Eldest siblings have it tough. Not only are we the experimental child, but we also have the undisclosed responsibility of being second parents to our siblings. But, just because it's hard doesn't mean it's not worth it.
For those of you who do not know me, I am the eldest and only sister of four brothers. And I find myself with this uncontrollable need to protect them. I call it my momma-bird syndrome. My biggest fear is any of my little brothers being picked on and me not being there to do anything about it. Literally the thought of it right now is making me sweat.
Now this syndrome that I have goes back as far as I can remember. One of the most significant memories, however, takes place in the middle school days. My brother and I had been playing with one of the neighbor boys at my grandma’s house. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but the neighbor boy had started taunting my brother, which resulted in tears. I remember the feeling of an animal-like instinct taking over me. I immediately leapt onto the boy and started pounding him with my fists and shoving leaves into his mouth. If you know me, I’m sure you’re laughing at the image of my petite self beating the crap out of someone. But honestly, in that moment I had the strength of 10 men. I told the boy if he couldn’t think of anything nice to say to my brother then he had to leave and if he ever made my brother cry again, I would find him.
As I’ve matured and aged past 18, I’ve realized violence is now legally frowned upon. So I’ve had to resort to different, less confrontational tactics, which include, but are not limited to: major anxiety, fear and frustration. This is the price of the momma-bird syndrome. Every day I worry about them, and every day I realize that there is less and less that I can do for them. They have to live their own lives. And that is probably the most terrifying truth of all. As the eldest sibling, I was the first to experience bullying, heartbreak, rumors, drama, the list goes on. And as an older sister, I want the best for my little guys, and the fact that I can’t protect them from everything that has ever hurt me, scares the crap out of me.
As I've come to diagnosed myself, I've realized the source of my anxiety revolves around me still seeing my younger siblings as my baby brothers. Even though they still look like babies to me, I have to face the fact that they're growing up. They are fully capable of taking care of themselves, and every day they surprise me with their wit and knowledge of the world. They'll be just fine. And the momma-bird in me can take some comfort in that.
