Now that they’re independent teens, it’s a blast travelling with my kids, especially when you have a middle child who confidently takes the lead and encourages his brothers to do activities Mum doesn’t need to hold their hand for anymore, such as parasailing over the Sulu Sea.
Photo by
Bree Harding
I’d heard of middle-child syndrome.
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Mainly from my sister, who is the middle child between our older brother and me, but (perhaps I shouldn’t admit this) I didn’t think it was a real thing.
The eldest child in a family has traditionally been nicknamed the ‘guinea pig’ and the youngest, ‘the baby’, so I suppose it makes sense for there to be certain traits for all children in the birth order of their family.
I questioned Google about the psychology behind it.
It told me it is a term used to describe the pressure some middle children feel about being neglected or overlooked because of where they fall along the sibling dateline — the centre — and that they might struggle to find their identity.
It went on to say they often develop independence and adaptability skills, and will feel it’s their duty to mediate, stemming from settling arguments between the older sibling’s leadership and the youngest’s freedom.
It sounds like it’s a ‘problem’ that mostly affects three-child families.
Despite possibly being a burden to carry as a kid, those traits seem like a decent prescription to grow a well-rounded adult.
I’m not sure if it’s coincidence or not, but the nature of my middle child — a 16-year-old in between his 17- and 14-year-old brothers — demonstrates the practice of the theory.
I’d like to think I hadn’t neglected or overlooked him, but he’s fiercely independent and adaptable, so maybe I inadvertently have and he’s had no choice but to become those things?
My middle child gives his big brother — my eldest child — a shoulder ride.
Photo by
Bree Harding
He also never takes sides in his brothers’ fights, only ever involving himself in a peacekeeping capacity.
But he’s been easygoing since birth, so I’m not sure if it was just inbuilt or comes from conditioning by his environment.
I remember people suggesting I was brave to take my three boys overseas on my own as a single parent.
The truth is, I have more confidence taking them overseas with me than I would have going solo.
The first time we went, I’d have been lost countless times on a cruise ship had they not been there with their supreme navigational body compasses that clearly weren’t faulty out of the factory like mine.
But this year, in the Bornean river country and jungle, my middle child took it upon himself to become the protector, rather than the protected, as has been my job in his life up until now.
I haven’t relinquished my role entirely, of course, but I’ll gladly surrender my hand to his own outstretched palm as he waits on a jetty for me to climb off a boat, or on the boat to steady me as I board.
I was grateful for his protective arm across my chest to stop me tripping on tree roots in the dark of the jungle, and the way he turned his phone flashlight on and directed it in front of my feet to guide my path instead of his own.
There might be the occasional fight, but mostly my boys are great mates.
Photo by
Bree Harding
He’ll move to make way for people shorter than him (including yours truly, now), so that they can see; he’ll pass a plate down the line, comfortable with missing out on the biggest piece of cake with the most icing or the buffet dish he was eyeing; he’ll give time and patience to kids younger than him, genuinely enjoying teaching them things and playing games they lead.
He and my sister, both middle children, are adored.
Their birth order, though they might not see it that way themselves, is their trump card.
Next time you hear anyone describe someone as having middle-child syndrome, consider that it might be a compliment, not an insult.
If I were going to be stuck somewhere with anyone, I’d gladly be stuck in the middle with either one as company.
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