Before I was anything, I was a little sister.
I have been thinking a lot lately about how lucky I am to have a sister. Not in the way you think about something good happening to you, or the way you feel grateful when life finally seems to be going your way. I mean the kind of gratitude that catches you off guard in the middle of an ordinary day, when you suddenly realize that one of the greatest loves of your life has been beside you for as long as you’ve been alive. The kind of gratitude that makes you wish you could go back in time, find your younger self, and explain that the girl on the bottom bunk will one day become someone you cannot imagine your life without.
Growing up, my sister was simply there. We shared a room, which meant we also shared arguments, secrets, and more than a few late-night adventures we probably shouldn’t have been having. We snuck around the house for snacks long after we were supposed to be asleep, trying desperately not to wake our parents, whose bedroom inconveniently shared a wall with ours. We fought constantly, as sisters do, but she was still the first person I wanted when something happened. Good news, bad news, or absolutely nothing important to say, she was the person I went to.
Looking back, I wish I could tell the little girl I was to pay closer attention. She had no idea how much of what she considered ordinary would one day become extraordinary.
She didn’t know she’d miss the late-night whispers, the familiar sounds of her sister moving around the room, or the comfort of knowing someone who understood her was only a few feet away. She didn’t know that one day, she’d wish she could return to a time when being together required nothing more than turning off the lights and staying awake a little longer than they were supposed to.
My sister moved out during my freshman year of high school, and I don’t think I understood what that change meant until I was living through it. I was still a kid, and suddenly the person who had always been part of my everyday life was building a life of her own. I felt scared and alone in ways I couldn’t quite explain. But even after she graduated and began figuring out adulthood, she still picked me up and drove me to school.
She still made room for me. She was growing up, but she hadn’t stopped being my big sister.
Some of my favorite memories are the late-night drives with her and my friends. We would scream-sing songs at the top of our lungs, laugh, and spend time together without worrying about what came next. We didn’t need a special occasion or a reason to be together.
We even had our own way of showing affection. Neither of us was particularly fond of hugging all of the time, so somewhere along the way, we developed our hand hug. It was small, familiar, and ours. It didn’t need to look like anyone else’s version of love, and we never needed to explain it. Even now, I love that we have something so little that has managed to follow us from childhood into adulthood. Somehow, that tiny gesture has survived all the growing up we’ve done.
I understood a different part of that love when I went abroad. I was somewhere I had dreamed of seeing, surrounded by new places and experiences I knew I would remember for the rest of my life. I was happy to be there, grateful for the opportunity, and excited to discover a world beyond everything I had always known. And yet, there were days when all I wanted was to physically see my sister.
Not a phone call or text message. I wanted to sit beside her, hear her voice without a screen between us, or listen to her talk about something completely ordinary. I wanted to exist in the same room without needing a reason to be there. I wanted the kind of time together that doesn’t seem important until you are somewhere beautiful and realize that the person you want to share an ordinary afternoon with is an ocean away.
That was when I finally began to understand something I don’t want to forget: my sister is home in a person.
She doesn’t make every problem disappear, and we certainly don’t agree on everything, but she has a way of pulling me out of my own head and bringing me back to the person I love being. There’s a version of me that comes naturally when I am with her, one that feels lighter, more familiar, and less concerned with who I am supposed to become. She reminds me of the girl I was before I started overthinking everything.
I’ve told her before that no one knows me without knowing her. I mean it, too. There are parts of my personality, my memories, and my happiness that only make sense when she is part of the picture. She has witnessed so many versions of me that sometimes I wonder if people who have never seen us together have really met all of me. She is part of my history, but she is also part of how I understand myself today.
And yet, I don’t always show her how much she means to me. I don’t call as often as I should, and sometimes I take too long to text back. Sometimes, I carry frustrations from the rest of my life into our relationship and get angry with her when she isn’t the person that I am really angry with. I never want her to mistake my silence for indifference. I never want her to believe that because I don’t always say what I feel, I don’t feel it deeply.
The truth is, I admire her more than she probably realizes. She is brave and bold, the definition of sunshine in my eyes. But what makes me proudest of her is her heart. After everything she has been through, she has remained kind. I admire the way she continues to show up for the people she loves, the things she accomplishes, and the woman she is becoming. She listens to my problems, worries about me, and reminds me that being my older sister is a role she has never quite put down. I worry about her, too. I hope she knows that I want to be someone she can turn to just as easily as I have always turned to her.
Now that we’re twenty-one and twenty-five, I sometimes worry about the distance between the lives we’re building. She’s in a stage of life I have yet to understand, and I wonder whether there will be moments when she leaves me out because she’s afraid that I might judge her. I don’t want that. I don’t need her to have everything figured out, and I don’t expect her to be perfect. I want to know her as she grows; to make room for the woman she is beyond the role she’s played in my life. I want us to keep learning each other, even when our experiences look a little different.
Maybe that’s part of growing up together: realizing that your big sister is still figuring things out, too. I want to celebrate her, listen to her, and make sure she never has to wonder whether she has a place in my life.
So, to my sister, I wish I could explain all of this without feeling guilty for not saying it sooner. I’m sorry for every unanswered text, every phone call I put off, and every time I let the weight of my own life get in the way of showing you how much I love you. I wish I told you more often that I am proud of you, that I look up to you, and that I see the goodness in you even when you might struggle to see it in yourself. You have made my life better in ways I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to articulate.
I don’t know what our lives will look like in five, ten, or twenty years. But I know we will keep changing, that responsibilities will pile up, and that there will be seasons when we have to work a little harder to stay involved in each other’s lives. But I hope we never become so caught up in the lives we’re building that we forget the life we have already shared.
I hope there are still late-night drives somewhere in our future. I hope we keep finding songs to scream at the top of our lungs. And I hope we never ever outgrow our hand hug. More than anything, I hope we remember that we don’t have to be perfect sisters to love each other well.
I spent weeks abroad discovering places I had never seen, and some days, all I wanted was to see you. That taught me something I don’t think I will ever outgrow: I can go anywhere, become anyone, and build a life of my own, but there will always be a part of me that looks for you. Not because I can’t stand on my own, but because some people make the world feel a little more like somewhere I belong.
And if life ever gets so loud that we forget to say these things, I hope we can remember the little girls we were, whispering in the dark and trying not to get caught sneaking snacks. I hope we remember that before we had separate lives, we had a shared room. Before we had separate responsibilities, we had shared secrets. And before we understood what it meant to miss someone, we had the privilege of being together without ever having to think about it.
I cannot promise that I will always know the right thing to say, that I will always call when I should, or that I will never let the weight of my own life make me forget to show you how much you mean to me. But I can promise that I will keep trying. I will keep making room for you. I will keep being your little sister, even as I grow into someone you have yet to meet.
Because when I have no one, I have my sister.
And even when I have everyone, I will still be grateful that I have you.