Growing up with a sister four years younger than me, we had our fair share of petty fights. For a while, I thought having a sister was the worst thing in the world. She stole all my clothes, annoyed me a majority of the time, and always wanted to be in my space.
As the first-born girl, I was always jealous of my little sister for getting the most attention and taking my throne.
She's the baby of the family, so of course, it always seemed that everyone loved her a lot more than they loved me.
But as we both grew older, I started to resent her a lot less. We became very similar to each other, and I realized that maybe having a sister wasn't so bad after all.
The more she matured, the more I realized that in reality, she's just a mini-me.
We like the same things, and we have very similar philosophies of life.
I have the privilege of being her role model; someone that she can look up to and lean on for support any time of day.
I taught her how to stand up for herself, how to appreciate and love her individuality, and how to know her worth (even when stupid boys try to make her forget it).
Sure, she really knows how to get on my nerves at times, but at the end of the day, there's no one else I'd rather spend my time with.
She's my best friend, day in and day out.
We laugh together, we learn together, we grow together.
I am incredibly proud of her and I'm stoked to have her as my best friend for the rest of my life.
I love my sister with my whole heart, and I'm so glad I was blessed with a little version of me to increase my understanding of what it truly means to be a big sister.
