I tried to run from my brother’s death – but therapy helped me confront my traumatic past

My tank was empty. No matter how much I willed myself to carry on as normal, my body and mind resisted. It was time to stop running

When my older brother died, the first thing I thought about was work. I had just moved to New York from London, so my family had to break the news over the phone, grappling with my grief while still sucker-punched by their own. But if you had asked me at that moment, I would have told you there was no grief.

Instead, I immediately began thinking about which editors I was going to have to let down. What work might fall by the wayside for ever? I quickly calculated the upsides of my “time off”. At least I would have more time to spend on that long article that was due. Then I thought about going for a run. Or shouting at somebody. Mostly, I thought about getting off the phone. It was all an inconvenience. Had my family – always so keen to remind me of where I had come from and who I was never going to get to be – just passed on this news to ruin my day?

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I left a dream job to be closer to my autistic twin

The pandemic has forced many of us to rethink our lives, not least of which is how we work. For me, it meant returning home

Ten days before our birthday, I drove my 2005 blue Nissan Sentra over the Verrazano Bridge and let the tears roll out. He didn’t know it, but I was almost home. The Verrazano spills into Brooklyn, where Scott and I entered the world.

We were born a little after 11am on 28 July 1994 in Maimonides hospital, fraternal twins. “Two boychiks!” my father boasted, still in his blue scrubs, as he burst into the waiting room. The cheering section – two grandmas, two grandpas – erupted.

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Three families, one sperm donor: the day we met our daughter’s sisters

Every year, thousands of British children are conceived with the help of donor sperm. But few ever meet their siblings...

Caroline Pearson, a podcast producer from London, was a few days into her maternity leave when she discovered that her unborn daughter had two sisters. She had visited a website a friend had told her about, which allows recipients of donated sperm (such as her) to search for families who have used the same donor. If they’ve registered with this website, they could be anywhere in the world, since the US sperm bank chosen by Pearson and her husband, Francis, ships internationally, and the website, Donor Sibling Registry (DSR), is also US-based with an international reach. Pearson couldn’t resist, and typed in the donor’s reference number.

“Suddenly, I was overwhelmingly curious,” Pearson says. She didn’t expect to find anything – let alone two families living within a half-hour radius. The first profile was a single mother to a two-year-old girl, living nearby in London. It seemed an extraordinary coincidence. Caroline was “totally giddy”; her partner Francis, a photographer, was cautious. “I tried to rein things in,” he says. “Caroline was pregnant and we were already dealing with becoming parents, and the donor process. But all this other stuff, it was so unknown. I’m practical and you think: yes, that could be amazing – but what if they’re awful people?”

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My older brother makes me feel stupid and I can’t laugh it off

It might be worth looking at why it’s so easy for him to make you feel like an idiot, says Annalisa Barbieri

I am a 40-year-old woman who has been talked down to and patronised by my older brother my entire life. He often speaks to me as though he assumes I don’t understand simple things, and when I try to communicate to him that I do understand, he doesn’t seem to listen. I looked up to him when I was a child, so there’s this loud voice inside my head that says: “He’s speaking to you like you are an idiot, therefore you must be an idiot,” and my self-confidence is dented more every time.

This makes no sense because I have a good life. But I’m forever beating myself up. He seems to have the power to make me feel worthless.

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