My North Star: Trauma Bonding Among Siblings

12 min readJan 28, 2021

**Photo by** Matheus Bertelli from Pexels

“Trauma can have devastating effects on a child’s physiology, emotions, ability to think, learn, and concentrate, impulse control, self-image, and relationships with others; including their relationships with their siblings (MacNamara, 2016).” This post explores the concept of trauma bonding among sibling relationships and parentification while celebrating my North Star; my big sister.

Trauma bonding is a common cycle or pattern found in various types of abusive relationships. Trauma bonding provides us with a framework for understanding the highs and lows common in abusive relationships. Specifically, trauma bonding helps us understand the “honeymoon” phase of abuse, in which the abuser suddenly seems emotionally affectionate, openly remorseful, and willing to change.

“Our abusers are our illness and our cure.”

We are often deeply connected to the people who hurt us, so suddenly being gifted with love and validation from an abuser can make us feel intensely bonded and even protective of them. In this way, our abusers are our illness and our cure. This is why we are decimated every time the cycle begins again. Not only are we hurt that our loved ones went back on their promises, but we are also sometimes furious with ourselves for believing them AGAIN, and not walking away.

“Siblings provide our longest-lasting relationships, often extending throughout lifetime.” (MacNamara, 2016)

“Siblings provide our longest-lasting relationships, often extending throughout a lifetime (MacNamara, 2016).” Most of the available research on trauma bonding focuses on adults and romantic relationships, but how can trauma bonding affect siblings with an abusive parent? Trauma bonding among siblings is not a new concept, although there is plenty of room for more research and a greater focus on the topic. When siblings experience parental abuse, they sometimes form strong connections that allow them to better cope with their circumstances while feeling understood and supported by each other. There is no guarantee that siblings will feel the same way about the abuse or have the same perspectives. For these reasons, trauma can also destroy sibling relationships or hinder their development.

“We need to put you in a bubble.”

“We need to put you in a bubble,” my sister often says to me with laughter in her voice, as I tell her about my latest diagnosis. There is so much folded into this expression of hers. I chuckle with her, nodding my head in agreement, feeling treasured by the familiar mix of love and worry in her voice.

I am, after all, #afflicted with over 10 competing mental and physical health conditions. I am also the snowiest of snowflakes when it comes to my emotional sensitivity. This is consistent with what research tells us about childhood trauma. “Unpredictable childhood trauma has long-lasting effects on the brain. Studies have shown that people with adverse childhood experiences are more likely to suffer from mental and physical health disorders, leading people to experience a chronic state of high-stress reactivity. More links have been found between childhood stressors and adult heart disease, diabetes, migraines, and irritable bowel syndrome (Lamothe, 2017).”

My big sister was only six years old when I came into this world and she was already taking care of our birth mother. My sister spent the early years of her life as both a bystander and caretaker, watching helplessly as our birth mother battled domestic violence, epileptic seizures, and declining mental health. Our birth mother was not physically and mentally capable of caring for herself and my sister so, when I was born, my sister took on the added burden of caring for me too. The same panic, worry, and fear that coils down the spines of parents as their newborn child is placed in their arms, is akin to what my sister has been carrying around for me, my entire life. Though she is a mother of four children, I will always be her first-born, given to her in impossible circumstances.

“Parentification is a unique form of neglect and emotional abuse that places a child in the caretaker role of their parents and siblings.”

When we were removed from our birth mom’s home we were severely malnourished, desperately in need of medical attention, and victims of violence (my arm was inexplicably broken). My sister had done her best to keep us all safe, but she was just a child. My sister’s long-term role as my caretaker is a classic example of “what psychologists refer to as parentification, a unique form of neglect and emotional abuse that places a child in the caretaker role of their parents and siblings (Lamothe, 2017)”. Children who are thrust into parentification roles often live their lives in confusing dualities. On one hand, they wield an overwhelming sense of power and responsibility within their family by meeting everyone’s emotional and caretaking needs. On the other hand, they are totally powerless, a child at the mercy of adults. Parentification or compulsive caretaking can have both short and long-term negative effects on a child’s development and wellbeing.

