By: Callum Barrott-Walsh
I don’t remember deciding to be responsible.
I just was.
I grew up with a brother who has Down Syndrome and a dad who lives with mental health challenges following a car accident. Home was loving — always loving — but it wasn’t simple. And when we were all in survival mode at different times, I naturally became the steady one.
School was meant to be the place where I could just be a kid, and sometimes it was. But often, I carried home into the classroom with me.
When my brother and I were at school together, expectations were rarely said outright, but they were there. If he was unsettled, his eyes would flick toward me. If he struggled socially, I’d feel the pull to step in. If he was overwhelmed, I felt responsible for calming him.
Teachers would say things like, “You’re so good with him,” or “Can you just help him with this?”
And I would. Of course I would. I love him.
But what people didn’t see was the quiet pressure that came with that praise. I wasn’t just his brother; I was becoming his buffer. His advocate. His unofficial support worker.
At the same time, at home, I was hyper-aware of Dad’s mental health. I knew when he was having a hard day. I knew when to tread carefully. I knew when to step up.
So, by the time I walked into school, I was already carrying a mental and emotional load greater than most kids my age.
The Invisible Role of the “Capable” Child
When you’re the sibling who copes well, you become easy to rely on.
You don’t cause trouble. You meet expectations. You manage yourself.
And that’s the danger.
Because capable children are often given more – more responsibility, more emotional labour, more unspoken expectations.
No one ever formally assigned me the role. But I absorbed it. I thought being helpful was what love looked like. I thought being strong meant not needing support myself.
What I needed, and what so many siblings like me need, is to be seen separately.
Not as “the good one.”
Not as “the helper.”
Not as “the mature one.”
Just as a child.
What Schools Need to Understand
If I could say one thing to educators, it would be this:
Don’t mistake kindness for capacity.
Yes, I was patient with my brother. Yes, I understood him better than most. But that didn’t mean it was my job to regulate him at recess, walk him to class, or intervene in behavioural moments.
Support plans should come from adults, not siblings.
And, if a sibling chooses to help occasionally, that should be exactly that: a choice. Not an expectation.
What Parents of Siblings Should Know
If you have a child who seems “fine,” check again.
The sibling who holds everything together often doesn’t want to add pressure at home by saying they’re overwhelmed.
Ask them:
- “Do you ever feel responsible at school?”
- “Do teachers expect you to help?”
- “Do you feel like you get to just be you?”
Give them permission to say no. Permission to step back. Permission to have their own struggles.
Because siblings can love fiercely and still feel tired.
The Strength — and the Cost
Growing up the way I did shaped me in powerful ways. It made me empathetic. It made me aware. It gave me a deep understanding of advocacy and fairness.
But it also meant I learned very young how to suppress my own needs.
We need to stop romanticising the “strong sibling” narrative. Strength is beautiful, but children shouldn’t have to earn it through pressure.
If you’re a teacher, protect sibling boundaries.
If you’re a parent, advocate early.
If you’re a sibling reading this, you are allowed to just be a brother or sister. Just be a son or daughter. Just be a kid.
You can love your family deeply without carrying them on your shoulders.
And schools should be places where every child — including the sibling — gets to put the weight down.
