A letter to my brother

Dear Brother,

There are things I have carried for a long time that I don’t think I ever truly let myself say out loud. Maybe because part of me kept hoping things would somehow feel different one day. Maybe because even after everything, I still wanted a brother.

Growing up, I looked at you as someone who was supposed to protect us. Even though you were young too, I still remember wishing you would stand beside me and my sister instead of beside the people hurting us. When the yelling started, when the names came, when we were belittled and torn apart piece by piece, I kept hoping you would say, “Enough.”

Instead, it felt like you joined in.

You snooped through our things because you were told to. You stood there while we were mocked. Sometimes you added to it.

Sometimes your words hurt just as much as theirs did. I know now that so much of that behavior was learned. I understand that toxic homes teach children unhealthy ways to survive. I understand you were shaped by that environment too.

But understanding it does not erase the pain of it.

I feel robbed of what a brother should have been. I mourn the relationship we never got to have. I mourn the safety, loyalty, and love that siblings are supposed to give each other.

Instead of feeling protected, I felt alone.

Now at 35, while I am trying to heal from everything we grew up in, I have chosen distance and no contact because I could not keep drowning in the same pain that raised us.

And somehow, even after all these years, it still hurts deeply that you chose to shut me out too.

I think part of me hoped that one day we would both look back honestly and acknowledge what happened to us. That maybe healing could lead to accountability, understanding, and something better. But silence can hurt just as much as words sometimes.

I want you to know this letter is not about hatred. If anything, it comes from grief. Grief for the childhood we deserved and never got. Grief for the bond we could have had. Grief for the brother I needed but never really had beside me.

I am healing now. Slowly. Painfully at times. I am learning that none of what happened to us was normal, no matter how much we were told it was. I am learning that my feelings matter, even if other people deny them. And I am learning that protecting my peace does not make me cruel.

I truly hope one day you confront the things we grew up in instead of burying them. I hope one day you understand why I hurt the way I do.

But whether that day comes or not, I will keep healing. Because the cycle stops with me.

With love, Linny 🫶