In June of 2009, my younger brother was diagnosed with a rare genetic mutation called Friedreich’s Ataxia. This debilitating disease quickly led to the deterioration of his muscles and coordination. Gradually, his muscles lost their functions and the simplest tasks became impossible. As he entered into the 6th grade, the middle school forced him into a wheelchair so that it would be easier for him to navigate from class to class. My family had to move from New York to Florida to assist his navigation, and this was enough to scar my adolescent self. I was only 11-years-old when my family, including my 9-year-old brother, was faced with a life-changing turn of events. 5 years later, in 2014, my brother entered high school, and it changed my entire family’s routine greatly.

My brother’s freshman year of high school came as a lifestyle shock to everyone and was ultimately the catalyst for my transition into maturity. My brother was just starting high school, yet I was the one going through an identity crisis courtesy of my newfound obligations. Both of our parents worked 8-hour days, 5 days a week, so, the responsibility of taking care of my brother fell onto me. I was just starting my junior year, which was stressful enough its own, and on top of completing my own schoolwork and balancing myriad extracurriculars, I was now expected to watch over my brother at school, rush home to prepare dinner for my whole family, and uphold my longstanding record of straight A’s. There was no doubt in my mind that I needed to adjust my way of life. I just wasn’t aware of the magnitude of that change.

The first day of junior year was filled with one crisis after another. On our way to school, my brother’s wheelchair broke down and it made me late for my first class. I ran to the classroom close to tears and collapsed into my seat, absolutely mortified. To say that my transition was less than graceful would be an understatement. I rushed home that afternoon, cried for an hour and then proceeded to drown my sorrows in the homework that had miraculously piled up already. Everything seemed like an absolute nightmare. Contrary to my own belief, however, life continued to occur. The world didn’t end because my brother had shifted my morning schedule, which shocked my strictly regimented self, and it took me an entire quarter to adjust to this new list of responsibilities. I’d spend the entire day at school and then come home and make dinner for a younger brother that needed help untying his shoes. I felt like a new mother.

When I was a middle school student, my mother would tell my brother and me that she simply wanted to come home and relax after work, but that because she was a mom, her work was never done. I never understood what she meant by that until I had to experience it for myself. When both my parents worked until 7 pm, which occurred more than anyone wanted it to, I was forced into watching over the house and assisting my brother with his homework before I even thought about starting on my own. I found myself on my feet all afternoon long and looking forward to that blissful moment of silence that never seemed to come.

As a teenager, I cannot fully claim to know what adulthood feels like. I’m still in high school and I depend on my parents for food, clothing, and shelter. Even when I am 45-years-old, I will still be growing and developing into a “real” adult. That being said, the situations in my life have prompted a sense of maturity that I feel few of my fellow classmates understand. If one of my parents had worked from home last year, or if I was not given the responsibility of caring for my brother, I would be nowhere near as mature as I am today, and for that, I am thankful.