Very rarely do I have a conversation with someone and realize halfway through that we may be more similar than I presumed. From my experience, I’ve hardly ever heard someone tell me they’re an only child.
Consulting with my friends, the number of only children they can remember off the top of their heads is barely a handful. Maybe it’s just basic statistics—no more than one only child can be found in a room at a given time.
But regardless of mathematical or societal reasoning for this phenomenon, I’ve found that being part of that community of only children has grown to shape me into the person I am today.
Whenever I tell someone, the most popular response is “wow, you must feel lucky.” To me, the only explanation for this could be the fact that I’ve never had to share a bathroom with someone my whole life. Or maybe it’s because no one will steal my new sweater I haven’t even gotten to wear yet. But even the most independent person would admit that being an only child certainly isn’t cupcakes and rainbows 24/7.
Truthfully, let me have this one; I’m proud that everyone is shocked when I say I have no siblings. The fear of having “Only Child Syndrome” certainly plagues my mind. However, following the recent months and my embark into college, I’ve learned some things about myself.
Only Child Syndrome
The self-centered attitude and actions that a large percentage of people with no siblings make their calling card.
Urban Dictionary
Growing up with no siblings and with all due respect, older parents, was a more niche experience than most. Many times when I wanted to play outside, I heard “I’m too old Kate, go ask the kids next door.” I think my neighbors’ doorbell had to be caved in with the amount of times I rang it. Of course, I wasn’t turned away all the time (I’d persist that I even got too much attention), but there’s certainly a difference between an 8-year-old’s stamina and a 54-year-old’s.Â
All kids have an imagination, but I’d like to think that being by myself further enhanced my artistic and creative ability that I have today. I can remember all the times I believed I was teaching a classroom of my stuffed animals, and now I hope all that talking actually produced some good. Through managing my time alone and envisioning a world that was only my ideas, I found comfort in working independently on projects. Of course, I collaborate and never discount team efforts, but a part of me will always like sticking by myself.Â
Independently forming my academic and social life was a learning experience to say the least. Not having a sibling to tell me my fashion choices were the ugliest thing they’ve ever seen certainly did me dirty over the years. But regardless of whatever funky socks I tried so hard to make happen, going through life independently allowed me to find my own interests, personality, and prepared me to have a voice that I’m not afraid to share.Â
However, I personally lean into silence and observation. While I can’t officially correlate being introverted and disliking attention to being an only child, having all eyes on me in a room has got to be the scariest feeling for me.
Before we adopted my cat, Coraline, I truly was my parents’ primary focus. With them being retired (and me being the amazing light of their life that I am), I took up a lot of their time over the past 18 years. Meaning for a majority of my childhood, my grades, friends, sports, hobbies, etc. were my family’s focus. But, I prefer to work behind the scenes.
Coming to college has challenged this notion, as I try to stand out in the workforce and leave my comfort zone.
In the end, growing up as an only child definitely shaped my opinion on certain scenarios and most likely affected how I handle situations, but I would never say it was a distinct positive or negative experience. It’s something I’ve found quite unique about myself and I don’t believe I’d change this part of me even if I had the ability to.