Sibling Rivalry Is Unhealthy for Sisters and Brothers.

The sibling rivalry between me and one of my sisters has lasted a life-time.


I have a sister who is “the middle” child. She’s smart—with a high IQ.

When we were kids, this particular sister was the primary focus of our mother’s constant rage. And I always knew the frequent physical abuse she (we) suffered at the hands of our mother affected my sister, and would do so for the rest of her life—and it has.

Growing up, my relationship with my sister was always rocky; and her relationship with our oldest sister was distant because she knew our oldest sister was not to be harassed, disturbed, or otherwise “messed with.” I figured my sister’s unremitting physical and verbal attacks on me was due to the abuse she experienced from our mother. So I overlooked and forgave her for much of the guff and fights she started with me.

There were instances where my enemy-sister caused notable physical injury to me, i.e., on one occasion, while holding a thick papermate ink pen as if she was about to throw a dart into a dart board--from across the room, she said to me: I'm going to strike you in the eye and knock your eyeball out; and with great precision and velocity she unleashed the ink pen in dart fashion striking me directly in my eye. Our oldest sister beat her until both her eyes were blackened and her nose was broken. (Note: When we were kids, we fought nearly to the death.) Unfortunately, the terrible beatings our olderest sister would subject my enemy-sister to were not sufficient to deter my enemy-sister's violent behavior.

On another occasion, my enemy-sister told me to lay my hands flat in the windowsill directly under the raised window. Like a fool, I placed both my hands across the window ledge and she slammed the window down as hard as she could, fracturing my right hand. Again, our oldest sister stomped, beat, and threw her out of our first-floor window into the back yard--luckily my enemy-sister was not seriously injury from the fall. However, after this particular instance, our oldest sister insisted that she teach me how to fight--she forced me into being receptive to "fighting lessons."

By the time I reached the age of nine (I was a thick girl), our oldest sister had taught me how to fight. She and I use to practice-fight everyday; and she told me that the day I am able to knock her unconscious will be the day I’d win a fight with our sister.

Practice, practice, and practice I did with my oldest sister. She would tell me “not to worry about hurting her because that meant I was getting better” [at fighting]—and believe me we were doing some real damage to one another in our practice-fights: Bruised knuckles, hair snatched out—me—bloody noses, a black eye—me—scratches, sprang ankle—me—raggedy clothes, dirt-in-the-eyes—me again—lumps on the head, and a fractured thumb—me, of course.

Then one particular Monday evening, after school, we hit the field to practice-fight, and within 5 minutes, I knocked her out cold. When she fell backwards, I knelt next to her, shook her—she was slobbering from one corner of her mouth—I put my mouth under her nose to check her breathing—she was breathing. I jumped up in shear animation, shouting: I DID IT! I DID IT! I FINALLY KNOCKED HER OUT. (My hand was throbbing really bad.)

Our mother heard me in the field shouting, and from the porch, she saw my sister laid-out on the ground. She appeared within seconds. She smacked me really hard asking me what happened. I didn’t care. I was pumped. I exclaimed: I knocked her out! A neighbor, who was a Registered Nurse, revived my sister and walked her to the house. As they were walking up the stairs, my sister begged our mother not to punish me because she was teaching me how to fight. It worked because my mother didn’t beat me that night. She actually thought we were crazy for practice-fighting to harmful heights.

The next day, I almost lost my mind waiting for my enemy sister to come home from school. As soon as she walked in the house, I snatched her off her feet and began beating her. She was in shock. First, she could not believe that I started the fight, and secondly she was flabbergasted that I was winning. She was strong as panther-piss just like our oldest sister. But I had become even stronger. I fought her like a wild animal. We fought all over the house with our oldest sister coaching me every step of the way on where and how to hit her. My oldest sister was fanatically screaming at me: “KNOCK HER THE HELL OUT! DO IT NOW!” Then I surprised my sister-opponent: I hit her dead-center of her face, knocking her out cold. I hit her so hard, I broke my hand. I was so maxed with adrenaline that initially I didn’t even feel the pain until I tried to move my hand.

When my mother got home, she had to take me to ER. I was so proud of myself. But what I didn’t know was that fight would set the stage for us to fight everyday for the next 6 years—we never missed a day, and I never lost another fight with her. Unfortunately, her hatred of me slowly began to build.

As adults, I recognized that my sister’s hatred of me was real. It consumed her. It extended beyond sibling rivalry and was stringent. Her hatred and jealousy was obvious to everyone that knows us, even to strangers. But I still treated her with dignity, love, and respect. Yet, she never missed an opportunity to betray and hurt me.

The things she would do and say were ghastly. Things got so bad between us that I had to eliminate her from my life. To this day—in the year 2013—my sister frequently calls—all of my phones—to cuss me out, threaten me, and harass me.

Although I would welcome and love to have a stable, non-confrontational, loving relationship with her, I know that will never happen—it never has. Therefore, I do not allow her in my life or my home.

So my advice is this: If you have children and you notice the rivalry between them is regular, check it. Get to the bottom of the problem in order to help them resolve their issues with one another.

Why?

Because sibling rivalry can last a life time—take it from me. I know. I’m living it.

Believe, Saishe!