Coping with a Sibling's Illness: My Story
When I was younger, my 14-year-old sister was diagnosed with cancer. As a 12-year-old, I was thrust into a world far beyond my years. While most of my peers were navigating the usual challenges of preteen life—schoolwork, friendships, and the awkwardness of growing up—I was grappling with the overwhelming reality that I might lose my sister. It felt like I was fighting an internal battle on two fronts: trying to be strong and supportive for my family while also wanting to scream, cry, and release the torrent of emotions building up inside me.
In the midst of it all, I didn’t want to add to my parents’ burdens. They were already carrying so much, constantly worrying about my sister’s health and the toll it was taking on our family. I wanted to help, to be useful, to lighten their load in any way I could. So, I threw myself into my studies, hoping that excelling in school would somehow make things easier for them. I tried to be the responsible one, the child they didn’t have to worry about, all the while suppressing my own fears and anxieties.
One of the hardest parts of visiting my sister during her chemotherapy sessions was confronting my own phobia of shots and hospitals. The sterile smell of the hospital, the sight of needles, and the quiet seriousness that hung in the air all amplified my fears. But I pushed through because I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to show her that she wasn’t alone, even if I was trembling inside. Each visit was a test of my courage, and I often left feeling emotionally drained, wrestling with emotions that I didn’t yet have the vocabulary to describe.
At home, my parents would sometimes confide in me about their feelings. They needed someone to talk to, someone who could listen without judgment, and I wanted to be that person for them. But it was hard. I was only 12, and while I could listen, I didn’t always know how to express my own feelings in return. I felt the weight of their emotions, and even though I didn’t fully understand it at the time, I knew I wanted to be strong for them. I wanted to hold space for their pain, even if I didn’t quite know what that meant.
In the midst of all this turmoil, I found solace in two things: art and sports. Art became my sanctuary, a place where I could express the feelings that I couldn’t put into words. Through drawing and painting, I could explore the fear, sadness, and confusion that swirled inside me. Sometimes, the act of creating was enough to bring me a sense of peace. Other times, the finished piece would reveal things about my emotional state that I hadn’t even been fully aware of. Art allowed me to process my emotions in a way that felt safe and private, a way that was uniquely my own.
Sports provided a different kind of escape. On the tennis court or soccer field, I could leave my worries behind, if only for a little while. My teammates were my support system, cheering me on during matches or standing by my side during games. When I was playing, I could focus entirely on the game—on hitting the ball just right, on blocking a goal, on the thrill of competition. For those brief moments, I wasn’t the kid with the sick sister; I was just another player, another teammate. The field became a place where I could feel normal again, where the only thing that mattered was the next point or the next goal.
Looking back, I realize how much those outlets helped me cope during such a difficult time. My sister is now 15 years in remission, and I can see how much that experience shaped me. It made me stronger, more independent, and more resilient. I learned so much about myself and my family. I learned how to listen to people and hold their emotions, even when I didn’t fully understand them. My sister’s illness was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to face, but it also taught me the importance of finding healthy ways to cope with stress and emotions. It showed me the power of creativity and physical activity in managing mental health, lessons that have stayed with me throughout my life.
Now, as a therapist, I carry these lessons with me into my work with clients. I understand the unique challenges that come with having a sick sibling, and I know how important it is to find ways to cope that resonate with the individual. Whether through art, sports, or other creative outlets, I believe in the power of these tools to help navigate the emotional complexities that come with such experiences. And I’m here to help others find their own paths to healing, just as I found mine.
