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Family Dynamics

I Was a Glass Child. Here's What the Term Means to Me.

A Personal Perspective: Hashtags and labels only tell part of the sibling story.

Marta Wave / Pexels
Source: Marta Wave / Pexels

Scrolling social media recently, I came across a video that made me pause. A young influencer was talking about "glass child syndrome" in the same upbeat, polished manner one might introduce a new beauty product or health trend. "Glass child," she explained, is the term for siblings of children with disabilities or chronic illness. They’re called glass because they feel invisible. Parents and other caregivers overlook their needs or see right through them because they’re laser-focused on the child with the disability.

I had never heard the term before, but according to this definition, I was a glass child. My late brother Alan had a rare genetic disorder that caused severe cognitive delays, violent mood swings, and insatiable hunger. I was his younger sister, but also his caregiver. Our single mom was often deeply depressed and unable to parent Alan. So, she leaned on me for support – physically, emotionally, financially, and socially. From a young age, I felt pressure to mute my needs. I cooked dinner, cleaned the house, paid bills, and bathed my brother. Out in public, I shielded him from ridicule, translated his slurred speech for strangers, and advocated for his needs.

On the outside, I looked like a strong kid – fiercely independent and mature far beyond my years. On the inside, I was overwhelmed with anxiety, hypervigilance, perfectionism, exhaustion, sadness, resentment, and fear. Often, I felt isolated and alone. I’d say that my situation was uncommon or extreme, but the more I write and speak about my upbringing, the more I hear from other siblings who endured similar neglect and heartache.

Where does the term "glass child" come from?

While the social media hashtags are new, the term “glass child” became popularized in 2010 with a TEDx Talk by Alicia Maples, who had one brother with autism and another with complex medical needs. The goal of her talk was to bring visibility to the estimated one in five U.S. families that have at least one child with a disability – and encourage adults to consider the plight of siblings who grow up alongside them.

Until that point, glass children were often referred to as “typical siblings,” “special needs siblings,” or “special sibs” for short. But these labels draw criticism. “Typical” implies that the child with the illness or disability is atypical or unusual, which stigmatizes them instead of honoring their differences. Similarly, some people object to the euphemism “special needs,” because they argue that a person with a disability's needs aren’t special; they’re basic human rights.

“Glass child” is supposed to be an improvement – a more compassionate way to describe siblings. So, why did it make me uncomfortable?

Labels don't tell the whole story of someone's experience.

To be sure, the glass child trend is highlighting an issue that will only grow as the rates of diagnosis rise for autism, genetic disorders, autoimmune disease, and other chronic medical issues.

Yet, hashtags don’t leave much room for nuance. When you lump millions of people into the same category, you might assume that their experience is uniform, which is hardly ever the case. We’re all products of our environments as much as our genetics and birth order. Just as two people with the same disability have their own unique personalities and experiences, so do their siblings.

In my view, labeling doesn’t solve those siblings’ most pressing need – to have adults notice and nurture them too. And it doesn’t do much to change the systems that should be better at supporting families.

The problem isn’t that glass kids are invisible. It’s that many parents and caregivers don’t have the capacity to look at them, to really see them. They’re often too busy navigating work, healthcare, childcare, education systems, and their own mental health needs.

Glass children are not fragile.

The word “glass” evokes fragility and handling with care. In reality, the opposite is usually true. While some studies show that siblings of kids with disabilities suffer more from depression and anxiety, others point to the sibling’s strength and independence, their increased capacity for empathy and emotional intelligence. Glass children are incredibly tough and resilient.

The truth is, I don’t have a better term to describe us as siblings. If “glass child” must go viral, my hope is that it will be less of a label and more of a portal to deeper understanding, to self-reflection, to community among those siblings. Because, at the end of the day, all of us want the same things: to be known and valued.

People seek agency and individuality, no matter our roles in the family system. Like those who live with disability or chronic illness, siblings too want to be treated as complex people with all our humanity.

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