My sister Sarah and I are 18 months apart. I made sure that everyone knew that, especially when strangers would mistake us for twins. I didn’t grow as fast as I should have, so I was always asserting my age. I was the older sister, she was my little sister. Little, younger child. I held those words over Sarah like a weapon whenever I could. Being unique was the most important thing to me. Our mother would dress us up in matching outfits, but she could only get away with that for so long.

As we got older, I still cared about being as individual as possible. When we were both in middle school, I rebelled against anything my sister liked. Sarah wore pink, I wore black. She loved dresses, and I did my best to avoid “girly” clothing. But it was also about this time when Sarah started getting bullied. A defining difference between us was that I was an extrovert. I made friends with ease. She was a quiet introvert, nervous and shy.

It didn’t take long for my older sister instincts to kick in. I found myself wanting to protect her. I would baby her. We weren’t best friends, but I couldn’t stand seeing my younger sister treated so cruelly. This maternal instinct lasted through high school. Sarah remained victim to the abuse of her classmates. Any time I would try to help or defend her, they came down on her harder. It was awful to watch.

By the time I went to college, we were still “Big Sister” and “Little Sister”. We were closer than most siblings, considering we were only a year and a half apart. But, we would avoid each other when we could. Leaving for school was my first time living away from my parents. But it was also the first time I didn’t have to watch over Sarah. Until she went to the same college.

I was not happy. I decided I wasn’t going to take care of my baby sister anymore. I was tired of it.

And then something happened. When I stopped worrying about Sarah, she grew up. We both grew up. I never ignored my sister. The campus was small, and I wasn’t denying her existence. But we each had our routine now. I realized she was also living without our parents for the first time. And she wanted that as much as I had. There were inevitable moments when I wanted to step in and do something for her. But, for the most part, when we saw one another we would catch up as friends, not sisters. The less I treated her as “little,” the more I saw her as her own person.

There was no defining moment of clarity for us. Time passed, and we came to an understanding. Having a sister was no longer a burden. A sister was a person you could turn to when you needed support. And it wasn’t giving support out of obligation. It was giving support because we understood each other. We had lived our whole lives together. We had developed a connection so in-sync, we didn’t realize how strong it had become. We had been close without knowing it. A package deal even when we fought against it.

I do remember a conversation that Sarah and I had, about me calling her little. “I don’t want you to call me your little sister anymore,” she said. “I’m not little. I’m just your sister.”

So I don’t call her that anymore. It hurt me at first because I still wanted to protect her. But now I know she can protect me too. We started as children. And then I wanted to treat her like she was my child. And then we were sisters. Now we forget that we’re sisters. Because we don’t define our relationship like that anymore. We still fight like children now and again. It’s impossible to change that. But changing my perspective on how I see Sarah, helped me realign how I see others. In the end, we are all trying to be our own person. Someone you may see as little could very well be bigger than you.