“Wow, no siblings? You must’ve been so spoiled!” I’ve become used to hearing responses like these when people find out I’m an only child. In fact, I’ve even perfected my fake-polite smile.
But the truth is, deep down, it makes my blood boil when people assume these stereotypes are true. For one, being raised by a single mom on food stamps hardly shaps someone into a spoiled brat. But even if I did have two doting parents to give me their undivided resources and attention, one fact remains: being an only child may mean not sharing toys. Still, it also means not sharing the responsibility of being there for your parents.
I am the only one acting as a caregiver for my aging and ailing parents. Growing up as an only child made me innately independent. I like to work alone, and I have a hard time reaching out for support. As I get older and my parents’ health declines, I’ve had to get better at asking for help.
I feel jealous of people with siblings — especially during health emergencies.
While many people have expressed jealousy at my only child status, I often felt my life would have been easier if I had siblings to lean on. When my husband’s parents are recovering from an illness, injury, or surgery, for example, he has three sisters who can share the burden of helping them.
Meanwhile, when my mom returned home recently from a physical rehabilitation program following a bone infection, I had to figure it out all on my own. During especially busy weeks, I yearned for a sibling I could call and ask to step in.
It’s not just physical health problems that I have to help my parents navigate solo, either. My mom lives alone and has struggled with depression, so I often worry about her mental health. Since I don’t have any siblings who can spend time with her, I tend to stay on the phone with her much longer than I want to or go out of my way to schedule visits even when it’s not convenient.
It can feel like a lot of pressure to be the sole person making these decisions. I often question whether I’m doing the “right” thing and fantasize about what it would be like to have a brother or sister I could call for input.
Sometimes it makes me question if I could handle kids of my own
I got married and turned 35 last summer — and ever since then, friends and family members have been asking whether we plan to start a family. The truth is, I don’t know.
While the idea of experiencing motherhood is exciting to me, I also know that raising a child is a massive responsibility. And I’m not sure if I can manage that responsibility when I’m already caring for my parents — even with my husband sharing half the work.
As it is, I already have days when I can barely get all my work done, get enough sleep, and maintain basic self-care. I can’t imagine what might happen if I added in an infant who’s completely dependent on me for survival.
Last week, when a family member inquired about whether or not I’m having kids, my irritation bubbled over, and I quipped — “What do you mean? I already have one:my mom.” They laughed awkwardly and never brought it up again.
But I’m also learning an important lesson about asking for help.
I believe the reason I’m so self-reliant and independent today is that I didn’t grow up with any siblings to play with, teach me how to do things or help me with tasks. I learned to entertain myself by reading books, letting my imagination run wild while playing with dolls, writing songs on my keyboard, or just daydreaming outside. My mom often says that when she tried to step in and show me how to do something during my childhood, I declined her assistance in favor of figuring it out myself. I actually dreaded group projects and often asked my teachers if I could just complete the assignment on my own.
While I’m proud of this independence, I know that there are times in life when I can — and should — accept support. These days, I don’t really have a choice. When an aunt or uncle used to propose making a phone call to my mom’s doctor so I didn’t have to, or my mother-in-law asked if my mom needed a ride to a family gathering, I used to refuse their kind offers. Then, one day, my therapist asked: “If you’re so overwhelmed, why aren’t you accepting their help?”
It felt uncomfortable at first to say “yes” — I had to keep reminding myself that if someone didn’t want to do something, they wouldn’t have offered. Over time, though, it’s become easier and easier to let people share the burden with me. I’ve even managed to reach out and ask someone to help me — something that used to feel so awkward and uncomfortable for me before.
I’m also realizing my sibling fantasies are just that — fantasies
A while back, I was lamenting how alone I feel in caring for my parents as they age when a friend said something that shifted my perspective.
“Trust me, just because I have a brother and sister doesn’t mean it’s any easier,” she told me.
My friend went on to explain that she couldn’t count how many times she’d reached out for help from her siblings, who claimed they were too busy to pitch in. She shared stories of how her siblings fought with her over decisions she made about her parents’ care — despite the fact that they lived all the way across the country and weren’t nearly as aware of what they needed.
It made me realize two things. Just as having kids isn’t a guarantee that they’ll take care of you when you get old, having siblings doesn’t guarantee you’ll have any less caretaking responsibility for your aging parents. Also, not only do siblings not always offer support when you need it most, but in some cases, they can actually complicate things.
Are there times when I still yearn for a brother or sister to swoop in and take some of the weight off me in meeting my parents’ needs? Sure. But as they say — “the grass is always greener.” And what’s to say having siblings would translate to less of a burden on me? As with most of life’s challenges, I’m choosing to focus on the lesson — and it’s a valuable one: Asking for help may be hard, but bearing the burden alone is so much harder.
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