I navigate a war zone. My three children, all under the age of 10, engage in ceaseless battles. If you’re familiar with parenting, you can easily imagine the grievances: accusations of cheating during games, stealthy kicks under the dining table, and disputes over who gets to sit closest to me. If one has a sniffle, her sister is likely to scold her for making too much noise. As I type this, they’re currently fighting over a gaming controller. They toggle between being rambunctious little rascals and typical siblings. I can’t quite decipher which.
My partner, who grew up as the middle child in a trio, reassures me that their antics are par for the course. No matter how outrageous the tales I share of their antics, he always has an equally wild story from his childhood. “Oh yeah? Well, one time, my brother accidentally hooked my hair with a fishing line and dragged me across the beach,” he might say, lifting his hair to reveal the scar. It all feels alien to me. As you may have guessed, I am an only child.
My affection for my children knows no bounds; my youngest, a dazzling little girl who resembles a young starlet, has an enchanting presence that brightens the day of everyone nearby. I highlight this to soften a harsher reality: their constant squabbling and chaos can be so exhausting that I occasionally questioned whether having three children was the right decision.
Last autumn, however, my father began undergoing extensive treatment for stage 3 cancer. Upon receiving the news, I reached out to my husband, who was away for work. After our call ended, I stood paralyzed in the living room, clutching the phone, unsure of whom to call next. In that moment, I yearned for a sibling, like a phantom limb. Without one, I called my friend Mia, a companion since our teenage years. “I need a sibling,” I confessed.
“I can be your sister,” she replied, but while she meant well, Mia is already juggling her own two sisters, a busy family, and a demanding job. We belong to the sandwich generation—many of my friends face the dual pressures of raising school-aged children while caring for aging parents. No one could fill the void of a sibling.
As my mother became overwhelmed with my dad’s care, she started to exhibit neurological symptoms, possibly due to stress. My parents and I had always shared a close bond, but now, with two sides of our triangle unstable, I tried to manage from my home, eight hours away. With my husband traveling more, I was unable to visit my parents. All I could do was endure days of solitary parenting, often fighting back tears in front of the kids.
One sunny afternoon, while at the playground after school, I pushed my youngest daughter on the swing, deliberately avoiding the other mothers who were making small talk at the picnic tables—conversations I felt too drained to join. Next to me stood the grandmother of a classmate, also pushing her grandson. As we exchanged pleasantries, she revealed that her daughter and grandson were both only children, and I shared that I was as well.
“Do you enjoy it?” she inquired. I had always found that question complicated. Being an only child was my reality, and while it had moments of loneliness, it also afforded me undivided parental attention and a few extra material comforts. That day, however, I didn’t hesitate. “Well, I did growing up…” I began to falter.
“And now?” she probed. I struggled to keep my emotions in check as I spoke the truth—that my parents were aging, and their health issues were weighing heavily on me. I expressed my longing for a sibling to share the burden.
“Yes, my daughter feels it too,” she shared. “I lost my husband a few years back, and it’s been tough for her as an only child. I never considered that when she was younger.” I offered my condolences, and we fell into a shared silence, both understanding the gravity of our situations.
Recent studies have painted a negative picture of sibling dynamics. The book NurtureShock highlighted that sibling interactions are often hostile, suggesting that only children aren’t any less socially adept. A large-scale study from 2010 involving 40,000 families found that only children reported greater happiness, with satisfaction decreasing with each additional sibling. Researchers noted that siblings often bring a host of household responsibilities, bullying, and stress. This perspective resonates with me, though it seems somewhat shortsighted. Being an only child was a pleasant experience; it’s navigating adulthood alone that presents challenges.
I didn’t anticipate my father’s recovery, but against the odds, he is now cancer-free and visited during the Christmas season. My mother and I prepared our traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding dinner amidst the familiar chaos of my children. After years of considering it, I finally purchased a larger dining table, much to my husband’s relief, as he had dissuaded me from getting a table for ten, fearing it would appear out of place in our modest dining area. We settled on one that seats eight, though I would have preferred a table that could accommodate my children and their future families. I wanted a space that could foster gatherings for generations to come.
Perhaps we all yearn for what we lacked in our childhoods. I often feel a twinge of jealousy when I see photos of friends with their cherished siblings. Yet, as Shel Silverstein once said, “all the magic I have known, I’ve had to make myself.” Ultimately, the family I have is the one I’ve created. I’ve come to realize this, or perhaps I always knew it. That’s why I chose to have three kids: to gift them the companionship of one another. They may not recognize it now as they squabble over the last brownie or the first turn in their video games, but one day, they will.
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In summary, being an only child can present unique advantages and challenges, particularly in adulthood. The longing for sibling support becomes more pronounced during life’s difficulties, yet the family we choose to create can offer its own form of connection and fulfillment.
Keyphrase: only child adulthood challenges
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