I am the middle child of three—one older sister and one younger brother.

My father has always worked, while my mother has stayed at home to take care of us.

     These became significant factors when my sister got sick seven years ago.

No one knew what she had . . . we just knew its effects. She couldn't eat without crying in pain. She couldn't go to school without feeling embarrassed and defeated. She couldn't be "my sister" while she was suffering.

This was hard on all of us; I was only in third grade at the time. I remember the hundreds of doctor's appointments, the blood work, coming home to my mom crying and praying to God for all of her children to be healthy again.

My sister used to play soccer. She used to dance, have friends, eat. Then, in one day, she gave all of it up.

That's what the hardest part was for me . . . her giving up.

She was my role model. She was supposed to have a boyfriend first, she was supposed to go to prom, she was supposed to complain about the nuances of high school.

In a way, when she lost her path to life, I lost my own, and it was difficult.

My mom always talked about her, quickly forgetting about me and tending to my younger brother because he was her "baby" and he still needed her. She was too stressed and distraught to see that I still needed her too.

My dad was the mediator, when he wasn't at work or doing his side-business. He tried to calm down my mother, while gently encouraging my sister to maintain her social activities because it would be better long-term.

In the end, none of his attempts were successful, so my sister quickly became an introvert that would rarely eat, lock her door, and struggle to do school without unbearable pain.

And there I was, a child, with no friends, and no sister.

But I didn't give up.

Something about this event unfolding, slowly watching as my family broke apart, piece-by-piece, struck something within me: indescribable pain, suffering and a need to act.

I didn't know what or how, but I knew that I needed to do something to help my sister. There were no lengths that I wasn't willing to travel to make her feel herself again—stronger and more empowered than ever before.

It was a slow process. It took years of me encouraging her to eat and interact with strangers at convenience stores, but the results were successful. She finally started to act like herself again, eating, smiling, laughing—the sweetest sound in my world.

Her desire to give up pushed me to try harder, be kinder, love harder, and never give up. She made me feel empowered to leap across boundaries, not just for myself, but for others like her too.

Everyday, I feel empowered, powerful, and excited to encourage others to meet their full-potential because now, I know it's possible—because of her.

And I have never felt more grateful.

Sincerely,

Your Sister

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