Parental love is supposed to be unconditional and equal for every child. But reality often tells a different story. In some families, one child always seems more special, more capable, or more important—at least in the parents' eyes. This invisible favoritism can leave deep wounds we carry into adulthood. Five women share what it was like growing up as the sibling who wasn’t the favorite—the ones who stayed in the "shadow."
“My sister and mom were always on the same wavelength” (Zsófi, 31)
My sister always sat next to our mom. They’d have tea, gossip, and shop together. I naturally gravitated toward my dad because mom never really showed interest in me. My sister shared all her secrets with her and always had time for a little "girl talk."
When I had questions, I mostly got a wave-off or was told, “Don’t dramatize.” It’s not anger I feel—it’s a deep, unshakable sense of absence.
I never hated my sister for it. I just envied her. I still do—my mom still calls her first when something happens. But I don’t fight for attention anymore. Now, I focus on giving my own daughter the love I never received.
“My older sister was the role model—I was just the problem child” (Laura, 29)
My sister was always perfect—or at least that’s how it looked from the outside. Good student, polite, pretty, the dream child of our parents. I was the “difficult one.” If I thought differently, it was rebellion. If I asked questions, it was sass.
I followed my sister’s footsteps at school, and every teacher compared us. At home, it was no different. If I messed up, mom sighed, “Your sister would never…” I heard that for years. I still sometimes hear it in my head. The worst part? Sometimes I feel like no matter what I do, I’ll never be good enough because I’m not her.
“My little brother was the family’s golden child—I was just the girl” (Júlia, 36)
In our family, the boy was the “real treasure.” I remember how proud my dad was when my little brother was born—as if the “heir to the throne” had finally arrived. From then on, everything revolved around him. I helped with chores and studied well, but somehow none of that really mattered.
When my brother lied or didn’t study, he was still the “little rebel.” I was always told, “Watch him, you’re the older one.” I grew up feeling less valuable just because I was a girl. Shedding that feeling as an adult was tough. It took a long time to believe I’m important too—not just my brother.
“He was my stepbrother, yet he became my mom’s true favorite” (Niki, 43)
Mom’s second husband brought his son into the marriage. I was ten, he was eight. I thought I was getting a new sibling, but it felt like someone came to replace me. Mom treated him like a treasure. She was strict with me but patient with him. When I asked for something, I often got a no.
He never had to ask twice. I thought it was temporary favoritism, but years later, nothing changed. Once, when I mentioned it, mom said hurtfully, “I love you both the same.” But that wasn’t true. Love isn’t just words—it’s actions. And those were always directed at him, not me.
“My twin was the favorite—I was just the extra” (Kata, 30)
Yes, we’re twins—but I felt like we had different moms. She was calm and gentle; I was the wild, energetic one. And that had to be “managed” from childhood. I was always told to be quieter so I wouldn’t disturb my sister, who was reading or drawing.
If we were both responsible for something, I always got the blame while she was protected. In family photos, she was always in the center; I was off to the side. These little things stuck with me. I don’t hate her, but as an adult, I often feel that if mom has to choose, she still picks her. And that hurts. Because we started from the same place but ended up so differently in parental love.
