Striving to Be the Best Brother and Son – And the Bruises Along the Way

 There’s an old saying that blood is thicker than water. But no one talks about how sometimes, that blood runs cold.

Growing up, I thought being a good brother and son meant giving without keeping score. I carried that belief into adulthood—showing up for birthdays, lending my skills, forgiving slights, and staying loyal even when it cost me. I thought “best” was measured by sacrifice. But over time, I learned the hard truth: you can pour yourself out completely, and some people will still ask why you didn’t give them more.

Being the Brother Who Stayed Loyal

I tried to be dependable, helpful, and loyal. But loyalty became a leash. There were years of being mocked, excluded from decisions, and quietly pushed aside in the very ventures I helped build. I watched a public image of leadership take shape while privately being avoided, minimized, and treated as an afterthought.

I told myself that being the “bigger man” meant swallowing the betrayal. But here’s the thing: swallowing poison doesn’t make you noble—it just makes you sick.

Being the Son Who Never Stopped Trying

The hurdles were different at home, but just as high. Emotional distance was the air we breathed. I raised myself emotionally, helped raise my siblings, and quietly bore the brunt of blame when things went wrong.

Milestones were forgotten, important moments dismissed, and affection rationed out in ways that felt more performative than genuine. The world saw a picture of a close family; behind closed doors, connection was conditional and affection scarce.

The Breaking Point

I once thought the measure of a good son or brother was how much pain you could absorb without breaking. But endurance is not the same as love—and it certainly isn’t the same as respect. My mental health break wasn’t an act of quitting; it was an act of self-preservation. Boundaries became the oxygen I needed to breathe again.

I’ve realized now that the best brother or son you can be isn’t the one who bends until they break—it’s the one who models self-respect, emotional honesty, and the courage to say, “This is not love, and I deserve better.”

Where I Stand Now

I’m no longer chasing the title of best by someone else’s definition. My worth isn’t measured in how many of my boundaries I’m willing to erase for another person’s comfort.

The best brother and son I can be today is one who:

• Protects his peace.

• Won’t be pulled into power plays or silent manipulations.

• Chooses integrity over performance.

• Teaches his children what real connection looks like.

Some bonds may never heal. But my commitment now is to be the man my younger self needed—loyal, yes, but also self-protective, wise, and unwilling to mistake suffering for devotion.

Because sometimes the best way to be a good brother and son… is to stop letting your love be weaponized.