lift up their voices.

“We must always take sides. Neutrality helps oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.” – Elie Wiesel