The Truth No One Tells You About Being the Younger Sister

I spent years comparing myself, trying to catch up — and it almost made me lose who I really was.

For as long as I can remember, I had the toxic trait of comparing myself to other women.
I remember it starting as early as 8 years old. I’d see girls on TV and think:

“I’m going to be like her when I grow up. I’m going to be beautiful, and popular.”

I said that a lot — about girls in movies, magazines, ads… basically anywhere I saw a beautiful image.
But those comparisons didn’t just live on a screen.
They lived in my own home.

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I’m the youngest of three. My older brother came first, then my sister, and then me.
My sister and I were close in age, but worlds apart in personality.

She was strong-willed, stylish, mature. The kind of girl who caught on quickly.
My mom took her under her wing and taught her how to run a household — how to clean, how to cook, how to be a nikokira (a Greek word for a proper housewife).
My sister took pride in it. And she was praised for it constantly:

“She’s so helpful.”
“She knows everything.”
“Whatever you ask her to do, she’ll do it.”

Meanwhile, I was the laid-back, go-with-the-flow kid.
I just wanted to have fun and be carefree.
I thought: I have my whole life to clean — why start now?

It’s not that I was lazy.
I was just... different.

Still, the comments stung. Especially when I heard them enough times.
When family would see me listening, they’d try to soften the blow with:

“Katerina is still young. We’ll see how she is when she’s older.”

But it didn’t make me feel better.
It made me feel like I was already behind. Like I had failed before I even started.

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High school made it worse.

My sister had long, honey-brown hair that she’d crimp from root to tip.
She had confidence, style, and didn’t take shit from anyone.
Boys loved her. They noticed her.

And then they’d notice me — the awkward one.
With frizzy, unkempt curls and straight-across bangs.
With white eyeshadow I pressed onto my lids every morning, thinking it made me look cool.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

Some boys at school didn’t even try to hide the comparison:

“Your sister is way prettier than you.”
“You’re the ugly sister.”

It was humiliating.
And I started to resent her.
I felt like I could never exist outside of her shadow.

Even when we were little, we wore matching outfits.
I wore her hand-me-downs.
It was cute then.
But by the time I turned sixteen, it became suffocating.

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The comparisons. The bullying. The pressure.
It all hit me at once.
So I exploded.

I dyed my hair (behind my parents’ back. Sorry mom and dad).
I went full-on emo (because it was 2008 and MySpace ruled the world).
I wore the heavy eyeliner, the band tees, the checkered belts, and let’s not forget, the famous skinny jeans.

And honestly? I felt free.

My sister had graduated and wasn’t at school with me anymore.
For the first time, I felt like I could just be me.

But... I took it too far.

I lost focus.
My grades dropped.
I prioritized being cool over creating a future I could be proud of.

And yeah — I’m not proud of that part.
But I needed that phase.
I needed to try something, anything, that wasn’t what everyone expected of me.

Eventually, the emo chapter faded. (RIP raccoon eyeliner.)
But the identity crisis didn’t end there.

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I was still “the dreamer.”
Still “immature.”
Still not the helpful, practical, put-together sister everyone loved to praise.

Even into adulthood, the comparing would sneak back in.
I was in a constant race with an invisible version of who I thought I was supposed to be.
And I was always a few steps behind.

No one talks about how hard it is to be the younger sibling.
The identity loss.
The constant measuring.
The frustration of being told “you’re too young” when you just want to be seen as enough.

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I used to wish I looked more like her.
That I was cooler. Prettier. Stronger.

But with time, I stopped wishing for that.
I stopped trying to be a shadow of someone else’s shine.
I started learning how to step into my own.

We are not carbon copies of the ones who came before us.
We are our own version of beautiful. Of worthy. Of strong.
Even if it takes us a little longer to bloom.

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If you’ve ever felt like the lesser version of someone else — trust me, you’re not.
You’re just growing into who you were always meant to be.

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💬 Let me know in the comments if this resonated. I have so many more stories like this to share — and I’d love to hear yours too.
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