Third Wheel
August 23, 2006
I was always a thin child. Never had a weight problem growing up. I was short, small and slim. My sister was smaller though. Not necessarily thinner but she was built differently than me. As we grew into preteens and teens, I developed curves. Therefore, I was fat. I was bigger. I had more ‘meat’ on my bones as I often heard. Although my weight never got over 105 lbs, I was made to feel like a bull in a china shop. She was thinner. She was more petite. She was dainty. She was prettier. She was caring. She was loving. She took the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had such a cute face. Her hair was silky and straight. She was like a doll. It’s a wonder I don’t hate my sister. I have to stop myself sometimes from resenting her, although it’s not her fault.
It’s hard going from the adored daughter, the one that everyone bragged about, the one always put to shine in the spotlight, to the daughter that barely exsists. It felt like I had to work so hard for the scraps of praise I received. My sister just had to be. I had to work overtime, jump through fucking hoops, put up banners, ‘look at me! look at me! look at me! I’m important too!’ It was exhausting. I felt invisible. I still do sometimes.
Three years after my sister was born, my brother came along. He was very much welcomed and our family was then complete. He was adored and put upon a pedastool being the only son. Blonde and chubby, he was the perfect baby. One perfect son, one perfect daughter and one, ‘I guess we’ll keep her, she’s here now, daughter’. I often felt like a third wheel. ‘Sure honey, we’ll take you along since we don’t really have anyone to watch you, but try to stay out of the way okay’?
My siblings got alot of stuff when we were growing up. Christmas, yes, we all received the same amount of presents. But at non holiday times throughout the year, my parents would bring extras home for them. TV’s for their rooms, waterbeds, they’d spend money to do up their rooms just how they wanted them, whatever theme was popular at the time. When I was 15, I was told that I’d be getting a job soon and buying all of my own necessities. I would hear, well you’re the oldest, so you’re kinda like the test child. We’ll see what works and what doesn’t. Gee thanks.
As a mother now, I always do my best to make things fair. Sometimes I over think it and I know I should just relax but it’s so important to me, that my children don’t ever feel like I have a favorite. I don’t. I’d die for each one of them and could never choose between any of them. When our oldest two were younger and it was the Christmas season, I made sure I spent the same dollar amount on them. I would get out a calculator and get it down to the penny. The penny. God forbid if I spent $3 more on one boy than the other. Like they’d ever frigging know. But I’d know. I’d think, they’ll see the guilt written on my forehead like a giant beacon, SHE SPENT MORE ON FIRST BORN SON THAN SECOND BORN SON AND SHE’S A BAD MOTHER. I know it sounds ridiculous but as a child who was brought up to be made to feel guilt alot of the time, it’s a hard thing to let go. And as a child who was made to feel second fiddle, I never want my kids to feel that way. Ever.
~ Taylor
August 23rd, 2006 at 5:24 am
I am the first born — I understand that you mean. My sister could do no wrong, no matter how “wrong” she was. To this day she is the golden child.
August 23rd, 2006 at 9:26 pm
I have so many tears rolling down my face at this moment. You could have been writing my own story. I was always told by my mother that my sister was “better” than I was, and that was why I never got more than 2 presents at christmas. I grew up with that feeling–and it is something I still struggle to overcome at times and probably greatly over-compensate with my own daughter. Thanks for sharing.
August 24th, 2006 at 11:48 am
I know what you mean. I was the oldest. My sister was more like my mom. My brother was more like my dad. He was “the golden child.” I always felt like I was the black sheep — the one they wish they could have gotten rid of.
I was in honors courses and when I struggled in math, I was told how stupid and lazy I was. WHen my sis, in remedial classes got c’s, she was praised. (Even tho my mom sat with her EVERY NIGHT — even in high school and helped her with her homework.)
Once I fell asleep next to my boyfriend while we were watching tv at my parents house. My parents woke up, found us and called me a “slut” and “whore” and told me how worthless I was. A year later, my dad found my sister’s bra and panties on the floor of the same room. It was OBVIOUS she was having sex. He didn’t say a word.
My parents still help my siblings out. It hurts sometimes to realize that they’ll never approve of the way I live my life. They will always criticize. But at least I’m happy.
Thanks for sharing your story. Thanks for letting me share mine. Its not something I can talk about on my blog for fear of it being discovered.
August 24th, 2006 at 2:33 pm
I have the same story. My brother was my Mom’s favorite and my sister was my Dad’s favorite. Then there was me, the first born, who got passed along out of favored status as the next child came along.
Luckily I have an aunt, and I am her favorite. All those things that the other two got that I didn’t, she gave to me. I’m not ashamed to say that I love her more than my own mother. Even though she had a son who was 8 years older than me, she always made sure I was her favorite.
My mother had a favorite already, but she would try and think up ways to make my aunt not like me anymore. If I would get in trouble, she would make me call my aunt and tell her “the horrible thing I had done.” She thought that this would take away my status and then, of course, I would have no one.
We all deserve to be someone’s favorite.
August 26th, 2006 at 12:34 pm
I was the resident ‘tar baby’. Youngest by decades. I could never live up to the perfection of my older sister - or her children. And it did affect the relationship. She was 18 years my senior - yet she always reveled in the fact that she was, by my mother s standards, better than me. She’d imitate my mother and treat me like shit. I remember spending more than one Christmas at her home shut up in a back room, not allowed to sit at the table and eat. My mother had decided I was too fat (I was tall, awkward not fat). My sister allowed these kinds of things to happen. She preened under my mothers love and affection. This disparate relationship has continued throughout the entirety of our lives. So when my mother died - I cut all contact with my sister and her family. Even as an adult woman in her mid 60’s - she’d still disparage me tell me I was worthless. It was like she’d taken my mothers place and I didn t need to hear that anymore.
September 6th, 2006 at 2:21 am
I am the oldest. I excelled in school and my career. My younger brother (and only sibling) got away with murder, always. He was the “apple of everyone’s eye”. He got whatever he wanted. He drank, was fired from job after job and lived with my mom. She did his laundry, made all his dinners. Once I brought up to my mom how he got whatever he wanted and could do no wrong. She said it was because he couldn’t do it for himself and I was quite self sufficient and didn’t really need anyone. My brother died 7 years ago of a brain tumor. Even though he knew that what I had always thought was true, we were still quite close. I honestly didn’t think my mom would survive his death. All she could (and does) say is that her baby is gone and she doesn’t think she can go on. I have two boys who ADORE their grandmother. They would be devistated if something ever happens to her. She is always depressed and says she doesn’t know how she is living still with my brother being gone. I became so angry and actually asked her, “Am I not enough to keep you going??”. Her answered floored me. “Of course I love you, but you have two boys and your youngest is always your baby and loved more than the other. You’ll see”. Simply amazing. Now, I don’t give a crap anymore. I no longer make any attempt to let her know that I’m here for her. Because I’m not.