I want to tell you how much I love you.
I want you to know that I think about all those times a few years ago when you tried to meet me. I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough; I was selfish and, truthfully, scared. I had already built a life without him in it, and you were something I wasn’t ready to let in (yet). My walls were carefully crafted.
I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger. I didn’t think I needed a sister, but really I just didn’t want to think about that whole world that I knew nothing about. It felt vast, imposing, and unnecessary, but I can see now that it was just a defense mechanism. I wish I could’ve been more “enlightened.” And I wish I could’ve been better—sooner. But I wasn’t.
I think a part of me has always felt like an outsider, and I didn’t even stop to think about how badly you wanted in—how much you felt like an outsider too.
You’re so strong—stronger than I was. So thank you for not giving up on me.
If I could go back and do things better, I would, but life has its own methods. All I can do now is remind you of how much you mean to me. And how proud I am of who you are.
In a way, I think you had it so much harder than I did. You’ve juggled that toxic family member your entire life while I got to live as if they didn’t exist. I guess that’s because they haven’t ever existed for me. But you, you have battled and cried. And you know what? You’ve come out on the other side like a champion—full of love and wounds and never-ending spirit.
I wasn’t there before, but I am here now. I can’t say I’m that much wiser, but I can promise I’m not going anywhere.
I’ll be there to drive you home when you’re drunk or verbally assault someone if they’re mean to you (I’m honestly quite good at that). I’ll take you camping, and we can swap clothes and horror stories from our past. I will make sure to memorize all your allergies and keep a shoulder free for you to cry on.
I guess if you know anything, know that I will always be your big sister, and I will always have your back.