My brother left for college when I was 14. It changed my life. I was the quiet kid, self aware, peacemaker, never getting into trouble, walking lightly through the house. The four years I spent in the home of my parents without a sibling were transformative. I am very grateful for them.

This week Ivy was home alone without Jackie. She had room to shine, to be, to speak, to play what she wanted and we spent a lot of time together. It was mostly good. Today we talked about our different love languages and that, according to my observations, her love language is quality time. She likes to be near. In the same room. Quietly playing… but it’s never really quiet, isn’t it! Whispers, shuffles, scrapes and pencils brushing on paper.

I think it’s imperative for the younger siblings to be alone with the parents. Their personality is so much influenced by their birth order.

I feel guilty for often being annoyed by my youngest kid, mostly because she tries so hard to please me. It’s a vicious cycle, of both of us trying our best for each other. But this excesive sweetness gets us in trouble. Facing it all, addressing it, speaking frankly with my youngest, treating her with respect and honestly and frankness. She stood up straight and listened. Was tempted to pull back and give me space but we finished our conversation about what I need and what I think she needs and how we can respect each others boundaries while kindly expressing our opinions, needs or wishes.

It was eyeopening for the parents. And good for the sisters to have this time apart. They still play nicely together but it’s not about surviving and putting up with each other and holding their breath. But to feel like one can breathe deeply, and take all the space they need and feel seen, heard, understood, liked and be present fully. We all need to be ok occupying the space we need to live comfortably. I think those years without my brother helped me find my bearing better. Older siblings need to fly the nest on time to make room for the younger siblings to spread their wings. May I never forget that, and resist the urge to save my kids from discomfort.