A nickname that convinced one sister she'd always come second

In one of Adele Faber's workshops, a woman described a moment from a family wedding when she was about thirteen. Standing in front of a mirror beside her older sister, getting dressed, her sister turned to her and said, 'I'm the GGG girl, gorgeous, glamorous and glorious.' Then she looked at her younger sister and said, 'You're the SSS girl, sweet, simple and sincere.' Decades later, the woman told the group, if anyone praised her for anything, her first thought was still, 'yeah, yeah, but you should meet my sister.'

That single sentence did more damage than an insult could have, because it wasn't even meant as one. It was a comparison, and comparisons, Faber and Mazlish argue, heat up rivalry whether they favor a child or condemn one. Tell one child she's neater than her brother, and you haven't just complimented her, you've told her brother, indirectly, that he's the messy one, and you've handed her a role to defend. What happens to her specialness if he ever gets tidy?

Faber admitted in her own workshops that she swore, when her sons were young, never to compare them, and did it anyway, again and again, usually in the heat of anger or the rush of pride. 'Why do you always keep the family waiting? Your brother was in the car ten minutes ago.' 'That's terrific, your big brother worked on that for an hour and you figured it out in two minutes.' Both versions, she realized, taught her sons to measure themselves against each other rather than against their own effort.

Her fix wasn't complicated, though it took discipline to use. Whenever the comparison rose in her throat, she'd stop and describe instead, describe what she saw, what she felt, or what needed to be done, without a single mention of the other child. Not 'why can't you hang up your clothes like your brother,' but 'I see a jacket on the floor, that bothers me, it belongs in the closet.' The behavior gets addressed. The sibling never enters the sentence. And the child is left measuring himself against the task, not against a brother he can never stop competing with.

Start listening for the comparisons that slip out of you almost automatically, whether they're meant as criticism or as praise, because both kinds land the same way in a child's ears. The next time you're tempted to say a sibling's name in the same breath as a correction or a compliment, stop and describe instead, describe exactly what you see, what you feel, or what needs to happen, using only that child's name. Save your most enthusiastic praise for private moments with the child who earned it, rather than announcing it in front of brothers or sisters who will only hear it as a verdict on themselves. If a comparison escapes you anyway, don't punish yourself for it, just catch the next one.