Note: I have obtained permission to share this story.
Have you ever pondered how your younger, more driven self would view your current life? If you had told my childhood self that at thirty-two, I’d be living with my accomplished twin sister instead of pursuing my dreams as an actor or writer, I might have been mortified enough to utter my first curse word. But life has a way of unfolding that we rarely anticipate. (Isn’t that true, like, 99.9% of the time?)
As is now my daily routine since my divorce left me with little more than some luggage and my beloved dog, I woke up in a luxurious home that isn’t mine (there’s even a movie theater upstairs!). It belongs to my incredibly generous twin sister and her husband. They came to my rescue. Like many, I found myself at a standstill after years of avoiding adult responsibilities. I’m fortunate to have family who can help; not everyone is so lucky, and “grateful” doesn’t fully capture my feelings. Interestingly, I’ve found that no one really cares that I’m here, and frankly, I don’t either, considering how much I’ve grown.
But let’s be real. Is living with your twin at thirty-two the ideal scenario? Absolutely not, at least not in the society I grew up in. (Even if this place is unbelievably amazing.) Initially, I worried about others’ perceptions when I moved into this “less-than-ideal” situation, particularly my younger self’s opinion. I suspect that little Maria would have mixed feelings. Although she likely expected to be a full-fledged adult by now, I bet she wouldn’t be shocked.
Long ago, I accepted my role as the “struggler” of the family. Everyone has one, right? (Unless you’re all incredible, in which case, please leave me alone. Just kidding… sort of.) I never considered myself that way, but it’s a label I frequently heard.
If you asked me to describe myself, I’d say I’m someone who had every opportunity but spent years avoiding hard work because I never had to confront that reality until now. Also, I’m the “other” twin. That’s a significant detail. From the start, my sister excelled at everything, which is simply a fact, not a crime.
My earliest memory of our twin dynamic dates back to toddlerhood. I didn’t follow our dad’s bedtime routine, so my sister decided to show me how. Our mom caught her on top of me, smothering me with a cloth. (I’d wager my sister will read this and nod in agreement while enjoying the afternoon coffee I picked up from Starbucks.)
That drive and clarity have propelled my sister to success, and she deserves every bit of it. If you’re fortunate enough not to be distracted by life’s chaos, please let me in on your secret. None of my family shared my struggles—raise your hand if you can relate; I know you’re out there.
Mom always said she knew she’d be a doctor; there was no other option. My dad is a successful businessman, and my brother was the class clown and a football star who also excelled academically. Then there was me, just existing. Surprisingly, I didn’t mind being in the background. Some of us prefer to stay out of the spotlight, right? In fact, that’s how I learned to coast through life. (Though coasting ultimately got me into trouble, so it’s essential to find balance.)
At home, we were treated equally. I had my theater friends and received every lesson or shiny new toy I wanted. I didn’t even mind when my sister transformed from the quirky girl to the popular bombshell. I was that fifth-grader who dressed as FDR, complete with a wheelchair and coffee mustache for “historical figure” day. I knew I looked different.
The only time I felt truly upset about not resembling my sister was when we wished we could switch places in class. Being “plain” had its perks, although I could have done without the teasing about our differences. It puzzled me why some felt the need to comment negatively.
While my sister faced scrutiny, she never let it deter her. I’ve adopted that mindset since living with her; I only wish I had done so earlier. Youth really is wasted on the young.
When I asked her if she knew how many rumors circulated about her, she simply said, “I just remember all the stupid things I could get into during high school.” She had many friends because she treated everyone with respect. My roles in plays made me happy, though I was more focused on music and keeping my grades afloat. The academic side, however, troubled me.
If only our younger selves could meet, how many of us would shake them and say, “You’re not stupid!”? How much easier life might have been with that knowledge. I’d also advise young me to stop using hand soap to style my hair; that was just bizarre. But mostly, I’d tell her, “You got this!”
I could have played a hobbit (which worked out well for my role as Bilbo), but not being perceived as “dumb” was especially important to me. I often thought about our mistakes when we were younger, and I cared too much about others’ opinions. I had a solid friend group and more support than I realized. (And I’d also remind young me to tell little Bobby he couldn’t do karate and watch how he’d run away in tears.)
