THE ONLY CHILD: A story of connection, isolation & healing
The term "only child" is often used to describe someone with no siblings, a child thought to be spoiled, lonely, or overly sheltered. For most of my life, I didn’t consider myself an “only child” because, technically, I wasn’t. My father had three sons from his first marriage before having me, and later, my mother gave me two more siblings.
But despite the numbers, my life has always felt isolated, a patchwork of broken connections, misaligned timelines, and unresolved pain.
My father was a man of means by the time I was born. He had built a life of luxury that, in many ways, felt like something out of a movie. As the daughter he had always longed for, I became the center of his world, and he lavished me with everything. My older half-brothers, at least 12 years my senior, lived far away and had experienced a completely different version of him, a harder, less attentive father. Their absence left me in a strange space: the child of a man they might not have recognised anymore. When I was six, my father passed away suddenly while I was sitting on his lap. My world unraveled in an instant. The life of privilege and love he had created disappeared almost overnight. Within a year, my mother became pregnant after a brief relationship that turned into a hasty cohabitation. What followed was a whirlwind of loss and upheaval: a cruel stepfather, a mother who emotionally disappeared, and a new half-sister who became a constant reminder of what my life was no longer. For the next 13 years, I endured a childhood filled with neglect and adversity.
Any chance of connection with my siblings, either older or younger, was lost amidst the chaos.
I didn’t feel like a sister. I felt like an outsider, trapped in survival mode. At 16, I left home, moving interstate to escape the dysfunction, and only returned sporadically for short visits. The distance didn’t mend the fractured relationships. If anything, it solidified my role as the family’s scapegoat. My older half-brothers rarely reached out, our lives too disjointed by age and experience. My younger siblings, shaped by my mother’s narratives, saw me as the one who abandoned them.
Holidays and family gatherings became painful reminders of the island I’d been stranded on.
A stark realisation that, despite having five siblings, I was alone.
This Christmas, the weight of it all became unbearable. I tried to connect, to show up, but the silence in the room was deafening. There were no warm reunions, no shared stories of childhood. Instead, there were lingering resentments, unspoken blame, and the overwhelming sense that I didn’t belong.
I’ve come to realise that being an “only child” isn’t just about numbers. It’s about connection, shared experiences, and belonging.
By those measures, I am an only child, living in the shadow of a fractured family history. Despite my best efforts to bridge the gaps, I’ve come to understand that some wounds aren’t mine to heal.
I can’t atone for my parents’ choices or fix the chaos that shaped our lives.
For those who, like me, feel isolated in a sea of family, I want you to know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to step back, to protect your peace, and to stop carrying the weight of what’s not yours.
Healing doesn’t mean fixing what’s broken around you; it means restoring what’s whole within you.
You are not the choices of your parents or the scapegoat for their dysfunction. You are worthy of love, connection, and peace, even if it doesn’t come from the places you once hoped. Choose to heal, to move forward, and to build a life that reflects your worth. You don’t have to be defined by the island you were placed on, you can chart your own course, and that’s where true freedom begins.
Keep going. You’re not alone, even if it feels that way.
Looking to dive deeper into healing and breaking cycles? Explore my blog post on Redefining Family and learn more about the Generational Grace Package to start your journey toward lasting change.