The narratives that were developed about us have always equally mystified and enraged me. From the accounts of family, our foster parents, and our adopted mother (also our biological aunt), as a child my sister was often described as standoffish, withdrawn, and having a temper. In comparison (because we have to be compared to each other), I, on the other hand, was described as a happy, friendly, and caring child.

“In reality, she is the one who kept pushing me into the light and out of the darkness.”

In those dark beautiful brown eyes of hers, my sister reminded you of the fact that her childhood and innocence were stolen. While she was trying to survive the nightmares of abuse, neglect, and abandonment, she had failed to appear upbeat enough about it for others, it seemed. My sister didn’t put people at ease with what we had been through. She didn’t care if you liked her, she didn’t trust you anyway. By her kindergarten year, she had learned that everyone will betray you eventually and no one will help you.

So, I was the light and she was supposedly the darkness. She was raised hearing this about herself every single day but, in reality, she is the one who kept pushing me into the light and out of the darkness; a gesture of selfless love that she had never experienced for herself. From our birth mother’s home, foster care, and our adoptive home, my sister’s focus on filling me with love ensured our survival.

She was my cheerleader. While my mother used a bullhorn to continually broadcast that we were fat, unwanted, “retarded” whores, my sister knelt over me, whispering to me that I was beautiful, creative, smart and that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to.

As the ultimate entertainer, she used her talents, singing, and imagination to distract me from the toxic reality of our lives, turning the most overwhelming tasks into secret spy missions and beat the clock challenges. She quite literally taught me how to read and, eventually, how to escape into books, dance, poetry, my imagination, and music.

My sister was my first teacher. She was the only one invested in teaching me my fundamentals. She also taught me how to ask questions and analyze the context of a situation. She taught me how to find the beauty in things and to create an action plan.

“Trolls beware, my big sister is still not having it.”

It pains me the most to say that she was my buffer, as she tried to absorb the majority of our adopted mom’s wrath. She tried to put herself between me and anything that world hurt me or steal my innocence. There are some famous instances of her going a little too far and threatening to beat up some of my peers. Actually, trolls beware, my big sister is still not having it.

I want to share a poem that I wrote a few years ago about my sister. Poetry allows me to release big emotions without judgment and censorship. I wrote the poem, My North Star, below in 2015. If you’re not a poetry person, that’s ok, you can skip it. My North Star is a reflection on the beauty, strength, and mystery of my big sister.

Poem: My North Star

Heard an En Vogue song on the radio today.
Teleported to a time of grandiose performances given in our kitchen where I often played spectator, backup singer, and an obsessed fan.
Your jet-black hair sculpted to perfection, 90’s bangs arched and fanned seductively over dark almond eyes.
Belting into a solid gold broomstick that somehow kept time with your moves.
Your full lips parted as you pushed love and anger into the notes.
Amidst endless pots and pans filled with greens, chitlins, and okra.
Goosebumps, a fluttering heartbeat and, most importantly, clarity arrive for me all at once. My big sister is talented, mysterious, and unbreakable.
“I’m giving him something he can feel.”
Your piercing stare and sly smile holding me until my little sister sensibilities return, when do I get to sing? Talent should not trump taking turns.
It’s not FAIR! (Imagine PBS’ Caillou here, RIP Caillou!)
You’d give in (as usual), cheering on my shrieking whale notes (thank you), and distracting me from the chaos in our home (bless you, dear sister).
Instilling in me the belief that I am free to do what makes me happy.

“I love my sister with every fiber of my being, but our relationship has not always been all roses and sunshine.”