Navigating these differences is challenging when you’re still finding your way. My sister and brother glided through school and sports, which was incredibly disheartening for me; I won’t lie. (I feel compelled to clarify that I was a child—there’s always someone who thinks this all happened recently.) My parents tried to help me with math, but it just didn’t click. Music, languages, and theater were my strengths. I spent much of my time in the library or hanging out with my French teacher. Did anyone else do that? Teachers held me to the same standards as my sister despite my learning disabilities and the fact that we were different people.
They marked my dyscalculia as “laziness” long before I received a diagnosis in high school. I needed help, but it was not provided. Ironically, I actually enjoyed math when I could grasp it.
I don’t blame my teachers; educational reforms in the nineties aimed to support all students. Unfortunately, there was still much to learn about disabilities. Our school prioritized the “Gifted and Talented” program, where I tested well, leading some educators to think I was faking my struggles. I participated in the Academic Decathlon and won awards for my writing.
Despite my accomplishments, I still landed on the “Silver Team” due to my poor GPA, which was publicly ranked. While I excelled in music and competitions, basic calculations eluded me. I’d never seen so many F’s on a report card—I simply thought, “Why bother?”
I know I’m not alone in facing academic challenges. Each year, over 1.2 million students drop out of high school in the U.S. As an adult, I eventually figured out how to manage my struggles and became unafraid to utilize the tools at my disposal.
By my age, most people have a good grasp of their strengths and weaknesses. Some of us, like me, are considered “late bloomers.” However, as long as we all reach our destination, I don’t think it matters what label we carry. Yet as a child, nothing felt worse than trying to find my footing while being in the same classes as my twin, watching her achievements soar while I felt stuck.
I want to clarify that I don’t blame my sister for any pressure I felt. I believe I’m a better person because of my experiences. Even back then, I recognized that her school success wasn’t her fault. We all learn that everyone is different at some point in life—at least I did.
It would have been nice to have this wisdom earlier, though. My journey took a much different path than my sister’s—mental hospitals, counseling sessions, and “alternative learning.” While that experience was complicated, I was a clinically depressed teen, so my thoughts were often elsewhere. It felt disheartening to think about what might have been if I had pushed myself harder.
But the saying “everything happens for a reason” rings true. I wish I could tell my younger self that I could achieve anything I wanted. Thankfully, I can remind myself now—and hopefully you too.
As my story continues, you can fill in the blanks. Somehow, I graduated with the help of a miraculous guidance counselor who utilized the 504 program.
I had no plans for college; what good was it if I couldn’t even pass Algebra? I didn’t take the SATs at all. (Eventually, I earned my B.A. at twenty-seven, which, while unconventional, is not unheard of; at times, adult learners represent 40% of college students in America.) After high school, my sister went directly to a prestigious university, rowed crew, and maintained straight A’s—requirements for the “dad scholarship”—conditions that didn’t apply to me. I bear no resentment toward my parents; the pressure I felt primarily stemmed from comparing myself to my sister and brother, something they never imposed on me.
By eighteen, I thought I should be ready for independence. Wasn’t that the expectation? Don’t parents look forward to the day they can say goodbye to their adult children?
Much of my discomfort about not attending college was self-imposed. Back in my day, going to junior college and transferring was considered a “loser” move, but many Ivy League schools accept transfer students. You’ll have to work hard, but it’s possible.
Life often imposes societal milestones—college, career, marriage, and so forth. Additionally, there’s the pressure of being a woman and the ticking clock of starting a family, whether you want to or not.
I drifted for a while, performing at theme parks and playing in pit orchestras, living life and often making foolish choices. Those memories are some of my happiest, and I believe everyone should undergo such experiences to discover their individuality. Yet, there was always that nagging voice reminding me I needed to get my act together.
In my own unique way, I’ve learned to navigate my path. I’m still figuring it out, but living with my sister has taught me a lot about resilience and self-acceptance.