The Beautiful Complications of Siblinghood

Our home is complicated. Not in the messy or chaotic sense, though there is a bit of that too, but in the kind of way that makes you pause and thank God for how He weaves hearts together through challenge and grace.

I grew up as the sister of someone with 22q Deletion Syndrome. I watched the way that diagnosis shaped my family, our routines, and our understanding of what it means to love someone fully. It taught me early on that compassion is not something we talk about; it is something we live.

Now, as a mom, I see that same truth unfolding in my own children. 

Our oldest battles dyslexia alongside cluster headaches and elevated heart rhythms. This combination has taken us through cognitive testing, MRIs, acupuncture appointments, cardiology visits, EKGs, and Holter monitors as we’ve worked to understand and support her needs.

Our middle fights her own challenges with severe allergies, including environmental triggers, vaccine reactions, and anaphylaxis to certain foods. Her journey includes regular appointments, ongoing treatments, and constant vigilance to keep her safe.

And our youngest walks through life with ADHD and severe anxiety, seeing and experiencing the world in his own unique way. His days come with challenges in focus, regulation, fear, and big emotions. He reminds us daily that neurodiversity is not a deficit, but a different way of moving through the world.

It is a complicated mix of needs, appointments, and realities. Some days, it feels like I am juggling medical charts and prayer lists at the same time. But woven through it all is something breathtaking, the way my children love each other through it.

Yes, they argue. They get frustrated. They roll their eyes when one child’s medical need changes everyone’s plans or when emotions run high from exhaustion or sensory overload. But underneath those moments is a fierce, unspoken love. They understand what it means to be patient with one another. They recognize when someone else’s day is harder.

Their compassion is not the kind that grows from ease. It is the kind that grows from shared struggle. They see pain up close, the needles, the counseling sessions, the appointments, the worry, and somehow they still choose to care more deeply, not less.

Sometimes I look at them and see glimpses of God’s heart for us. How He loves us in our weakness, how He meets us in our limitations, and how He uses those very limitations to draw us closer to one another. I used to pray that God would make things easier, that He would take away the complications and the diagnoses. Now, I pray for strength, for peace, and for the kind of love that can only grow in the soil of challenge.

Having a medically complex home can feel isolating. There are moments when the weight of it all presses down and I wonder if I am doing enough, giving enough, or holding it all together. But then I see my kids, the way they care, the way they notice, the way they show up for each other, and I am reminded that God’s grace is more than enough.

They may be young, but their understanding of compassion and endurance rivals that of many adults. Their love for one another and for the world around them is not naïve. It is forged through resilience, empathy, and faith.

Our home is not simple or easy, but it is rich in love. The kind of love that shows up on a road trip when a headache hits. The kind that holds hands during shots. The kind that offers a hug after a counseling session.

The kind of love that reminds me that God’s plan, even when it feels complicated, is still good.

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. — Ephesians 4:32