“A common thread found in people with these shared childhood experiences is a heightened sense of empathy and an ability to more closely connect to others (Lamothe, 2017).” This has been the case between my sister and me. I am indebted to my sister. I love my sister with every fiber of my being, but our relationship has not always been all roses and sunshine. In her 2019 blog post titled Siblings Cope With Trauma Differently. Here’s Why Annie Wright describes three common coping mechanisms interchangeably used to respond to childhood trauma that vary among siblings. They are: rebel, join or freeze. I have briefly described them below:

The Rebel: #REJECTED. The rebel rejects their toxic home life and pushes back at their abuser(s). Wright points out that “there are costs to being the one who rebels in a dysfunctional family system. This individual usually has more “battle scars” but also, often, a stronger sense of self (Wright 2019).”
The Joiner: This child “drinks the kool-aid”. They accept, and to a degree, go along with the toxicity in the family to survive. Wright reminds us that “there is safety in this strategy for the child who joins typically is rewarded with more relational security and “belonging” to the family system, but the cost can be high in the form of a not-as-strong sense of self (Wright, 2019).”
The Freezer: The third response is to “numb out” and disassociate from the chaos of their home life. They may seem “disconnected”, “unbothered”, or “uncaring” to outsiders and family members. They will not pick a side or get involved, one way or another, which Wright reminds us, has an emotional cost as well.

Wright cautions that “rebelling, joining, and freezing are all generalized coping mechanism responses. A child’s coping mechanism(s) can look like one of the above, a combination of the above, or it can look like something else entirely (Wright, 2019).” This is certainly the case as my sister and I have taken turns working through all three of these responses during our childhood, often warring over with each other over our differing perspectives.

My sister was born with the rebel response. From an early age, she rejected our circumstances but she would also, at times, “numb out” to it all. I, on the other hand, was born a joiner. I believed I was the light and my sister was the darkness, as my mother taught me. I clung to the need for my mother’s acceptance and approval until I hit my teens. When I realized the truth, that I would never have her acceptance or her love, without harm, I slipped into the numb response and began contemplating suicide. At 15 years old, my circumstances forced me to become a rebel, because I got pregnant. I was forced to fight for myself. I had someone else to protect. I’d learned from my sister that standing up for those smaller than us was the most important thing we can do in life.

Trauma bonding in sibling relationships is often tested when the older sibling leaves the home, opening up newfound resentment, guilt, and sometimes heightened abuse for the younger sibling still living at home. This was true for our relationship. My sister moved out of our home when I was nearly 13 years old. She eventually moved to another state, seven hours away. I felt left behind. I was angry. I was not protected anymore. My mother’s drinking and abuse ramped up in the absence of my sister’s watchful eye. Suddenly, in my mother’s eyes, I became the problem child in our home. I was not her light anymore. This spilled into my relationship with my sister, who unknowingly was being lured into seeing me this way too. Thankfully, as we had always done, we held onto each other during this storm.

“A very shouty Thanksgiving…”

With each of us eventually out of the home, we struggled to connect away from the chaos that once bound us together. Our mother weaved in and out of our adult relationship, often to start conflicts from the sidelines with lies and manipulation. I chuckle and cringe when I think about the first time my husband, my boyfriend at the time, witnessed a very shouty thanksgiving with my sister and me. At this time, our limit was three days. More than three days together and there was gonna be some drama. We’d always existed in chaos, so we had to figure out a way to exist without it. We had to work at it. We came up with a few rules that saved us and kept us in each other’s lives. Sadly, they all revolved around our mother, the root of our conflict with each other. Here they are:

Things We Will Not Say To Each Other:

No mom comparisons during a fight. Such as, “you are just like mom”, “you are acting like mom”, or “you sound like mom”.
Do not discuss each other’s lives and personal issues with mom.
Do not pressure each other to talk with or visit mom.
It’s ok if you want to try to have a relationship with mom, again.
It’s ok if you swear you are done with her and will never speak to her, again.
We are not in competition anymore.
When we aren’t able to regularly talk or visit each other, no guilt or judgment for being mothers and wives with busy lives.
We will always be in each other’s lives.

So we figured it out for ourselves. We also might just be too old to fight with each other after three days together now. We have held on to each other after all these years. She’s still my bodyguard and cheerleader. I’m still in constant awe of her and appreciate having her in my life. She sees so much good and value in me, I see what has only been possible because of her sacrifices. Thank you to my big sister. I love you so much. You will always be my North Star. Who is your North Star? Who guided you, protected you, and nudged you along to still be standing here today? Have you told them what they mean to you? I just did. Now it’s your turn.