Five years ago, I punched my sister in the face and kicked her in the stomach with my knee. She was seventeen. I was sixteen. We had just had a massive fight because she reported me to the school for cheating on homework—I was paying someone to do it for me—and I got a serious disciplinary action.
When I got home, I lost it. I attacked her. Our parents punished me harshly, and I deserved every bit of it. But my sister never spoke to me again.
She moved out a few months later. I tried apologizing countless times. I wrote letters and slid them under her door, but none of them made any difference. Before that incident, we had a normal sibling relationship.
We argued like any brother and sister, but we always made up. Never anything like this. She wouldn’t come to the dinner table if I was there, so I started eating in my room. I stopped going to family gatherings, weddings, birthdays, vacations—anything where she would be.
When I moved out, I skipped Christmas, Thanksgiving, and my parents’ birthdays, visiting days before or after just to avoid her. I sent her birthday gifts through our mom, but she didn’t accept them. I kept writing letters, not sure if she even read them. Last year, I was very sick and had a couple of surgeries.
She didn’t visit or call. Our parents were upset, but I asked them not to hold it against her. I’ve been apologizing non-stop for five years. I’ve written her more than 500 letters, most of them in the first year when our parents made me write one a day, sometimes more.
I asked my parents to stop pressuring her about it. It has to be her decision. But I’m tired. I’ve missed out on so much.
My parents want to go to Italy this summer for a week and want both of us to come. I’d love to go—I haven’t had a vacation with them in five years—but I know she won’t come if I’m there. I don’t want her to miss this chance because of what I did. So I’m thinking of telling my parents to take her without me.
I had a dream the other night that my grandfather died and I missed the funeral for the same reason. I can’t help wondering: how long do I have to keep making sacrifices for one moment of madness? I wish she’d just punch me back twenty times over and we could move on. Maybe nothing will ever be enough.
I understand that now. Sometimes we do something stupid that takes a moment but has a lifetime of repercussions. I could have died, and she still didn’t reach out. If that wasn’t enough for her to reconsider, maybe nothing ever is.
Some people believe I’ve done enough and should stop accommodating her. Others say I haven’t done nearly enough. But one comment made me rethink everything: the letters I thought were showing my shame and regret were actually being perceived as further abuse and harassment. I thought I was ending the cycle of abuse, but I was just being a typical abuser who keeps hurting people.
So I made a decision. I ended the letters completely. She made it clear she wasn’t interested in having anything to do with me, and I wasn’t respecting her boundaries. For Italy, it was a no-brainer.
Why should she miss such an opportunity because her abuser wants a holiday with the parents? I told my parents I have commitments during the summer and can’t come. I don’t really deserve it. Maybe one day I can afford to take them myself, but it’s wrong of me to use their resources to have fun when it effectively denies my sister that chance.
I decided to keep staying away from family events. It’s what she needs. My parents love us both and don’t want to make the tough decision, so it’s up to me. I asked my boss if I can be transferred to a different state, and it looks possible in a couple of months.
I told my parents it’s for a better job and salary. I’ll still meet them a couple of times a year—either they come to me, or I visit, or we meet halfway. This isn’t cutting them out; it’s just adding physical distance so my sister can feel safer. Finally, I decided to tell my sister all of this in a video.
I recorded it as the last time she’d hear from me. I told her everything, wished her well, and promised there would never be further contact. I emailed it to her. Surprisingly, she replied.
The first time I’d heard from her in five years. She said: “Hi, wish I could forgive you and trust you again, but I can’t. Don’t think I haven’t tried. It’s too much.
I think what you’re doing is for the best. I hope you find happiness away from us wherever you go and maybe our family here can also move on in your absence. Farewell, little brother. ”
At least now I have closure.
I can move on. I realize I wasn’t just a physical abuser five years ago—I’ve been an emotional abuser ever since. I hope to be a better person in the new place.
I will do everything I can to never hurt anyone in any way ever again.
