Yes, not syndrome, but luck as I call it. I’m a middle child. I grow up with an elder sister and a younger sister. Not a fortunate position. I struggled to be seen, at least, attempting hard to show myself while having two unbeatable sisters casting their shadows over me. I tried to believe that I belonged of the family, asking myself what made me different and why didn’t I feel like I fitted in.
If you’re the middle child, as in, the real middle child, the one who feels like being the most unloved or neglected child in the family (harsh words, but I’m just trying to be completely honest), you know what I mean. You know your eldest sibling hits the spotlight since he/she’s the first and the oldest, and everyone relies on him/her. You know your youngest sibling gets all the attention since he/she’s, well, the most adorable and vulnerable person in the family. The middle child? Oh, he/she’s catching an imaginary butterfly in the kitchen!
Nobody really gives a damn. But that’s fine with me.
My mother talks to my elder sibling more, my father plays around with my younger sibling more. But that’s fine with me.
My parents listen to what my elder sibling says because he/she must be right. My parents listen to what my younger sibling says because he/she must be feeling worried. But that’s fine with me.
I don’t think I look like either my mother or my father, and I heard people say the same thing too. But that’s fine with me.
And many more. But that’s fine with me.
Indeed, being the middle child makes you accept those things and it made you tolerable. You’re fine with it.
It was hard, for sure. We keep questioning why we got different treatment although our parents keep saying that they love all their children equally. But some are more equal, and that’s true. My elder sister’s 13th birthday was a biggie because my parents finally had a teenage daughter. My younger sister’s 13th birthday was another important event because finally all of my parents’ children has grown up into young girls. On my 13th birthday I spent the morning until the late afternoon helping around and taking photos of people attending my grandmother’s 40 days after death memorial service. It was Sunday, I still remember. Nobody gave a damn.
Reaching adulthood I realized how lucky I am being the middle child. I stopped giving a damn too. That’s the best part. There are infinite numbers of situation that forced me to learn to be a better and stronger person. Here are some, I write them in points so that it will be easier for you to follow:
- The middle child grows up to be a free spirited person. Nothing can hinder you from wandering aimlessly around or trying to fail an experiment. You learn the tough ways but experience is the best teacher.
- You explore yourself thoroughly. You often asked yourself psychological and philosophical questions regarding your the fate of your position in the family, but you couldn’t ask someone, so you asked yourself and gave yourself the answers. You’re a good observer as well.
- You become an easy-going person. Because, well, you have to accept that live is unfair for everybody, so it’s fair enough. That’s one essential lesson of life.
- You love your comfy life after understanding that it isn’t easy either to be the extra-ordinary first child or the forever-a-baby last child. You have less responsibilities (unlike your eldest sibling) and less restrictions (unlike your youngest sibling). You fully understood how lucky you are.
Still many more. In summary, being the middle child isn’t easy, but there are perks of being the middle child. And that’s enough for you who accept things as they are, because you can’t always get what you want but you can always make sugar from sugarcane.
red hooded rafa 