My Brothers' Little Sister Anonymous

“Do you have any siblings?”

It’s a simple question, yet for the longest time, it was a question that I dreaded, a question that I felt the need to avoid at all costs. The answer, in essence, is simple. I have two older brothers: one 22, the other 24. And upon hearing this answer, most will smile and picture a stereotypical family dynamic: two protective, and slightly annoyed, older sons and a younger, naive but sweet daughter. Except that isn’t at all how it’s ever been.

My brothers were diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder well before I was born; this predetermined, permanent condition resembled something like a burden at times. As a child, I remember resenting the fact that my brothers’ crippling fear of cats prevented us from ever being able to adopt one. I remember my cheeks burning with embarrassment when my eldest brother’s shrill shriek produced a roar of laughter from my friends who, as nine-year-olds, found his behavior absolutely hilarious. I remember how, growing up, it was near impossible to hold the attention of both of my parents for more than a minute because of my siblings’ needs. I remember constantly wishing for a sibling that I could talk to normally, a sibling that didn’t require constant supervision or...