I’m an only child. Obviously, there are good things and bad things in any situation, and I definitely see both in being an only child.
Growing up, my family had some pretty tough stuff going on, and during this, I always wished that I had siblings to experience what I was going through—someone to rely on, talk to, and share thoughts and feelings with, and someone who understood what was happening. I dreamed of having an older sibling who could advise me, and protect me; I even thought about how cool it would be to have a twin.
Plus, when you have siblings, your parents’ full attention isn’t always on you. If you’re a younger sibling, there’s less pressure on you, because all your parents’ “new parent” energy and paranoia went toward your siblings. Your parents rely on the older kids to take care of the younger kids sometimes, and that means that you can get away with a lot more. That doesn’t sound so bad.
Most of my close friends have sisters, and I was always envious of the close relationship that they have with their sisters. They share clothes, and annoy each other, and reminisce over the mean and stupid things they did to each other as kids. They seem like they’re all best friends with their siblings. And I always thought it would be so cool to have a loud, hectic house, full of noise and people and things happening.
Obviously, I have a warped view of siblings—most of my sibling knowledge comes from movies, like Cheaper by the Dozen. Of course, there are siblings that don’t like each other, and aren’t best friends, or have crazy sibling rivalry. But in my mind, if I had a sibling, we would be besties.
But then there are days when I love being an only child.
I grew up always around adults, and being treated like an adult, and that has helped me so much as a (kind of/pretend/part time) grownup. I learned how to talk to people and how to present myself appropriately.
And there was a lot of pressure. My dad is such a hard worker, and he has spent so much of his life making sure that I have everything I need, and that I am working as hard as I can to achieve that. Being an only child often results in “helicopter parenting,” a phenomenon that I am often both grateful for and also despise. Finally, I love being alone. I love not having to share a bathroom, or my parents’ attention, or my clothes and shoes. I love that I can have my alone time without having to share a bedroom or give someone rides. I love being my parents favorite (human) child. And I love being allowed and encouraged to be independent and to do my own thing.